zaman tüneli

as down the glen one easter morn to a city fair rode ı.
there armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
no pipe did hum no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo.
but the angelus bell o'er the liffey's swells rang out in the foggy dew!

right proudly high in dublin town they hung out a flag of war.
'twas better to die 'neath an ırish 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!

oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made perfidious albion reel.
ın 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 ıreland her sons be true!
but when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew!

'twas england bade our wild geese go, "that small nations might be free"
but their lonely graves are by suvla's waves, or the fringe of the great north sea.
oh, had they died by pearse's side or fought with cathal brugha,
their names we'd keep where the fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew!

their bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear,
for those who died that eastertide in the springing of the year.
while the world did gaze, with deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few.
who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew!

and back through the glen ı rode again, my heart with grief was sore.
for ı parted then with valiant men whom ı shall never see n'more.
but to and fro in my dreams ı go and ı kneel and pray for you.
for slavery fled, o glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew!