Solitary Reaper, The Solitary Reaper, The |
|
Solitary Reaper, TheSolitary Reaper, The
Solitary Reaper, The
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
No sweeter voice was ever heard
In spring - time from the cuckoo - bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far - off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to - day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again!
Whate`er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o`er the sickle bending;
I listen`d, till I had my fill;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.
|