The Foggy Dew

Originale

This Irish struggle song for the Easter Rising reached as far...

THE FOGGY DEW As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo 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 Sulva 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 Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the shore of the Great North Sea Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew But the bravest fell, and the requiem 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, but few Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew. Ah, 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'd kneel and pray for you, For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew.

AR VORENN GLIZ (KANAOUENN DA HAROZED IWERZHON) En draonienn e tiskennen da vare Pask, gand va marc'h-red etrezeg kêr. Strolladoù gwazed gand armoù e-biou din a dremenas. Sioul e oant, binioù ebet na daboulin na zone. Med an Angelus war red al Liffey, a c'halve dre ar vorenn gliz! Gand lorc'h bet savet war gêr Dulenn banniel braz ar brezel. Gwelloc'h eo eun tamm mad mervel en e vro: kentoc'h Iwerzhon eged lec'h all! O tond euz plaenennoù Royal Meath, paotred yac'h' zibouke gand youc'h. Med soudarded Breiz-Veur, fuzulioù tennoù-hir, a dostae e-kuzh er vorenn gliz. En noz du an armoù a dennas evid mad: Ar Zaozon villiget gwallgaset! Dindan ar glao plom, seizh laonenn a dan o luc'hañ war al linennoù dir, a roe o sked gand bep a bedenn: "bezit feal Iwerzhoniz, atao!" Banniel ar brezel a jomas uhel ha sonn: fichal a rae er vorenn gliz. Pilet int bet ar re o doa nerzh-kalon, seni'r c'hlas a reas ar c'hloc'h, sklintin, evid ar re a varvas d'ar Bask-se — tud yaouank ha brao ken e oant. Ar bed-oll a jome bamet mad dirag an neubeud gwazed dispont, a stourmas evidomp da lakañ da barañ frankiz a-dreuz ar vorenn gliz!