| Lyrics: | Twas 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 dread tattoo
But the Angelus bell o´er the Liffey´s swell
Rang out in
the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of
war.
´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 sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.
´Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
Their lonely
graves are by Suvla´s waves
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
But had they died
by Pearse´s side
Or fought with Gathal Bruga,
Their graves we´d keep where the
Fenians sleep
´Neath the hills of the foggy dew.
The bravest fell, and the
solemn 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
and true
Who bore the fight that freedom´s light
Might shine through the foggy
dew |
