THE+SOLITARY+REAPER

THE SOLITARY REAPER **//by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850) //**               EHOLD 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 <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Of travellers in some shady haunt, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Among Arabian sands: <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">A voice so shrilling ne'er was heard <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Breaking the silence of the seas <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Among the farthest Hebrides. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Will no one tell me what she sings?-- <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">For old, unhappy, far-off things, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">And battles long ago: <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Or is it some more humble lay, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Familiar matter of to-day? <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">That has been, and may be again? <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">As if her song could have no ending; <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">I saw her singing at her work, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">And o'er the sickle bending;-- <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">I listen'd, motionless and still; <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">And, as I mounted up the hill, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt;">The music in my heart I bore, <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Long after it was heard no more.

Wordsworth sighted a young girl belonging to the Highland region of Scotland, all by herself in the field, reaping and singing her song so melodiously to glory. Anyone who passes her by, would either completely ignore her or stop to listen to her soft enchanted melody. Without even realising that the clock for the day was ticking, she continued endlessly to cut and bind the grain and sang the tune of her melancholic song. The lyrics of the song sounded so clear that they seemed to overflow even to the farthest corner of the valley, when one listens with the ears of the heart. Any down-troddens and heavy hearts would feel welcome to this valley of rest atleast for a short time. Something that even the songs of the most profound nightingale could not have achieved to send a heart melting message to the point of deepest despair. A relaxing note that might be best suited to weary and thirsty travellers taking a short nap under some deep yet strong shade, somewhere in the middle of the heated sands of the Arabian Desert. The voice of the lass sounded so shrilling in the most melodious musical note ever known to man, according to the description of the poet. It has outshone even the sweetest song of the cuckoo bird that sings at break of every spring. It has broken even the silence of the farthest Pacific islands of the 'Hebrides'. Wordsworth wondered if it would be possible for anyone to explain to him the true implications of the contents of her songs. It might be that her sad and mournful song speaks of misfortunes and tragedies of events that happened long ago. Or it might be she is singing as per the happenings of the present day, familiarising herself with the harsh realities of trials and tribulations of this world. Things that might have happened or about to take place in her life. To Wordsworth, the theme of the song does not seemed to matter anymore, on what or how she sang but it did not seem to end. He watched her from a distant as she continued to sing and work, with her sickle bending to cut and bind the grain. As he climbed higher up the hill, he tapped and stored the song of the lass. He continued climbing up without looking back till she was out of sight and her endless song was heard no more.
 * <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">SUMMARY **