Песня «Foggy Dew»
исполнителя Spiritual seasons.
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Текст песни:

As down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I,
Their 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' bells o'er the Liffey swells
Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin town
Hung they out a flag of war.
It was better to die beneath an Irish sky
Then at Suvla or Sud el Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through;
While Brittania's Huns with their long-range guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew.

'Twas England bade our wild geese go,
that «small nations might be free»;
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 graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep,
'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

The bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter-tide
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 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 kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled
Oh, glorious dead
When you fell in the foggy dew.

Другие песни исполнителя:

  • Oh, me name is Mick McGuire and I'll quickly tell to you Of a young girl I admired called Katy Donahue She was fair and fat and forty and believe me when I say That whenever I came in at the door you could hear her mammy say: "Johnny, get up from the fire, get up and give the man a sate Can't you see it's Mr McGuire and he's courting your sister Kate Ah, you know very well he owns a farm a wee bit out of the town Arragh, get up out of that, you impudent brat, and let Mr McGuire sit down" Now, the first time that I met her was at a dance at Tarmagee And I very kindly asked her if she'd dance a step with me Then I asked if I could see her home if I'd be going her way And whenever I come in at the door you could hear her mammy say: "Johnny, get up from the fire, get up and give the man a sate Can't you see it's Mr McGuire and he's courting your sister Kate Ah, you know very well he owns a farm a wee bit out of the town Arragh, get up out of that, you impudent brat, and let Mr McGuire sit down" Ah, but now that we are married, sure her mother's changed her mind Just because I spent the legacy her father left behind She hasn't got the decency to bid me time of day Now whenever I come in at the door you'd hear the old one say: "Johnny, come up to the fire, come up, you're sitting in the draft Can't you see it's old McGuire and he nearly drives me daft Ah, I don't know what gets into him, for he's always on the tare Arragh, just sit where you are and never you dare to give old McGuire the chair" Diddle e dowdle-owdle-owdle diddle e dowdle-owdle-ow Diddle e dowdle-owdle-owdle diddle e dowdle-owdle-ow "Ah, I don't know what gets into him, for he's always on the tare Arragh, just sit where you are and never you dare to give old McGuire the chair"
  • Skjøn jomfru gikk på høyen fjeld, så ned i den dype dal. der så hun et skip kom seilende, kom seilende tre grever var ombord. Den alle yngste greven som der på skipet var, han ville seg trolova, trolova, med meg så ung jeg var. Så tok han frem av fingeren sin en ring av gull så rød. så sagde han, skjøn pike, skjøn pike, den vill jeg giva deg. Da ungersvenden var bortreist kom der en annen igjen. som hennes hjerte behagede, behagede. og de kom så vel overens. Da ungersvenden dette fikk vite stor kummer i hjertet han fikk. han skiftede om sine kleder, sine kleder, og reiste dit bryllupet stod.
  • Lift Mac Cahir Og your face, You're broodin' o'er the old disgrace That Black Fitzwilliam stormed your place and drove you to the ferns Gray said victory was sure, And soon the firebrand he'd secure Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach McHugh O'Byrne Chorus: Curse and swear, Lord Kildare, Fiach will do what Fiach will dare Now Fitzwilliam have a care, Fallen is your star low Up with halbert, out with sword, on we go for, by the Lord Fiach McHugh has given the word "Follow me up to Carlow" See the swords of Glen Imaal, They're flashing o'er the English Pale See all the childer of the Gael, Beneath O'Byrne's banner Rooster of the fighting stock, Would you let a Saxon cock Crow out upon an Irish Rock, Fly up and teach him manners Chorus From Tassagart to Clonmore, There flows a stream of Saxon gore And great is Rory Og O'More At sending loons to Hades White is sick and Gray is fled, And now for black Fitzwilliam's head We'll send it over, dripping red to Liza and her ladies Chorus