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Was down by the glen one Easter morn', to a city fair rode I
There armed lines 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 swell, rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin town, they hung out the flag of war
It was better to die âneath an Irish sky, than at Sulva or Sud el Bar
Then from the plains of the Royal
Meath, strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns with their long
range guns, sailed in through the foggy dew
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell, rang mournfully and clear
For those who died on that Eastertide, in the springtime of the year
And the world did gaze in deep amaze, and those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight so that
freedom's light, might shine in the foggy dew
Then back through the glen I rode
again, but my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men, 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 our glorious dead, when they fell in the foggy dew
For slavery fled our glorious dead, when they fled in the foggy dew