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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
While resting on the Bridge at the Foot of Brother's Water.
The cock is crowing,
The lake doth glitter,
The oldest and youngest
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. -Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours, are gone while I Have been a Traveller under open sky,
Much witnessing of change and cheer,