300 
THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS, 
THE SWAN. 
Look at the feeding swan beneath the willows ; 
How pure her white neck gleams against the green^ 
As she sits nestling on the waters ! 
Beautiful ! 
She is the lady of the sea-girt isles. 
See, how she swells her navigable wings, 
And coasts her sedgy empire keenly round ! 
She looks a bird of snow, dropped from the 
clouds. 
To queen it o'er the minnows. 
The bright. 
The pearly creature ! Lone and calm she rides, 
Like Dian on the waves, when night is clear, 
And the sleek west wind smoothes the billows down 
Into forgetfulness, that she may see 
How fast her silver gondola can boom 
Sheer on the level deep. 
Fawcett. 
