T 'was
down the glen one Easter morn'
To a city far o'day
When armèd lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum,
Didn't sound as dreaded too.
But the angel,
the spell of a leafy swell,
Rang out in the foggy dew.
It was England,
bed our wild geese go,
That small nation s might be free.
And we see lonely graves
are by Suvla's waves
On the shores of the great North Sea
Oh, but had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Calv 'ry
The graves we would keep
where the Finians sleep
Need the shroud of the foggy dew
Ride proudly, high our Dublin town,
Did they hang out the flag of war?
For was bad to die neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sudalbar
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurry and throw
And Britannia's hounds
with their long -range guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew
Well, the bravest fell,
and the requiem fell,
Rang mournfully and clear,
For those that died that Easter tide,
In the spring ing of the year.
And the world did gaze with deep amaze
at those fearless men and few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
would shine through the foggy
dew
Who bought the fight that
freedom's light
Would shine through the foggy door?
you