‘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)