An Awhesyth - Folk from the Boat - Episode 18 скачать в хорошем качестве

An Awhesyth - Folk from the Boat - Episode 18

A noisy episode in which Anna sings Cornish folk song 'An Awhesyth' (Cornish - 'the lark') with her Hurdy Gurdy. Please support my work here: www.patreon.com/AnnaTam Connect: www.annatam.co.uk www.facebook.com/annatammusic www.twitter.com/annatammusic www.instagram.com/tam.anna Del en-vy ow kerdhes un myttyn yn mys me, Y clewys moren yowynk, neb geryow yn-meth hy; 'A bup galwas yn bys kekemmys may vo, A'n araderor nyns yu par yn mys me ytho.' An awhesyth a dhyfun a'y nythva y'n myttyn, Y bron gans gluthennow war ayr gwyn del yskyn; An awhesyth ha'n maw aradar kescana 'yllons y, Dh'y nythva yn gorthewer mos wardhelergh a-wra hy. Yth yskynnys un myttyn mar ughel, ogh mar ughel, Y vyrys orth an le adro hag orth an ebren tewl; Yth esa hy ow cana yn mSrttyn oll adro, Nyns yu bewnans avel araderor un mys me ytho. Pan yu dewedhys oll whel a'n jeth yma dhodho, Dhe fer po encledhyans martesen yth ello; Y'n keth le y whra cana hag ena y whyban, Wosa henna dh'y gares whek a-dhre ef ryban. Sowyn dhe maw aradar pypynak may vons-y ' War'n glyn, neb mowes whek kemeres a whrons-y; Whybana a wrons ha cana, owth eva coref gell, Moy lowen yu'n tus ma es myghtern po'n gos ughel. As I was a walking one morning in May, I heard a young damsel them words did say; 'Of all the calling whatever they may be, No life is like the ploughboy's in the month of May.' The Lark in the morning awakes from her nest, And mounts the white air with the dew on her breast; O the lark and the ploughboy together can sing, And return to her nest in the evening. One morning she mounted so high oh so high, And looked around her, and at the dark sky; In the morning she was singing and thus was her lay, There's no life like the ploughboys in the month of May. When his day's work is over that he hath to do, O' then to a fair or a wake he will go, And there he will whistle and there he will sing, And then to his fair love a ribbon will bring. Good luck to the ploughboys wherever they be, They will take a sweet maid to sit on the knee; They'll drink the brown beer, they will whistle and sing, O the ploughboy's more happy than a noble or a king.