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 tatoo
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

Ah, 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.