Two only Daughters to his age remain'd,
And  one, and one was Rachel nam'd.
Time had from  rifled ev'ry grace —
But blooming beauty, dwelt on Rachel's face.
Well-favour'd, graceful, in the bloom of life,
She led the flocks, or tript it to the fife
When summer suns burnt fiercely o'er their heads,
She drove the wantons srisking to the shades;
Or when the merry pipe rejoic'd the vale,
Led up the dance, or told the jocund tale;
Chearful and blythe she pass'd the day along,
And ev'ry valley echo'd with her song.
She was each shepherd's theme, each swain's delight,
Their talk by day, their vision in the night;
Whene'er they feasted on their homely cheer,
No mirth was heard, if  was not there:
'Mongst all their rural sports She still was seen,
And foremost at the feast, as on the green.