The Foggy Dew
Traditional Irish
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As | down the glen one E | aster morn to a | city | fair rod | e I, |
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Th | ere armed lines of m | arching men in | squadrons | passed me | by; |
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N | o pipe did hum, nor | battle | drum did sound it's lo | ud tatto | o, |
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But the | Angelus bell o'er the | Liffey's swell rang | out through the | Foggy | Dew. |
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Right | proudly high o'er | Dublin Town they | hung out the | flag of | war, |
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Twas | better die neath an | Irish sky than at | Suvla or | Sud El | Bar; |
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And | from the plains of | Royal | Meath strong men came | hurrying | through, |
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While | Brittania's Huns, with their | long range guns, sailed | in through the | Foggy | Dew. |
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O, the | night fell black, and the | rifles crack made " | Perfidious | Albion" | reel, |
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'Mid the | leaden rain, seven | tongues of flame did | shine o'er the | lines of | steel; |
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By each | shinning blade a | prayer was said that to | Ireland her | sons be | true, |
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And when | morning broke still the | war flag shook out it's | folds in the | Foggy | Dew. |
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'Twas | England bade our | Wild Geese go that | small nations | might be | free, |
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But their | lonely graves are by | Suvla's waves or the | fringe of the | Great North | Sea. |
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Oh | had they died by | Pearse's | side or had fought with | Cathal Bru | gha, |
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Their | names we'd keep where the | Fenians sleep, 'neath the | shroud of the | Foggy | Dew |
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But the | bravest fell, and the | requiem bell rang m | ournfully | and | clear, |
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For | those who died the | Eastertide in the | springtime of | the | year. |
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While the | world did gaze with | deep | amaze at those fearless | men but | few, |
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Who | bore the fight that | freedom's light might | shine through the | Foggy | Dew, |
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Back | through the glen I | rode again, and my | heart with | grief was | sore, |
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For I | parted then with | valient men who I | never | shall see | more; |
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But | to and from in my | dreams I | go, and I'd kneel and | pray for | you, |
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For | slavery fled, O | glorious dead when you | fell in the | Foggy | Dew. |