voice is not sweet ; on the contrary, it is 

 shrill, piercing, and rather disagreeable. 

 I could compare it to nothing better than 

 the sound of a clarionet winded by a per- 

 son unacquainted with the instrument." 



Proceeding then to depict the manner 

 of their dual concerts, he continues : "The 

 swan, with his wings expanded, his neck 

 stretched and his head erect, comes to 

 place himself opposite to his mate, and 

 utters a cry to which she replies by an- 

 other which is lower by half a tone. The 

 voice of the male passes from A to B flat ; 

 that the female from G sharp to A. The 

 first note is short and transient, and has 

 the effect which our musicians call sensi- 

 ble, so that it is not detached from the 

 second, but seems to slip into it. This 

 dialogue is subjected to a constant and 

 regular rhythm, with the measure of two 

 times. Observe that, fortunately for the 

 ear, they do not both sing at once !" 



Nuttall is likewise arrayed with the 

 witnesses for quantity rather than quality 

 of sound. Of the dying song, he says, 

 "These doleful strains were heard at the 

 dawn of day or when the winds and 

 waves were still, and, like the syrinx of 

 Pan, were in all probability nothing more 

 than the murmurs and sighs of the wind 

 through the marshes and forests graced 

 and frequented by these elegant aquatic 

 birds." Speaking of the natives of Ice- 

 land comparing their notes, "very flat- 

 teringly,!' to those of a violin, he sug- 

 gests that "allowance be made for this 

 predilection, when it is remembered that 

 they hear this cheerful clarion at the close 

 of a long and gloomy winter, and when, 

 at the return of the swan, they listen to 

 the harbinger of approaching summer; 

 every note must be, therefore, melodious, 

 which presages the speedy thaw and re- 

 turn of life and verdure to that gelid 

 coast." He adds that it emits its notes 

 only when flying or calling on its com- 

 panions — the sound being very loud and 

 shrill, but by no means disagreeable when 



heard high in the air and modulated by 

 the winds." 



Of the "Peaceful Monarch of the 

 Lake," Thomas Bewick wrote: "Much 

 has been said, in ancient times, of the 

 singing of the Swan, and many beautiful 

 and poetical descriptions have been given 

 of its dying song. 'No fiction of natural 

 history, no fable of antiquity, was ever 

 more celebrated^ oftener repeated, or bet- 

 ter received ; it occupied the soft and 

 lively imagination of the Greeks ; poets, 

 orators, and even philosophers, adopted 

 it as a truth too pleasing to be doubted.' 

 'The dull, insipid truth,' however, is very 

 different from such amiable and affecting 

 fables, for the voice of the swan, singly, 

 is shrill, piercing and harsh, not unlike 

 the sound of a clarionet when blown by a 

 novice in music. It is, however, asserted 

 by those who have heard the united and 

 varied voices of a numerous assemblage 

 of them, that they produce a more har- 

 monious effect, particularly when soft- 

 ened by the murmur of the waters." 



To Cassell the voice of the swan "is 

 low, soft and musical, and when heard 

 from multitudes congregated together has 

 a very pleasing effect." Shakespeare re- 

 peatedly alludes to the music of the swan 

 with manifest confidence in its melody; 

 Pallas, the ornithologist, likens their 

 notes to silver bells ; and Olaffson says 

 that in the long Polar night it is delight- 

 ful to hear a flock passing overhead, the 

 mixture of sounds resembling trumpets 

 and violins. 



So now, though we no longer know 

 that the soul of the poet returns to float, 

 the embodiment of rhythmic grace, be- 

 fore our mortal eyes as in the years so 

 long gone by, there yet remains to us the 

 splendid imagery of that stately form in 

 spotless plumage against the setting of 

 the darkening sea, the wonder of that sol- 

 emn requiem, and the prophecy and the 

 mystery of the shadowy orchestra pass- 

 ing onward in the depths of the midnight 

 , sky. Juliette A. Owen. 



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