As down the glen one Easter mornTo a city fair rode I,Their armed lines of marching menIn squadrons passed me by.No pipe did hum, no battle drumDid sound its loud tattooBut the Angelus\' bells o\'er the Liffey swellsRang out in the foggy dew.Right proudly high in Dublin town\nHung they out a flag of war.\n\'Twas better to die \'neath an Irish sky\nThan at Suvla or Sud el Bar.\nAnd from the plains of Royal Meath\nStrong men came hurrying through;\nWhile Brittania\'s Huns with their long-range guns\nSailed in through the foggy dew.\n\nThe bravest fell, and the requiem bell\nRang mournfully and clear\nFor those who died that Easter-tide\nIn the springing of the year.\nWhile the world did gaze with deep amaze\nAt those fearless men but few\nWho bore the fight that freedom\'s light\nMight shine through the foggy dew.\n\nAnd back through the glen I rode again\nAnd my heart with grief was sore\nFor I parted then with valiant men\nWhom I never shall see more\nBut to and fro\nIn my dreams I go\nAnd I kneel and pray for you\nFor slavery fled\nOh, glorious dead\nWhen you fell in the foggy dew chieftains, sinead