T'was 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 nor battle drum did sound it's dread tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
T'was 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 Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed out o'er the foggy dew
T'was Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springtime of the year
And the world did gaze, with deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew
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