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 pipe did hum no battle drum did sound its dread tattoo but the angelus bells o er the liffey swells rang out of the foggy dew right proudly high over dublin town they 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 and while brittania s huns with their long range guns sailed out o er the foggy dew twas england bade our wild geese fly that small nations might be free their lonely graves are by suvla s waves and the fringe of the great north sea oh had they died by pearse s side or fought with cathal brugha their names we d keep where fenians sleep beneath 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 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 who bore the fight so that freedom s light might shine through the foggy dew might shine through the foggy dew might shine through the foggy dew