THE FOGGY DEW
Anno: 1921
Gruppo:
Musica: (Anonimo)Testo: Canon Charles O’Neill
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As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I,
There armoured lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum, did sound it's loud tatoo.
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey’s swell, rang out through the foggy drew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town they flung out the flag of war'
'Twas better to die ìneath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud el Bar;
And from the planes of Royal Meath strong men came hurring through,
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns, sailed in through the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese "Go that small nations might be free"
But their lonely names are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North See.
Oh, have they died by Pearse's side, or have fought with the noble Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'll keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully loud and clear
for those who died that Easter tide in the spring time of the year
While the word did gaze with deep arnaze, at those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine throught the foggy dew.
______________________________________
II VERSIONE
(si differenzia per l’aggiunta della IV e della VI strofa)
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I,
There armoured lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum, did sound it's loud tatoo.
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey’s swell, rang out through the foggy drew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town they flung out the flag of war'
'Twas better to die ìneath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud el Bar;
And from the planes of Royal Meath strong men came hurring through,
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns, sailed in through the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese "Go that small nations might be free"
But their lonely names are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North See.
Oh, have they died by Pearse's side, or have fought with the noble Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'll keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made Perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully loud and clear
for those who died that Easter tide in the spring time of the year
While the word did gaze with deep arnaze, at those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine throught the foggy dew.
And back to the glen I rode againm 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 kneed and I prey for you.
For slavery fled, oh glorious dead, when you fell
in the foggy dew.
There armoured lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum, did sound it's loud tatoo.
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey’s swell, rang out through the foggy drew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town they flung out the flag of war'
'Twas better to die ìneath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud el Bar;
And from the planes of Royal Meath strong men came hurring through,
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns, sailed in through the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese "Go that small nations might be free"
But their lonely names are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North See.
Oh, have they died by Pearse's side, or have fought with the noble Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'll keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully loud and clear
for those who died that Easter tide in the spring time of the year
While the word did gaze with deep arnaze, at those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine throught the foggy dew.
______________________________________
II VERSIONE
(si differenzia per l’aggiunta della IV e della VI strofa)
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I,
There armoured lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum, did sound it's loud tatoo.
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey’s swell, rang out through the foggy drew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town they flung out the flag of war'
'Twas better to die ìneath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud el Bar;
And from the planes of Royal Meath strong men came hurring through,
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns, sailed in through the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese "Go that small nations might be free"
But their lonely names are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North See.
Oh, have they died by Pearse's side, or have fought with the noble Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'll keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made Perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully loud and clear
for those who died that Easter tide in the spring time of the year
While the word did gaze with deep arnaze, at those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine throught the foggy dew.
And back to the glen I rode againm 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 kneed and I prey for you.
For slavery fled, oh glorious dead, when you fell
in the foggy dew.