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This song was written by Father P O’Neill paying tribute to the men and women who fought and died in the Easter rising of 1916 in Dublin.
Added two verses (which we don’t usually sing) from Guthrum.
Am#5add5 x03210
Foggy Dew, The
by Father P O’Neill
‘Twas [Am] down the glen one [G] Easter morn
To a [Am] city [Am#5add5] fair rode [Am] I.
When [Am] Ireland’s line of [G] marching men
In [Am] squadrons [Am#5add5] passed me [Am] by.
No [C] pipe did hum, no [G] battle drum
Did [C] sound its dread [Am] tattoo
But the [Am] Angelus bell o’er the [G] Liffey’s swell
Rang [Am] out in the [Am#5add5] foggy [Am] dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of war.
‘Twas 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 sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.
‘Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
Their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse’s side
Or fought with Gathal Bruga,
Their graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep
‘Neath the hills 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
The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springing of the year.
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light
Might shine through the foggy dew.
As back through the glen I rode again 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 kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.
To a [Am] city [Am#5add5] fair rode [Am] I.
When [Am] Ireland’s line of [G] marching men
In [Am] squadrons [Am#5add5] passed me [Am] by.
No [C] pipe did hum, no [G] battle drum
Did [C] sound its dread [Am] tattoo
But the [Am] Angelus bell o’er the [G] Liffey’s swell
Rang [Am] out in the [Am#5add5] foggy [Am] dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of war.
‘Twas 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 sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.
‘Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
Their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse’s side
Or fought with Gathal Bruga,
Their graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep
‘Neath the hills 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
The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springing of the year.
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light
Might shine through the foggy dew.
As back through the glen I rode again 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 kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.