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 dewTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
