The Nightingale

As I went a-walking one morning in May,
I met a young couple who fondly did stray;
And one was a young maid so sweet and so fair,
And the other one was a soldier and a brave grenadier —

And they kissed so sweet and comforting as they clung to each other;
They went arm in arm along the road like sister and brother;
They went arm in arm along the road till they came to a stream,
And they both sat down together to hear the nightingale sing.

And out from his knapsack he took a fine fiddle;
And he played her such merry tunes that you ever did hear;
And he played her such merry tunes that the valley did ring;
And they both sat down togther to hear the nightingale sing.

“Oh soldier, oh soldier, will you marry me?”
“Oh no”, said the soldier, “that never can be.
For I’ve a wife already in my own country.
And she is the sweetest maiden that you ever did see.”

Now I’m off to India for seven long years,
Drinking wines and strong whisky instead of strong beer.
And when I return again it will be in the Spring —
And we’ll both sit down together to hear the nightingale sing.

Two weeks; not seven years. In any case, there’ll be no more posting to the weblog until the New Year. In the meantime, please send in your nominations for the book, film, album, popular hero\ine and enthusiastic nonsectarian online socialist publication of the year, and I’ll sift through the entries and make the appropriate awards when I get home.

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