The Foggy Dew

Originale

Libera trasposizione italiana di Alberto Cesa

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.

THE FOGGY DEW Era il giorno di pasqua e scendevo giu’ sulla strada per la mia citta’ quando vidi nascosti nella bruma del mattino mille uomini marciare per l’Irlanda E nell’aria non c’eran cornamuse e tamburi solo i passi che battevan la sterpaglia mentre al colle di Liffey la campana suonava come il tuono che attraversa la battaglia Con orgoglio scoprii che a sfidare il destino sventolavan le bandiere della guerra era meglio crepare sotto il cielo di Dublino che regalare il cuore all’Inghilterra Dalle verdi pianure di Royal Smith ogni uomo lasciava la dimora mentre i barbari inglesi con i loro fucili salpavan tra le nebbie dell’aurora Ma i piu’ forti morirono e la campana suono’ il canto triste della terra violentata mentre il vento tagliava il dolore nuovo e antico come una folle tremenda sciabolata Ed il mondo pensava quanto fossero strani questi uomini liberi e leali che morivan soltanto per riaccendere ancora la liberta’ nella bruma dell’aurora