As down the glen one Easter morn, to a city fair rode I There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by No pipes did hum no battle drum, did sound its loud tatoo But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell, rang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they flung out a flag of war. 'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud El Bar; And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through While Britannia's huns with their great big guns, sailed in through the Foggy Dew.
O the night fell black and the rifles' crack made ""Perfidious Albion"" reel 'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel; By each shining blade, a prayer was said that to Ireland her sons be true And when morning broke still the war flag shook out its fold in the Foggy Dew.
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free. But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the Great North Sea O had they died by Pearse's side, or fought with James Connolly too, Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the Foggy Dew.