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Shane MacGowan And Alan Stivell- The Foggy Dew
Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When armed line of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipes did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud 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 huns with their great big guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew.O’ the night fell black and the rifles’ crack
Made “Perfidious Abion” reel
‘Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame
Did shine o’er the lines of steel.
By each shining blade a prayer was siad
That to Ireland her sons be true,
And when morning broke still the war flag shook
Out its fold 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
On the fringe of the gray North Sea.
But 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.The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Watertide
In the springing of the year.
And 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.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.Uber Esme 8)
Perfect material for me to settle down to with my precious tumbler of Crested Ten nectar!
:P
x
Esme you are a very cool lady.
but couldn’t you have used the word ‘clique’ as is fashion this summer ffs
x
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCnpVNg-s3E
and as long as I belong tae Glesgie
tomorrow belongs to me !!Raised on songs and stories, heroes of reknown
The passing tales and glories, that once was Dublin town
The hallowed halls and houses, the haunting children’s rhymes
That once was part of Dublin, in the rare auld timesRing a Ring a Rosie
As the light declines
I remember Dublin city
In the Rare Auld timesOh me name it is Sean Dempsey, as Dublin as could be
Born hard and late in Pimlico in a house that’s ceased to be
By trade I was a cooper, lost out to redundancy
Like my house that fell to progress, my trade’s a memoryAnd I courted Peggy Dignam, as pretty as you please
A rogue and a child of Mary, from the rebel Liberties
I lost her to a student chap, with skin as black as coal
When he took her off to Birmingham, she took away my soulRing a Ring a Rosie
As the light declines
I remember Dublin city
In the Rare Auld timesOh the years have made me bitter, the gargle dims me brain
Cause Dublin keeps on changing and nothing seems the same
The Pillar and the Met have gone, the Royal long since pulled down
As the grey unyielding concrete makes a city of my townRing a Ring a Rosie
As the light declines
I remember Dublin city
In the Rare Auld timesFare thee well sweet Anna Liffey, I can no longer stay
And watch the new glass cages that spring up along the Quay
My mind’s too full of memories, too old to hear new chimes
I’m a part of what was Dublin, in the rare auld timesRing a Ring a Rosie
As the light declines
I remember Dublin city
In the Rare Auld timesRing a Ring a Rosie
As the light declines
I remember Dublin city
In the Rare Auld timesComposed by Pete St. John
Performed by The DublinersFrom the poem by Patrick Kavanagh, this is one of my favourite songs.
So much so, that I’ve included two wonderful versions here :)RAGLAN ROAD
Performed by
Luke Kelly
and
Sinead O’ConnorOn Raglan Road on an autumn day I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I passed along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
Oh I loved too much and by such by such is happiness thrown away.I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint without stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of MayOn a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had loved not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.You are a very cultured woman Esme, I enjoy your posts. :)
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