Right proudly high over 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.
O' the night fell back, and the rifle's
crack made 'Perfidious Albion' reel
'Mid the leaden rain seven tongues of flame
did shine o'er the lines of steel;
By each shing blade a prayer was said that
to Ireland her sons be true
And when morning broke still the war flag
shook out its folds in the Foggy Dew.
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go that
small nations might be free,
But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves
or the fringe of the great North Sea.
O, 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.
For the bravest fell, and the requiem bell
rang mournfully and clear,
For those who died that Eastertide in the
springtime of the year;
While the world did gaze, with deep amaze,
at those fearles 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
shall never 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 Dew.