Скачать с ютуб The Irish Peasant Girl [ft. AmaLee] ► Celtic Song by MandoPony в хорошем качестве

The Irish Peasant Girl [ft. AmaLee] ► Celtic Song by MandoPony

MandoPony presents "The Irish Peasant Girl" - a poem by Charles Joseph Kickham, with music composed by Andrew Stein & featuring vocals by AmaLee! ITUNES ► https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/the... SPOTIFY ► https://open.spotify.com/album/5NpUIO... GOOGLE PLAY ► https://play.google.com/store/music/a... AMAZON ► https://www.amazon.com/Irish-Peasant-... I absolutely adore this poem, and have wanted to turn it into a song for a while. Luckily my good friend AmaLee agreed to lend her fantastic vocals to this, and turned in a magical performance. I really hope you enjoy this song as much as I enjoyed working on it! FOLLOW AMALEE ON... YOUTUBE ►    / leeandlie   TWITTER ►   / amaamaleelee   INSTAGRAM ►   / amaamaleelee   Also I want to say THANK YOU to Chelsey for the absolutely gorgeous artwork -- you nailed it!! YOU'RE THE BEST! FOLLOW CHELSEY ON... TWITTER ►   / chebitz   TUMBLR ► http://chebits.tumblr.com/tagged/my%2... ________________________ LYRICS: She lived beside the Anner, At the foot of Slievna-man, A gentle peasant girl, With mild eyes like the dawn; Her lips were dewy rosebuds; Her teeth of pearls rare; And a snow-drift 'neath a beechen bough Her neck and nut-brown hair How pleasant was to meet her On Sunday when the bell Was filling with its mellow tone Lone wood and grassy dell, And when at eve young maidens Strayed the river bank along, The widow's brown-haired daughter, Was loveliest of the throng O brave, brave Irish girls- We well may call you brave!- Sure the least of all your perils Is the stormy ocean wave, When you leave our quiet valleys, And cross the Atlantic's foam To hoard your hard-won earnings, For the helpless ones at home. "Write word to my own dear mother, Say we'll meet with God above; And tell my little brothers, I send them all my love; May the angels ever guide them Is their dying sister's prayer"- And folded in a letter Was a braid of nut-brown hair Ah cold and well-nigh callous, This weary heart has grown, For thy helpless fate, dear Ireland And for sorrows of my own Yet a tear, my eye will moisten When by Anner side I stray, For the lily of the mountain foot, That withered far away ___________________________________________