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(written in 1916 about the Irish rebellion;
.learned from Sing Out and at Teton Tea Party)

(music to go here)

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 fife did hum, no battledrum did sound its dread tattoo
But the angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly flown over Dublin town they hung 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 Britannia's sons, with their great guns, sailed in by the foggy dew.

The bravest fell and the sullen 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 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 DeValera too
Their place we'd keep, where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the hills of the foggy dew.

Back to the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then from valiant men that I never would see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and I pray for you
For slavery fled, oh, rebel dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)