As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through 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 Suvla or at Sud-El-Bar
And from the plains of the Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their great big guns sailed through the foggy dew.
But the bravest fell, and the Requiem's bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time 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.
'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free";
But their lonely graves are by Suvla'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'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew.
(Kyrie, eleison...)
