"'What is that, mother?' 'The swan, my love; He is floating down from his native grove, No lov'd one now, no nestling nigh: He is floating down by himself to die. Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings, Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings: Live so, my love, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home.'" G. W. Doane.[7] [Footnote 7: I am not sure whether this gentleman be the American Bishop of New Jersey, or a namesake only.] Tennyson, with all that luxury of dreariness, sadness, and weariness, which characterises his masterpieces, has also sung of "The Dying Swan." I subjoin an extract, wishing your limits would admit of the entire: "The plain was grassy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray. With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, Which loudly did lament. It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went. * * * * * "The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full, and clear: And floating about the under-sky, Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear: But anon her awful _jubilant_ voice, With a music strange and manifold Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold." So much for the melody of the _dying_ swan. That of the _living_ swan also requires consideration. Mr. Nicol, in his valuable _Iceland, Greenland, &c._, thus describes the _Cygnus musicus_ which frequents the lakes and rivers of Iceland: "The largest and noblest of this class [the natatorial] is undoubtedly THE WILD OR WHISTLING SWAN, with pure white plumage, slightly tinged on the head with orange-yellow. This majestic bird is five feet long, and, with extended wings, eight broad. It is rarely seen in Greenland, and appears merely to rest in Faroe, on its journeys to and from Iceland in the spring and autumn. Some of them, however, remain all the winter in the latter, AND DURING THE LONG DARK NIGHTS THEIR WILD SONG IS OFTEN HEARD as they are passing in troops from one place to another. It appears to be a kind of signal or watchword to prevent the dispersion of the party, and is described as remarkably pleasant, RESEMBLING THE TONES OF A VIOLIN, THOUGH SOMEWHAT HIGHER, each note occurring after a distinct interval. THIS MUSIC IS SAID TO PRESAGE A THAW, and hence the Icelanders are well pleased when, in long-continued frosts, it breaks their repose."