Push for PORTER

izquierdaThe Foggy Dewderecha

As down the glen one Easter morn,
to a city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men,
in squadron passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum
did sound its dread tattoo
But, the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell,
rang out in the Foggy Dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town,
they hung out the flag of war
Far 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 long range guns,
sailed in by 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 grey 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 hills of the Foggy Dew

The bravest fell and the requiem bell
rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter tide
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

Back to the glen I rode again
though 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 they go
and I kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O Glorious Dead
when you fell in the foggy dew