John Barleycorn − Breizh Partitions
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Breizh Partitions

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Breizh Partitions

John Barleycorn

Sonaozour Hengounel (1909)
Kempennadur Gustav von Holst
Orin EuropaEuropa > Rouantelezh-UnanetRouantelezh-Unanet > Bro-SaozBro-Saoz > HampshireHampshire
Rummad Son
Benvegoù Mouezh, piano
Tonegezh Re minor
Lusk 2/4
Niver a bellgargañ 22624
Aotre-implijout Domani foran Domani foran

Pellgargañ

Furmad Pellgargañ Ment
LilyPond John_Barleycorn_1_3.ly  7.48 Kio
  John_Barleycorn_2_3.ly  7.48 Kio
  John_Barleycorn_3_3.ly  6.48 Kio
pdf John_Barleycorn.pdf  65.83 Kio
midi John_Barleycorn.mid  4.09 Kio
txt John_Barleycorn.txt  2.14 Kio

John_Barleycorn.mid

John Barleycorn - 1 John Barleycorn - 2
    There was three kings into the east,
      Three kings both great and high,
    And they hae sworn a solemn oath
      John Barleycorn should die.

    They took a plough and plough'd him down,
      Put clods upon his head,
    And they hae sworn a solemn oath
      John Barleycorn was dead.

    But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
      And show'rs began to fall;
    John Barleycorn got up again,
      And sore surpris'd them all.

    The sultry suns of Summer came,
      And he grew thick and strong,
    His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
      That no one should him wrong.

    The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
      When he grew wan and pale;
    His bending joints and drooping head
      Show'd he began to fail.

    His coulour sicken'd more and more,
      He faded into age;
    And then his enemies began
      To show their deadly rage.

    They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
      And cut him by the knee;
    Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,
      Like a rogue for forgerie.

    They laid him down upon his back,
      And cudgell'd him full sore;
    They hung him up before the storm,
      And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

    They filled up a darksome pit
      With water to the brim,
    They heaved in John Barleycorn,
      There let him sink or swim.

    They laid him out upon the floor,
      To work him farther woe,
    And still, as signs of life appear'd,
      They toss'd him to and fro.

    They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
      The marrow of his bones;
    But a Miller us'd him worst of all,
      For he crush'd him between two stones.

    And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
      And drank it round and round;
    And still the more and more they drank,
      Their joy did more abound.

    John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
      Of noble enterprise,
    For if you do but taste his blood,
      'Twill make your courage rise.

    'Twill make a man forget his woe;
      'Twill heighten all his joy:
    'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
      Tho' the tear were in her eye.

    Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
      Each man a glass in hand;
    And may his great posterity
      Ne'er fail in old Scotland! 

Ar skridou muzik zo var ar sit-mañ ’peus moaien pellkargañ evid netra ; koulskoude, an toniou ha ne teuont ket deuz ar bobl a hell bea dindan gwirioù-eilañ.
Ma kav deoh zo eur skridoù-sonerezh ha n’eo ket ba e leh war al lec’hienn-mañ, skrivet din ha me a lamo aneañ dioustu.