An alarc'h SON AR DAN

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  • Опубликовано: 17 ноя 2024

Комментарии • 9

  • @richarddecussy2668
    @richarddecussy2668 2 года назад

    Super groupe

  • @ybzher7420
    @ybzher7420 4 года назад +4

    Vraiment cool !!

  • @sonardanrockceltique7095
    @sonardanrockceltique7095  4 года назад +13

    A partager le plus possible!

  • @equilibri621
    @equilibri621 4 года назад +4

    chouette version

  • @juliedodier8784
    @juliedodier8784 4 года назад +4

    Super !

  • @bernezBzh29
    @bernezBzh29 2 года назад +2

    J'ai une autre explication pour ce qui est du cygne : Voyant le voilier arriver vent arrière, avec donc, sa grand-voile toute gonflée et son pavillon de mâture orienté vers l'avant, comme un bec, le barde présent sur place, y a vu un cygne, car les voiles étaient blanches. C'est assez aisé à imaginer : Le pavillon, puis la grand-voile gonflée vers l'avant, faisant la forme d'un cygne et la coque faisant le corps. Voici comment m'a été apprise la création de cette magnifique chanson, qui, effectivement, aurait gagné à être encore plus popularisée.

  • @lunigachastudio9361
    @lunigachastudio9361 4 года назад +3

    J'adore ton style 😊
    .......
    ................
    1,2k vues ?????? Je suis en position latérale de sécurité actuellement 😭 200 vues sur une de mes vidéos c mon grand max 🤤🤤🤤🤤 sinon on se revoit quand ? C pas gagné avec le voir même si maintenant on peut se déplacer à plus de 100kms...

  • @luizmenezes9971
    @luizmenezes9971 2 года назад +2

    Some dude returned in a boat and the french are screwed...
    And you made it epic...
    Lord John: I came here to chew bubble gum and kick french ass.
    *Spits*
    And I just ran out of bubble gum.

    • @georgethakur
      @georgethakur 2 года назад +1

      You should check out the lyrics for all 34 verses.
      A swan, a swan from the sea
      On the crown of Castle Armor's old tower

      Dinn, dinn, daoñ, to battle, to battle!
      Dinn, dinn, daoñ, I'm going to battle!

      Good tidings for the Bretons
      And red curse to the French!

      There sails a ship into the beach-harbour
      Her white sails are open wide, free

      Lord Yann is back
      He is back to defend his home

      We take the fight to the French
      Who fall upon the Bretons

      Such cries shout out loud
      The coast, the beach trembles

      Such is the song of the Mountains of Laz
      The white mare gallops, leaps with joy

      So happy is the song of the bells
      In a hundred places, in each town

      The sun is back; the summer is back
      The Lord Yann is back!

      Lord Yann is a good lad
      Quick-footed, as quick-witted

      The milk of a Breton raised him
      A milk healthier than wine of old

      His lance in full thrust shines
      All who look upon it fall blind

      His sword in full swing flies
      Man and horse are split in two

      Strike home, hold firm, Lord Duke!
      Strike -- boil their blood!

      When one combats as you do
      He has no Lord but God!

      Let us hold, Bretons, let us fight!
      No mercy, no rest -- blood for blood!

      Our Lady Mary, come defend your land!
      Our home is yours to command

      The hay is ripe; who will collect it?
      The wheat is ripe; who will reap it?

      The hay, the wheat, who'll take it?
      The king claims it for himself

      He shall come and reap Brittany
      Come and reap it with a silver scythe

      Come and mow our meadows with a silver scythe
      And reap our fields with a sickle of gold

      Would the French like to know
      If the Bretons are ripe for the picking?

      Would the Lord King like to find out
      If he is man or god?

      The wolves of Lower Brittany grind their teeth
      They hear the declaration of war

      They hear the clamour, they howl
      The smell of the French, they have caught

      On the roads, we'll soon see
      Blood flowing like water

      So red will the ducks' feathers become
      And the white swans that swim past

      Like twigs, we'll see spears scattered about
      But no branches will remain after the hurricane

      We'll see more skulls
      Than there are in the country's catacombs

      Where the French boys fall, there
      Until Judgment Day they will remain lying

      Until Judgment Day they will be judged and punished
      With them will be the traitor they followed

      Droplets from the trees
      Shall make the water that blesses his tomb!

      Honour, honour to the white-and-black
      And red curse to the French!