ORNITHOLOGICAL OBSERVATION IN ICELAND. 131 



melancholy (which is a great part of poetry) " as a weazel suckes 

 egges." It utters this sad cry at leisurely intervals. " More, I 

 prithee, more." 



10.15 p.m. — The male Swan, who, after melodising, has 

 lain down in his place and gone to sleep again, now rises and 

 begins to walk up the slope, at the foot of which, by the water, 

 the nest is situated — the island being like the top of a hill. He 

 is, I think, browsing the grass, but has now passed out of my 

 sight. But still the female Swan sits fast, and fasting, on the 

 nest, and the cygnets have fasted, too, for more than ten hours, 

 as a minimum — a thing which I could never have thought. 



10.20. — I can now see the male Swan browsing over the 

 island, and getting towards the top of it. This, with the female 

 sitting on the nest, at its base, and Colymbres diving and fishing 

 in the cold waters, makes a fine northern picture. 



10.33. — Male Swan returning towards the nest, browsing as 

 he comes. The female is now stretching down her neck from 

 the nest, as she sits in it, and browsing in that way. I can see 

 her cropping the green, growing grass, very plainly, but also she 

 takes up something from, or almost from, the base of the mound 

 itself, and this has much the appearance of those very bunches 

 of coarse, weedy grass which she pulled up and placed there, on 

 leaving the nest. For it comes up as something loose, long, 

 and stringy — brown, too, I think, and from a brown surface — it 

 does not look as though it were just plucked, and I notice no 

 effort of plucking. Thus it would seem as if the female Swan, 

 on leaving the nest, had provided a little for her nourishment, 

 later on, and, if so, then the male has also helped in this — 

 nothing, however, is given to the cygnets. The male I cannot 

 now see. He may be sitting near the nest, just out of sight ; 

 but, no, for now he comes into sight, swimming from that side 

 of it, along the bank. Now he pauses and remains still, just 

 at the water's edge, some ten paces or so from the nest. 



The repast of the female, on the nest, has been a very small 

 affair. She soon left off, and is now asleep again, an example 

 which I feel constrained to follow. Just before I go to the tent, at 

 11.5, the male Swan rises from the water, this time with a mere 

 short, hoarse note, and flies over the lake-like expansion of the 

 river, and on, down its narrowing stream, cresting the nearest 



