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, no battle drum   Did sound its loud tattoo,   But the Angelus Bells o'er the Liffey swells   Rang out in the foggy dew.      Right proudly high in Dublin town   Hung they out a flag of war.   T'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 Brittania's huns with their long-range guns   Sailed in through the foggy dew.      The bravest fell and the requiem bell   Rang mournfully and clear   For those who died that Eastertide   In the springing 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.      And back through the glen I rode again   And my heart with grief was sore   For I parted then with valient men   Whom I never shall see more.   But to and fro in my dreams I go   And I kneel and pray for you,   For slavery fled the glorious dead   When you fell in the foggy dew.