In 1919, three years before partial Irish Independence, Canon O'Neill attended the first sitting of the new
Parliament known as the Dáil. The names of the elected were called out but many were absent and answered by
others with a reply of "faoi ghlas ag na Gaill" meaning "locked up by the foreigner". Some time later he wrote
the Foggy Dew, a song that tells the story of the Easter Rising but more importantly, reflecting the thoughts
of many Irish nationalists at the time who had come to believe that the Irishmen who fought for Britain during
the war should have stayed at home and fought for Irish independence instead.  O'Neill sums up this feeling in
the lines: ‘Twas far better to die ‘neath an Irish sky, Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar." (Sulva Bay, is in
modern Turkey, where the Dublin Fusiliers landed in 1915.

For Am and C use hammer ons and pull off in sync with your strumming. For my G I use the three finger version
as I feel is sounds more traditional and rougher for Irish songs. A four finger G is too rich IMO but to each
their own.

[Verse 1]

            
As down the gl

             
en one Easter 

           
morn to a city

         
 fair rode I,
            
There armed li

             
nes of marchin

           
g men in squad

            
rons passed me


 by;
             
No pipe did hu

             
m, nor battle 

           
drum did sound

            
 it's loud tat

   
too,
            
But the Angelu

              
s bell o'er th

           
e Liffey's swe

              
ll rang out th

            
rough the Fogg

           
y Dew.


[Verse 2]

            
Right proudly 

             
high o'er Dubl

           
in Town they h

             
ung out the fl

     
ag of war,
            
Twas better di

             
e neath an Iri

            
sh sky than at

            
 Suvla or Sud 

  
El Bar;
             
And from the p

             
lains of Royal

           
 Meath strong 

             
men came hurry

    
ing through,
            
While Brittani

              
a's sons, with

             
 their long ra

            
nge guns, sail

             
ed in through 

                      
the Foggy Dew.


[Verse 3]

            
O, the night f

              
ell black, and

            
 the rifles cr

            
ack made "Perf

             
idious Albion"

  
 reel,
            
'Mid the leade

              
n rain, seven 

            
tongues of fla

            
me did shine o

             
'er the lines 

     
of steel;
             
By each shinni

              
ng blade a pra

           
yer was said t

             
hat to Ireland

            
 her sons be t


rue,
            
And when morni

              
ng broke still

             
 the war flag 

            
shook out it's

            
 folds in the 

      
Foggy Dew.


[Verse 4]

            
'Twas England 

             
bade our Wild 

           
Geese go, that

              
 small nations

        
 might be free

,
            
But their lone

              
ly graves are 

           
by Suvla's wav

             
es or the frin

             
ge of the Grea

       
t North Sea.
             
Oh had they di

             
ed by Pearse's

           
 side or had f

             
ought with Cat

        
hal Brugha,
            
Their names we

              
'd keep where 

           
the Fenians sl

             
eep, 'neath th

              
e shroud of th

               
e Foggy Dew


[Verse 5]

            
But the braves

              
t fell, and th

           
e requiem bell

            
 rang mournful

       
ly and clear,
            
For those who 

             
died the Easte

           
rtide in the s

             
pringtime of t

   
he year.
             
While the worl

              
d did gaze wit

           
h deep amaze a

             
t those fearle

           
ss men but few


,
            
Who bore the f

             
ight that free

            
dom's light mi

             
ght shine thro

            
ugh the Foggy 

  
Dew,


[Verse 6]

            
Back through t

             
he glen I rode

            
 again, and my

            
 heart with gr

       
ief was sore,
            
For I parted t

             
hen with valia

           
nt men who I n

             
ever shall see

    
 more;
             
But to and fro

             
m in my dreams

           
 I go, and I'd

             
 kneel and pra

     
y for you,
            
For slavery fl

             
ed, O glorious

            
 dead when you

            
 fell in the F

    
oggy Dew.