To a city fair rode I.
 When Ireland?s line of marching men
 In squadrons passed me by.
   No pipe did hum, no battle drum
   Did sound its dread tattoo
   But the Angelus bell o?er the Liffey?s swell
   Rang out in the foggy dew.

 Right proudly high over Dublin town
 They hung out a 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 Brittania?s sons with their long-range guns
   Sailed in from the foggy dew.

 ?Twas England bade our wild geese go
 That small nations might be free.
 Their lonely graves are by Suvla?s waves
 On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
   But had they died by Pearse?s side
   Or fought with Gathal Bruga,
   Their graves we?d keep where the Fenians sleep
   ?Neath the hills of the foggy dew.

 The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
 Rang mournfully and clear
 For those who died that Eastertide
 In the springing of the year.
   And the world did gaze in deep amaze
   At those fearless men and true
   Who bore the fight that freedom?s light
   Might shine through the foggy dew