Foggy Dew - Beltaine

It was down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I

There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by

And no fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it’s dread tatoo

But the Angelus bell over the Liffey swell rang in through the foggy dew

Right proudly high in Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war

It was 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 in through the foggy

dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go that small nations might be free

But their lonely graves are by Sulva’s waves or the shore of the Great North Sea

Oh, have 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, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear

For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year

And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few

Who bore the fight so freedom’s light might shine through the foggy dew