cureelise

The Foggy Dew

Fr. O'Neill


And down the glen one Easter morn; to a city fair rode
I
When Ireland's lines of marching men; in squadrons
passed me by
No pipe did hum; and no battle drum, did sound it's
brave tattoo
But the Angelus bells o'er the Liffey swells; rang out
in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin Town; hung they out the
flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky; then at Suvla
or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath; strong men came
hurrying through;
While Brittania's huns with their long-range guns;
sailed in through the foggy dew.

O the night fell black and the rifles' crack; made
"Perfidious Albion" reel
'Mid the leaden hail, seven tongues of flame; did
shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade, a prayer was said; that to
Ireland her sons be true
And when morning broke; still the war flag shook out
its fold in 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
But had they died by Pearse's side; or had fought with
Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'd keep, where the Fenians sleep;
'neath the hills 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, with 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 no more
But to and fro in my dreams I go; and I kneel and pray
for you;
For slavery fled, O glorious dead; when you fell in
the foggy dew.