As down the glen one Easter morn

to a city fair rode I 

There Armed lines of marching men

in squadrons passed me by

No fife 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

'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky

than at Sulva 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 in through the foggy dew 



'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go

that small nations might be free

But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves

or the shore 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 springing of the year

And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, 

at those fearless men, but few

Who bore the fight that freedom's light

might shine through the foggy dew 



Oh, back through the glen I rode again 

And my heart with grief was sore

For I parted then with valiant men

Whom I never shall see more

But to and fro in my dreams I go

And I'd kneel and pray for you, 

For slavery fled, O glorious dead, 

When you fell in the foggy dew.