Foggy Dew As down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I. When Ireland's line of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its loud tattoo But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell Rang out in the foggy, foggy dew. Right proudly high over Dublin town They hung out the flag of war. For '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 Brittania's huns with their long range guns Sailed in through the foggy, foggy dew. There The bravest fell, and the requiem bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died on that Easter 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, foggy dew. Back down 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 kneel and pray for you, For slavery fled, O glorious dead When you fell in the foggy, foggy dew.

© 2005 Jonathan Ramsey Irish Music Productions