ARIZONA IRISH MUSIC SOCIETY

THE FOGGY DEW

            As down the glen one Easter morn 
            to a city fair rode I
            There armed lines of 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 flung out the 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 Britannia's huns with their great big guns 
            sailed in through the Foggy Dew.

            Oh, the night fell black and the rifles crack 
            made "Perfidious Albion" reel
            'Mid the leaden rail, 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
            And when morning broke still the war flag shook 
            out its fold in the Foggy Dew.

            'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go 
            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 mournfully and clear
            For those who died that watertide 
            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.

            Ah, back 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'd kneel and pray for you
            For slavery fled, O glorious dead, 
            when you fell in the Foggy Dew.