44 lines
1.5 KiB
TeX
44 lines
1.5 KiB
TeX
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As down the glen one Easter morn \\
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To a city fair rode I \\
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There armed lines of marching men \\
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In squadrons passed me by \\
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No fife did hum nor battle drum \\
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Did sound it's dread tatoo \\
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But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell \\
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Rang out through the foggy dew \\
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Right proudly high over Dublin Town \\
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They hung out the flag of war \\
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'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky \\
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Than at Sulva or Sud El Bar \\
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And from the plains of Royal Meath \\
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Strong men came hurrying through \\
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While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns \\
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Sailed in through the foggy dew \\
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'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go \\
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That small nations might be free \\
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But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves \\
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Or the shore of the Great North Sea \\
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Oh, had they died by Pearse's side \\
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Or fought with Cathal Brugha \\
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Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep \\
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'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew \\
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But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell \\
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Rang mournfully and clear \\
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For those who died that Eastertide \\
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In the springing of the year \\
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And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, \\
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At those fearless men, but few \\
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Who bore the fight that freedom's light \\
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Might shine through the foggy dew \\
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Ah, back through the glen I rode again \\
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And my heart with grief was sore \\
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For I parted then with valiant men \\
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Whom I never shall see more \\
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But to and fro in my dreams I go \\
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And I'd kneel and pray for you, \\
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For slavery fled, O glorious dead, \\
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When you fell in the foggy dew \\
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