[Intro]
A field alone, a distant song,
A melody remembered long.

[Poem]
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.

[Refrain]
Listen in the Highland field,
Where lonely songs are softly sealed.
I do not know the words she sings,
But still the valley rings.

[Poem]
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.

[Instrumental Interlude]

[Bridge]
Let the lone voice travel clear,
Let the valley hold it near.
No heavy drum, no broken tone,
Only song walking home.

[Final Refrain]
Listen in the Highland field,
Where lonely songs are softly sealed.
I do not know the words she sings,
But still the valley rings.

[Outro]
The hill grows quiet, the song is gone,
But in my heart it carries on.