POEM OF THE DAY

WILLIAM Wordsworth was very much an admirer of Scotland and left a considerable volume of poems from his excursions there. This is one of the best known of these, with both a perfect simplicity and some memorable lines.

THE SOLITARY REAPER

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:

A voice so thrilling ne’er was 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 listened, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.