Song about the Easter Rising in Dublin 1916As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode IThere Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me byNo pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its dread tattooBut the Angelus Bell o’er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dewRight proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-BarAnd from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying throughWhile Britannia’s Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dewOh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made perfidious Albion reelIn the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o’er the lines of steelBy each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be trueBut when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that «small nations might be free»;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 graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clearFor those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the yearAnd 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 dewAs back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was soreFor I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see moreBut to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.