Lef mes a’n Mor − Breizh Partitions
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Breizh Partitions

Lef mes a’n Mor

Compositor Anthony Snell
Autor do texto Anthony Snell
Arranxista Seonaidh Morton
Transcrito por Seonaidh Morton
Lugar de orixe EuropaEuropa > Reino UnidoReino Unido > InglaterraInglaterra > CornuallesCornualles
Xénero Seguir
Instrumentos Guitarra, 2 vozes
Tonalidade La menor, mi menor
Ritmo 4/4
Tempo ♩=90
Licenza Copyright Copyright

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Formato Descargar Tamaño
midi Lef_mes_a’n_Mor.mid  9.09 Kio
txt Lef_mes_a’n_Mor.txt  1.87 Kio
pdf Lef_mes_a’n_Mor.pdf  67.48 Kio

Lef_mes_a’n_Mor.mid

Lef mes a’n Mor - 1 Lef mes a’n Mor - 2 Lef mes a’n Mor - 3 Lef mes a’n Mor - 4
Lev mes an Mor - Guth s a' Mhuir - Voice from the Sea

Pyskador yth edja	Yn tewlder ow moes
War drethow Por' Towan	War golow an nos.

Y klewas un spyrys	Ow krya yn yeyn:
"An eur yu devedhys,	Ha nynj yu an den"

An loer a wolowys	An karrygy hen,
"An eur yu devedhys,	Ha nynj yu an den"

Ha tergwyth yn awel	An lev a dhassen
"An eur yu devedhys,	Ha nynj yu an den"

Ynter an comol		Ha gwartha an vron
Tarosvan yn cugol	A sevy hep son

An gwynj a grehyllys	Y won truan du:
Y fyas war woles	Yn newlen dhislyw

Hag ena nynj edja	Saw golow an loer,
Hy dewyn ow kredna	War donnow an mor.
====================================================
Bha iasgaire ann	A' cumail a dhol san dorchadas
Air traighean Puirt Towan Ri solas na h-oidhche

Chuala e spiorad	A' gairm gu searbh
"Thinig an uair	Ach chan eil an duine"

Shoillsicheadh a' gheallach na seann chreagan
"Thinig an uair	Ach chan eil an duine"

Agus tr turais sa ghaoth shid an guth
"Thinig an uair	Ach chan eil an duine"

Eadar na sgothan	Agus os cionn a' bhrghad
Is taibhse le culladh	A sheasadh gun fhuaim

Chrith a' ghaoth	A ghn truagh dubh
Theich a-nuas		Do che bhn

Agus an sin cha robh	Ach solas na geallaich ann
A gath a' critheanach	Air tonnan na mara.
==============================================
There was a fisherman	walking in the dark
On Porth Towan beach	by the light of the night.

He heard a spirit	crying out bitterly:
"The hour is come,	but not the man".

The moon lit up		the ancient rocks.
"The hour is come,	but not the man".

And thrice on the breeze The voice echoed:
"The hour is come,	but not the man".

Between the clouds	and on top of the hill
A ghost in a hood	stood in silence.

The wind ruffled	its sad, black gown:
It fled downwards	into a colourless mist.

And then there was nothing save the light of the moon,
Its bean trembling	on the waves of the sea.

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