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September
Friday the 12th

THE NIGHTINGALE SONG

Friday, 2:38 PM
One morning, one morning, one morning in May,
I spied a young couple, just making their way.
Now, one was a soldier, and a brave one was he,
And the other was a lady, and a fine one was she.

And it’s “Where are you going?” said the soldier, so free.
“I’m going to yon river; it’s flowing for me.
Going down to yon river, and sit by that spring,
And watch the water gliding, hear the nightingale sing.”

And, “May I go with you as you journey along?
If I’m to go with you, I’ll sing you a song.
I’ll sing the old Concordance, and I’ll make my fiddle ring.
Then we’ll watch the water glide and hear the nightingale sing.”

Said the lady to the soldier, “I’m lonesome and blue,
And I think from your actions that you’re lonesome, too.
We’ll just walk together, then we’ll sit by that spring,
And we’ll watch the water glide and hear the nightingale sing.”

Now after they’d been there for an hour or two,
Out from his satchel a violin he drew.
He played the old Concordance; oh, he made that fiddle ring,
Then he'd watch the water glide and hear the nightingale sing.

Said the soldier to the lady, “It’s time I should go.”
“Oh, no,” cried the lady, “Play me just one tune more,
For I had rather hear your fiddle, or just tap a string,
Than to watch the water gliding and hear the nightingale sing.”

So he tuned his old fiddle to a much higher key.
He played the Shamrock of Erin--oh, he played it so free.
He played the Shamrock of Erin, and he made his fiddle ring.
Then they watched the water gliding, hear the nightingale sing.

Said the lady to the soldier, “Will you marry me?”
“Oh, no, my fair lady, this never could be.
I have a wife in Scotland with children twice three,
And that, with the army, is plenty for me.”

“Goodbye,” said the soldier, with a parting caress.
“Tomorrow I must be at the throne of Queen Bess,
But when I come back, it will be to this spring,
Then we’ll watch the water glide and hear the nightingale sing.”

“Goodbye,” said the lady, and she gave him her hand.
“I’ll think of you often in Ireland’s fair land,
For I had rather hear your fiddle, or just tap a string,
Than to watch the water glide and hear the nightingale sing.”
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