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Behold her, single in the field,Behold Her, Single In The Field
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.
Look at her, alone in the field, That lonely Highland girl! Harvesting and singing by herself; Stop here, or pass by quietly! By herself she cuts and gathers the grain, And sings a sad song; Oh listen! for the deep valley Is filled with the sound.
No Nightingale ever sang More comforting notes to tired groups Of travelers in a shady spot, In the Arabian desert: A voice so thrilling was never heard In spring from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the quiet of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?— Maybe the sad numbers flow For old, unhappy, distant memories, And battles from long ago: Or is it a simpler song, About familiar things of today? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has happened, and may happen again?
Whatever the theme, the girl sang As if her song could never end; I saw her singing at her work, And bending over the sickle;— I listened, completely still; And, as I climbed up the hill, The music in my heart I carried, Long after it was no longer heard.