¥Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When Ireland´s line of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus bell o´er the Liffey´s swell
Rang out in the foggy 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
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