Where the night-breeze was swelling.
One lovely Girl, Old Jacob rear’d
And she was fair, and blooming;
She, like the morning Star, appear’d,
Swift gliding o’er the mountain’s crest,
While her blue eyes her soul confess’d,
No borrow’d rays assuming.
’Twas her’s, the vagrant lamb to lead,
To watch the wild goat playing:
To join the Shepherd’s tuneful reed,