Brian Jenkins

a song commemorating the Easter Rebellion, Dublin, 1916

One Easter morn, down through the glen, to a city fair rode I.
There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No fife did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo
But the angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they flung up a flag of war
For 'twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than to fall on a foreign shore.
And from the plains of loyal Meath, brave men came hurrying through
But Britannia's sons, with their long-range guns, shot them down in the
foggy dew.

'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that small nations might be free
And their lonely graves lie by Suvla's waves*, on the fringes of a distant
Oh, had they died by Connolly's side or fought with Paddy Pearse, too,
Then their graves we would keep where the Fenians sleep in the shroud of the
foggy dew.

The night hung black and the rifle's crack made perfidious Albion reel
And over the main, seven tongues of flame did shine on the lines of steel.
By each shining blade, a prayer was prayed 'Toward Ireland her sons be true'
And when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy

The bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For all who died that Eastertide in the springtime of the year.
And the world did gaze in great amaze at those valiant men but few
Who fought the fight that freedom's light might shine thro' the foggy dew.

Back to the glen I went again, though my heart with grief was sore
For I parted there with some gallant men that I never will see any more.
But to and fro in my dreams I'll go - and I'll watch and pray over you -
For slavery has fled, O you rebel dead, since you died in the foggy dew.

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