The Foggy Dew

As down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
There armoured lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffy's swell
Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out that 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 great big guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.

not sung by Galleon:

oh the night fell black and the rifle's crack
made perfidious Albion reel
mid the leaded rail seven tongues of flame
did shine o're the lines of steel
by each shining blade a prayer was said
that to Ireland her sons be true
when the morning broke still the war flag shook
out its fold on the foggy dew

not sung by Galleon:

it was 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 Cathal Bruagh,
Their graves we'd 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.
While the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew.

Was back through that glen I rode again
and my heart with grief was sore
for I parted then with valiant men
whom I never shall see no more
and back to and fro in my dreams I'll go
and I'll kneel and pray for you
oh slavery fled oh glorious dead
when you fell in the foggy dew