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• Artiste: Young Dubliners, the
• Titre: The Foggy Dew
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Twas down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I Those armored lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by No fife did hum no battle drum did sound it's dread tattoo But the Angelus bells o'er the Liffey swell rang out o'er 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 Sulva or Sud El Bar And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed out o'er through the foggy dew 'Twas England bade our Wild Geese fly that small nations might be free But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the fringe of the Great 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 But the bravest fell, as the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time 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