Barbara Dickson - The foggy dew

As down the glen one ^GEaster morn To a ^Amcity ^Gfair rode ^AmI As Ireland's lines of ^Gmarching men In ^Amsquadrons ^Gpassed me ^Amby No pipes did hum, no ^Gbattle ^Amdrum Did ^Gsound it's loud tat^Amtoo But the Angelus bell o'er the ^GLiffey's swell Rang ^Amout in the ^GFoggy ^AmDew

Right proudly high over ^GDublin Town They ^Amhung out the ^Gflag of ^Amwar For 'twas better to die 'neath an ^GIrish sky Than at ^AmSuvla or ^GSud El ^AmBar And from the plains of ^GRoyal ^AmMeath Strong men came ^Ghurrying ^Amthrough While Britannia's sons, with their ^Glong range guns Bore (^AmKowles) through the ^GFoggy ^AmDew

'Twas England bade our ^GWild Geese go That small ^Amnations ^Gmight be ^Amfree But their lonely graves are by ^GSuvla's waves Or the ^Amfringe of the ^Ggreat North ^AmSea And had they died by ^GPearse's ^Amside Or fought with the ^Gnoble Cathal ^AmBrugha Their names we would keep where the ^GFenian a' sleep 'Neath the ^Amshroud of the ^GFoggy ^AmDew

But the bravest fell and the ^Grequiem bell Rang ^Ammournful^Gly and ^Amclear For those who died that ^GEastertide In the ^Amspringtime ^Gof the ^Amyear While the world did gaze with ^Gdeep a^Ammaze At those fearless men ^Gbut ^Amtrue Who bore the fight that ^Gfreedom's light Might ^Amshine through the ^GFoggy ^AmDew