Album: Seven Drunken Nights
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I When armed line 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’s swell
Rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung 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 Brittania’s huns with their great big 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 Suvla’s waves
On the fringe of the gray North Sea
But 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
The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Watertide
In the springing of the year
And 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