The Foggy Dew

This is a haunting, melodious Irish tune that my family found, and the lyrics were so beautiful that I thought they could go on their own—maybe read like a poem, or something; that's why I thought I might share the lyrics on the blog.

The Foggy Dew
by Canon Charles O'Doyle.
(Written about the Easter Uprising of 1916).

As down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I,
There armed lines of marching men
In squadrons pass me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus' bells o'er the Liffey swells
Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin town
Hung they 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 Brittania's Huns with their long-ranged guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew.

O' the night fell black and the rifles' crack
Made "Perfidious Abion" reel
'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame
Did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said
That to Ireland her sons be true,
And when morning broke still the war-flag shook
Out its fold in the foggy dew.

'Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
On the fringe of the gray North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Cathal Brugha,
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

The bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died at Easter-tide
In the springing of the year.
While the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight 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 shall 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.

(Posted by Ruby).