Traditional - The foggy dew - ноты, текст песни (слова)

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 pipe did hum nor battle drum
 did sound its loud tattoo.
 But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell
 rang out through the foggy dew.
 
 Right 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-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.
 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 clear
 for those who died that Easter tide
 in the spring time 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.