Cotton Cat - Foggy Dew

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 fife did hum nor battle drum
Did sound it's dread tatoo
But the Angelus bell o'er Liffey swell
Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin Town
They hung out the flag of war.
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky
Than at Sulva or Sud El Bar;
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came marching 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 Sulva's waves
Or the shore of the Great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Cathal Brugha,
Their names we would keep.
Where the Fenians sleep,
'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

But the bravest fell and the requiem bell
Rang mornfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springtime of the year.
And 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.