As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I,
Where armed lines of proudly marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No pipes did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo.
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin town they hoisted up the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky that at Suvle 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.

Oh the night fell black and the rifles' crack made "Perfidious Albion" reel
'Mid the leaden rain 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'
When the morning broke still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew.

'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go so that small nations might be free,
But 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 had fought with Cathal Brugha,
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang out mournfully and clear
For those who died that water tide in the springtime of the year
While 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.