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 strife tattoo.
But the Angelus bell
O’er the Liffey swell
Rung RANG out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hang HUNG out the flag of war.
‘Twas better to die ‘neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sud El Bar.
And from the planes of Royal Meath
strong men came hurrying through.
While Britannia’s huns with their long ranged guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew.
But 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.
Ah, back though the glen I rode again
And my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valliant men
Whom I never shall see more.
But to and fro in my dreams I’ll go
And I’ll kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, o glorious dead
When you fell in the foggy dew.
