WORDSWORTH.

AIR is the Swan, whose majesty prevailing
O'er breezeless water, on Locarno's lake,
Bears him on while proudly sailing,

He leaves behind a moon-illumin'd wake:
Behold! the mantling spirit of reserve
Fashions his neck into a goodly curve;

An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings
Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs
To which, on some unruffled morning, clings
A flaky weight of winter's purest snows!
Behold! as with a gushing impulse, heaves
That downy prow, and softly cleaves
The mirror of the crystal flood,

Vanish inverted hill, and shadowy wood,
And pendant rocks, where'er, in gliding state,
Winds the mute creature without visible mate

Or rival, save the Queen of night,

Showering down a silver light,

From heaven, upon her chosen favourite,

TENNYSON.

THE DYING SWAN.

HE 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,

And loudly did lament.
It was the middle of the day.
Ever the weary wind went on,

And took the reed-tops as it went.

Some blue peaks in the distance rose,
And white against the cold-white sky,
Shone out their crowning snows.

One willow over the river wept,

And shook the wave as the wind did sigh;
Above in the wind was the swallow,

Chasing itself at its own wild will,
And far thro' the marish green and still
The tangled water-courses slept,

Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

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:

As when a mighty people rejoice

With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd

Thro' the open gates of the city afar,

To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.
And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
And the willow-branches hoar and dank,

And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,

And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,

And the silvery marish-flowers that throng

The desolate creeks and pools among,
Were flooded over with eddying song.

THOMSON.

HE stately sailing Swan

Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale,
And arching proud his neck, with oary feet,
Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier isle,

Protective of his young.

MILTON.

HE Swan with arched neck

Between her white wings mantling proudly

rows

Her state with oary feet.