«Foggy Dew» (eller «The Foggy Dew») er navnet på flere ballader.
Foggy, Foggy Dew[rediger | rediger kilde]
Den eldste versjonen, som også kalles «Foggy, Foggy Dew», er en sorgfull ballade om en ung elsker. Den ble publisert i England omkring 1815, men for de fleste er den kjent gjennom Burl Ives' versjon fra 1940-årene. Ives hevdet at sangen hadde sitt opphav i Amerika i kolonitiden, men det er ikke noen støtte for dette i kildene. Han ble engang arrestert i Mona i Utah for å synge den offentlig, ettersom myndighetene mente den var uanstendig.
When I was a bachelor, I liv'd all alone
I worked at the weaver's trade
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime
Part of the summer, too
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
One night she knelt close by my side
When I was fast asleep.
She threw her arms around my neck
And she began to weep.
She wept, she cried, she tore her hair
Ah, me! What could I do?
So all night long I held her in my arms
Just to keep her from the foggy foggy dew.
Again I am a bachelor, I live with my son
We work at the weaver's trade.
And every single time I look into his eyes
He reminds me of that fair young maid.
He reminds me of the wintertime
Part of the summer, too,
And the many, many times that I held her in my arms
Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy, dew.
En irsk versjon av sangen begynner med linjene:
When I was a bachelor, airy and young, I followed the roving trade,
And the only harm that ever I did was courting a servant maid.
I courted her all summer long, and part of the winter, too
And many's the time I rode my love all over the foggy dew.''
Axel Schiøtz, tenor Herm D. Koppel piano akk. spilte den inn i København 7. mai 1951. Den ble utgitt på 78-platene His Master's Voice X 8009 og på His Master's Voice A.L. 3204. Arrangør var Benjamin Britten.
Irsk sørgevise[rediger | rediger kilde]
«Foggy Dew» er også en sørgevise fra Irland, av ukjent datering. Teksten nedenfor er hentet fra 1931-utgaven av The Home and Community Songbook.
Oh, a wan cloud was drawn o'er the dim weeping dawn
As to Shannon's side I return'd at last,
And the heart in my breast for the girl I lov'd best
Was beating, ah, beating, how loud and fast!
While the doubts and the fears of the long aching years
Seem'd mingling their voices with the moaning flood:
Till full in my path, like a wild water wraith,
My true love's shadow lamenting stood.
But the sudden sun kiss'd the cold, cruel mist
Into dancing show'rs of diamond dew,
And the dark flowing stream laugh'd back to his beam,
And the lark soared aloft in the blue;
While no phantom of night but a form of delight
Ran with arms outspread to her darling boy,
And the girl I love best on my wild throbbing breast
Hid her thousand treasures with cry of joy.
Påskeopprøret[rediger | rediger kilde]
En annen sang ved navn «Foggy Dew», også kjent som «Down the Glen», som kanskje har blitt den best kjente for mange, handler om påskeopprøret i Irland i 1916. Den er attribuert til Charles O'Neill. Det finnes ikke beviser for noen av attribueringene.
Teksten finnes i en rekke versjoner, og fremføres ofte i forkortet versjon. De fleste av de større irske folkemusikkgruppene har spilt den inn, som The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, The Dubliners, The Chieftains (med Sinéad O'Connor som vokalist), Shane MacGowan, The Battering Ram, og Wolfe Tones.
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 pipe did hum nor battle drum did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's 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 Suvla 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
'T'was 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.
Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds the foggy dew
Oh the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time 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
As 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, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.