Dublin Folk Band The Foggy Dew
Twas down by the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I,
When Irland's lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus' bells o'er the Liffey's swells
Rang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high o'er Dublin town
They hung 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 Brittania's Huns with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.
Twas England bade our wild geese go,
That "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
On the fringe of the great North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse's side
or fought with Valera true,
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep,
'neath the hills of the foggy dew.
