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作曲 : Derek Warfield |
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As down the glen one Easter morn |
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To a city fair rode I |
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There armoured lines of marching men |
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In squadrons passed me by |
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No pipe did hum, no battle drum |
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Did sound its loud tattoo |
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But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffy's swell |
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Rang out in the foggy dew |
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Right proudly high over Dublin town |
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They hung out the flag of war |
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'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky |
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Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar |
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And from the plains of Royal Meath |
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Strong men came hurrying through |
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While Brittania's huns with their long-range guns |
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Sailed in through the foggy dew |
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Oh the night fell black and the rifle's crack |
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Made perfidious Albion reel |
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Mid the leaded rain seven tongues of flame |
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Did shine o're the lines of steel |
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By each shining blade a prayer was said |
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That to Ireland her sons be true |
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When the morning broke still the war flag shook |
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Out its fold on the foggy dew |
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|
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It was England bade our wild geese go |
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That small nations might be free |
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But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves |
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On the fringe of the geart North Sea |
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Oh had they died by Pearse's side |
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Or fought with Cathal Bruagh |
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Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep |
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'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew |
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|
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But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell |
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Rang mournfully and clear |
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For those who died that Eastertide |
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In the springing of the year |
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While the world did gaze with deep amaze |
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At those fearless men but few |
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Who bore the fight that freedom's light |
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Might shine through the foggy dew |
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Then back through that glen I rode again |
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And my heart with grief was sore |
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For I parted then with valiant men |
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Whom I never shall see more |
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And back to and fro in dreams I'll go |
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And I'll kneel and pray for you |
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For slavery fled oh glorious dead |
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When you fell in the foggy dew |
