Behold, my goats I am driving, Heartsick, further away; this one scarce, Tityrus, lead I; For having here Yeaned twins just now among the dense hazels, Hope of the flock, ah me!
"The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
See, sick at heart I drive my she-goats on, And this one, O my Tityrus, scarce can lead: For 'mid the hazel-thicket here but now She dropped her new-Yeaned twins on the bare flint, Hope of the flock- an ill, I mind me well, Which many a time, but for my blinded sense, The thunder-stricken oak foretold, oft too From hollow trunk the raven's ominous cry.
"The Bucolics and Eclogues"
Virgil
In a copse near where she stood a little bird was busy with her fledglings, and from a meadow came the plaintive bleat of a late Yeaned lamb.
"Lancashire Idylls (1898)"
Marshall Mather