‘Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I
There armoured ranks of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No fife did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell
Rang out through the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out the flag of war.
It was better to die 'neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men, they came hurrying through
While Brittania's huns with their long-range guns
Sailed on through the foggy dew.
'Twas Britannia bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
Or the shores of the grey North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew (2)