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THE SOLITARY REAPER.
Behold her, single in the field,
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
Will no one tell me what she sings ?
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
WRITTEN IN MARCH,
While resting on the Bridge at the Foot of Brother's Water.
The cock is crowing,
field sleeps in the sun ;
Their heads never raising ;
Like an army defeated
On the top of the bare hill;
There's joy in the mountains;
Blue sky prevailing;
Yet are they here?—the same unbroken knot
Men, Women, Children, yea the frame
Of the whole Spectacle the same! Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light, Now deep and red, the colouring of night;
That on their Gipsy-faces falls,
Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.
Much witnessing of change and cheer,