E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain, Oft have I seen the war of winds contend, And prone on earth th' infuriate storm descend, Waste far and wide, and by the roots uptorn, The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne, As the light straw and rapid stubble fly In dark'ning whirlwinds round the wintry sky.
Be just, my lovely swain, and do not take Freedoms you'll not to me allow; Or give Amynta so much freedom back That she may rove as well as you. Let us then love upon the honest square, Since interest neither have designed. For the sly gamester, who ne'er plays me fair, Must trick for trick expect to find.
Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain.Oliver Goldsmith
Remote from cities liv'd a swain, Unvex'd with all the cares of gain; His head was silver'd o'er with age, And long experience made him sage.john gay
The myrtle (ensign of supreme command, Consigned by Venus to Melissa's hand) Not less capricious than a reigning fair, Oft favors, oft rejects a lover's prayer; In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.samuel johnson
On Leven's banks, while free to rove, And tune the rural pipe to love, I envied not the happiest swain That ever trod the Arcadian plain. Pure stream! in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No torrents stain thy limpid source, No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread.tobias smollett
My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home.john home
O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.william shakespeare
Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king; And sweeter too For kings have cares that wait upon a crown ,And cares can make the sweetest love to frown; Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain?Robert Greene