This week’s choice is “The Solitary Reaper” by William Wordsworth. I have chosen it because Rachel has been on holiday on the Isle of Lewis and has sent me photos of its stark but magnificent beauty.
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
William Wordsworth (1770—1850)
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Poem 438. 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.
This poem is reminiscent of Wordsworth’s well-known poem about daffodils: he again emphasises the power of a moment to take up permanent residence in our memories.
In this case he describes a moment when the narrator of the poem passes a young woman who is singing to herself while harvesting the grain. The traveller stops to listen and tries to discern the words of the song but is defeated, possibly because they are not a Gaelic speaker: perhaps the lass is singing of battles lost in years gone by or maybe the song’s plaintive tones convey a more modern sadness; we will never know. The melody, however, is enchanting—more so than the legendarily sweet tones of the desert nightingale or the call of the cuckoo breaking the vast silence of the Hebridean Isles.
Heedless of her listener, she continues the song without halting as she works with her sickle then gathers the sheaves together. For his part the listener continues his journey with the music sounding in his heart—an ear-worm from the 1800s! Wordsworth reflects that the emotions and thoughts triggered by music are powerful enough that we continually replay it without needing the original source.
I like it because it is atmospheric and very descriptive: although the young woman is simply characterised as “Yon solitary Highland lass”, we can all imagine her and the sweetness of her voice, the melody of the song and the hard work she is doing while singing. This poem has been set to music by Jesse Gilbert, so I have chosen his version.