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"Better to search the fields tor health unbought. 



Than tee the doctor lor a nauseus draught, 

 The wise for health on exercise depend. 



God never made his work for man to mend." 



VOL. I. G^ESSO, lOmji, BEE^H^Y, 1335. 1^0. 1. 



THE WILD SWAN'S DYING STRAIN. 



FROM COUKS' KEY. 



How sadly sweet, how soft and low 



Is the music born of pain — 

 How mournful sounds the ebb and flow. 

 What measured beats, what throb and throe, 



In the wild swan's dying strain. 



The archer, Death, and the twanging bow, 



And the fateful shaft on-sped, 

 All state and grace and pride laid low, 

 Disordered plumes and crimson flow — 



For the wild swan's heart has bled. 



But hear the mournful cry that rings 



On the startled air of night! 

 As a spirit form in the darkness wings 

 Its way unseen, the wild swan sings 

 His psalm of life and light. 



How sadly sweet the solemn strain — 



The dirge of the dying swan! 

 That wondrous music, child of pain, 

 That requiem, sounding once again — 

 And a bird's soul passes on. 



