Am G C Am G C Am C G C Am G C AmAs down the glen one Easter morn \nTo a city fair rode I. \nThere Ireland\'s lines of marching men \nIn squadrons passed me by. \nNo pipe did hum, no battle drum \nDid sound its dread tattoo \nBut the Angelus bell o\'er the Liffey\'s swell \nRang out in the foggy dew. \n\nRight proudly high over Dublin townThey hung 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 sons with their long-range guns \nSailed in through the foggy dew. \n\nOh, the night fell black, and the rifles crack\nMade \"Perfidious Albion\" reel,\n\'Mid the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame\nDid shine o\'er the lines of steel;\nBy each shining blade a prayer was said\nThat to Ireland her sons be true,\nAnd when morning broke still the war flag shook\nIt\'s folds in the Foggy Dew.\n\n\'Twas England bade our wild geese go \nThat small nations might be free. \nTheir lonely graves are by Suvla\'s waves \nOn the fringe of the grey North Sea. \nBut had they died by Pearse\'s side \nOr fought with Cathal Bruga, \nTheir graves we\'d keep where the Fenians sleep \n\'Neath the hills of the foggy dew. \n\nThe bravest fell, and the requiem bell \nRang mournfully and clear \nFor those who died that Eastertide \nIn the Springtime of the year. \nAnd the world did gaze in deep amaze \nAt those fearless men and few\nWho bore the fight that freedom\'s light \nMight shine through the foggy dew. \n\nBack through the glen I rode again,\nAnd my heart with grief was sore,\nFor I parted then with valient men\nWho I never shall see more;\nBut to and fro in my dreams I go,\nAnd kneel and pray for you,\nFor slavery fled, O glorious dead\nWhen you fell in the Foggy Dew. Dew, Foggy, Irish, music