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 fife did hum nor battle [bad word] did sound it's dread tatoo 
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey 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 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 Britannia 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, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal [bad word] 
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 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 fro 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.