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The foggy dew

Twas down the glen one eastermorn
to a city fair rode I
When Ireland lines of marching men
in squadrones passed me by
No pipe did hum no battle drum
did sound its dread tattoo
But the angeless bell over Liffey’s well
rang out in the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town
they hang out a flag of war
Twas better to die neath an irish sky
than at Suvla or Suddle Bor
And from the planes of royal meath
strong men came hurrying trough
While Britannia’s suns with theire long range guns
sailed in from the foggy dew

Twas England bade our wild geese go
that small nations might be free
Theire lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves
near the fringe of the gray north see
But had they died by Pearsey’s side
or fought with Valera true
Theire graves we’d keep where the feanians sleep
near the hills of the foggy dew

The bravest fall und the solemn bell
rang mornfully and clear
For those who died that eastertide
in the springing of the yaer
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
for those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that eastertide
might shine through the foggy dew