T'was down to Glen one Easter morn' To a city fair o'd I Those armoured lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its dread tattoo But the Angela's bells, o'er the leafy swell Rang out o'er the foggy dew Quite proudly high over Dublin town They hung out the flag of war T'was better to die neath an Irish guy Than at Suvla or Suvdelbar And from the plains of Royal Mead Strong men came hurrying through While the Britannia's hounds with their long-range guns Sailed out o'er the foggy dew As England fade, our wild geese go That small nation might be free But their lonely graves are by Suvla's way On the fringe of the great North Sea Oh, had they died by Pearse's side A fog with cowl brew Their names we would keep where the Fenians sleep Neath the shroud of the foggy dew But the bravest fell as the Requiem's bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died at Eastertide In the springtime of the year And the world did gaze with deep amaze At those fearless men but few Who bore the fight so that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew And back through the glen I rode again And my heart with grief was sore For I parted then with valiant men Whom I never will see no more But to and fro in my dreams I'd go And I'd kneel and pray for you For slavery fled, O glorious dead When you fell in the foggy dew