The foggy dew (Traditional)
- Editor: Adriano Secco (submitted 2012-06-23). Score information: A4, 6 pages, 72.5 kB Copyright: Personal
- Edition notes:
Title: The foggy dew
Composer: Anonymous (Traditional)
Original text and translations
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 pipe did hum nor battle drum
did sound its loud tattoo.
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's 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 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 in through the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go,
that small nations might be free.
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 graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
Oh the bravest fell and the Requiem bell
rang mournfully and clear
for those who died that Easter tide
in the spring time 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.