The Foggy Dew (2)


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 it’s loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o’er the Liffey swell
Rang out in the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town
They flung out the 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 long range guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew

‘Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go
That small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves
On the fringe of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse’s side
Or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we’d keep where the fenians sleep
‘Neath the shroud of the foggy dew

Oh, the bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springtime of the year
While the world did gaze, in deep amaze
At those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light
Might shine through the foggy dew

Through the glen I rode again
My heart with grief was sore
For I parted with those valiant men
That I’ll never see no more
But to and fro in my dreams I go
And I kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead
When you fell in the Foggy Dew

Not to be confused with the English song of the same name, this moving ballad concerns the Easter Rising of 1916. As sung by The Wolfe Tones. For a slightly different version see The Foggy Dew (1).