[00:00.000] 作曲 : Richard Rodgers/Lorenz Hart/Non Protected Shares
[00:16.102]As down the glen one Easter morn,
[00:22.281]to a city fair rode I.
[00:28.398]There armed lines of marching men,
[00:34.631]In squadrons passed me by.
[00:40.780]No fife did hum,
[00:43.426]no battle drum,
[00:46.542]Did sound it's dread tattoo.
[00:52.540]But the Angelus' bell over the Liffey swells,
[00:58.419]Rang out through the foggy dew.
[01:04.481]Right proudly high over Dublin town,
[01:10.370]They hung out the flag of war.
[01:16.340]'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky,
[01:22.259]Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar.
[01:28.285]And from the plains of Royal Meath,
[01:34.015]Strong men came hurrying through.
[01:39.814]While Brittania's Huns
[01:42.617]with their long range guns,
[01:45.539]Sailed in through the foggy dew.
[01:51.326]'Twas Brittannia bdde our Wild Geese go,
[01:57.306]That small nations might be free.
[02:02.926]But they lonely graves are by Sulva's waves.
[02:08.827]Or the shore of the Great North Sea.
[02:14.555]Oh,  had they died by Pearse's side
[02:20.227]Or fought with Cathal Brugha
[02:25.867]Their names we will keep,
[02:28.395]where the fenians sleep,
[02:31.231]Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
[02:36.773]But thr bravest fell, and the requiem bell,
[02:42.033]Rang mournfully and clear.
[02:47.564]For those who died that Easter tide,
[02:53.047]In the springing of the year.
[02:58.447]And the world did gaze,  in deep amaze.
[03:03.610]At those fearless men,  but few.
[03:08.805]Who bore the fight that freedom's light,
[03:14.106]Might shine thought the foggy dew.

作曲 : Richard Rodgers/Lorenz Hart/Non Protected Shares
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,
no battle drum,
Did sound it's dread tattoo.
But the Angelus' bell over the Liffey swells,
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 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 Brittannia bdde our Wild Geese go,
That small nations might be free.
But they 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 thr bravest fell, and the requiem bell,
Rang mournfully and clear.
For those who died that Easter tide,
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 thought the foggy dew.