OOPS 02 The Foggy Dew
Father Charles O'Neill
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 pipes did hum no battle drum,
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell,
Rang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high in Dublin town
They flung out a 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 Huns with their great big guns,
Sailed in through the foggy dew.
O the night fell black and the rifles' crack
Made "perfidious Albion" reel
'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame
Did shine o'er the lines of steel;
By each shining blade, a prayer was said
That to Ireland her sons be true
And when morning broke still the war flag shook
Out its fold in 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
O 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.
But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that water tide
In the springtime 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.
Ah, back through the glen I rode again,
And my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men
Whom I never shall see more
But to and from in my dreams I go
And I'd kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead,
When you fell in the foggy dew.
Performer Thorvald Grimsson