From the recording Whisperings
The Foggy Dew was requested many times at gigs and I gave it a go, but it took on a life of it's own for me once I brought the guitar for it into a different tuning called DADGAD. I go into a bit of a trance in this one thinking of an empty Dublin of a lonely Sunday morning when the Christchurch Bell rings down across the Liffey.
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 pipes did hum, no battle drum did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the 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 Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew
'Twas Brittania bade our Wild Geese go, that "small nations might be free"
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves on the shores of the great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we would keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that the 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 women and men I ne'er shall see more
And to and fro in my dreams I go, I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew.