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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 nor battle drum,
Did sound its dread 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,
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky,
Than at Suvla or Sudelbar;
And from the plains of royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in by the Foggy Dew

But the bravest fell and the sullen bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter Tide
In the springing of the year.
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
On those fearless men but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light,
Might shine through the Foggy Dew

Back to the glen I rode again,
And my heart with grief was sore,
For I parted then from valiant men
I never would see more;
But to and fro in my dreams I go,
And I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O! rebel dead
When you fell in the Fogy Dew.
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