1. 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 pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo,
but the angelous bell over Liffey Swell rang out through the Foggy Dew.
2. Right proudly high in Dublin town the hung 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 Britania's huns with their great big guns sailed in through the Foggy Dew.
3. 'Twas England bade our wild geese go that small nations might be free,
but their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringes of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brougha,
their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the Foggy Dew.
4. But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
for those who died that Easter tide in the spring time of the year.
While the world did gaze with deep amaze at those fearless men but few,
Who bore that fight that freedom's light, might shine through the Foggy Dew.