The swan in the pool is singing,
And up and down doth he steer,
And, singing gently ever,
Dips under the water clear.
And over the pond are sailing
Two swans all white as snow;
Sweet voices mysteriously wailing
Pierce through me as onward they go.
They sail along, and a ringing
Sweet melody rises on high;
And when the swans begin singing,
They presently must die.
Heine—Early Poems. Evening Songs. No. 2.
The swan, like the soul of the poet,
By the dull world is ill understood.
Heine—Early Poems. Evening Songs. No. 3.
There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
Hood—Her Honeymoon.
| seealso = (See also Wordsworth)
| topic =
| page = 773
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>The swan murmurs sweet strains with a faltering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
Martial—Epigrams. Bk. XIII. Ep.
LXXVII.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron)
The swan, with arched neck
Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows
Her state with oary feet.
| author = Milton
| work = Paradise Lost.
| place = Bk. VII. L. 438.
Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the wet
grass, when the
Fates summon him, sing at the fords of Maeander.
Ovid—Ep. VII. Biley's trans.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron)
The swan's down-feather,
That stands upon the swell at full of tide,
And neither way inclines.
Antony and Cleopatra. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 48.
As I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide
And spend her strength with over-matching
waves.
Henry VI. Pt. in. Act I. Sc. 4. L. 19.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.
King John. Act V. Sc. 7. L. 21.
| seealso = (See also Byron)
(Let music sound while he doth make his choice)
Then if he lose he makes a swan-like end.
Merchant of Venice. Act III. Sc. 2.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron)
I will play the swan
And die in music.
Othello. Act V. Sc. 2.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron)
For all the water in theoeean,
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
Titus Andronicus. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 101.
u
You think that upon the score of fore-knowledge and divining I am infinitely inferior to the
swans. When they perceive approaching death
they sing more merrily than before, because of the joy they have in going to the God they serve.
Socrates. See Plato—Phaedo. 77.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron, Cicero)
,
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.
| author = Tennyson
| work = The Dying Swan.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron)
Some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs.
| author = Tennyson
| work = Passing of Arthur.
The 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.
Thomson—The Seasons. Spring. L. 775.
The swan on still St. Mary's lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
Wordsworth—Yarrow Unvisited.
| seealso = (See also Hood)
M SWANEE RIVER
Way down upon de Swanee Ribber,
Far, far away,
Dere's whar ma heart am turning ebber,
Dere's whar de old folks stay.
All up and down de whole creation,
Sadly I roam,
Still longing for de old plantation,
And for de old folks at home.
Stephen Collins Foster—Old Folks at
Home. (Swanee Bibber.)
SWEARING
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>A demon holds a book, in which are written
the sins of a particular man; an Angel drops on
it from a phial, a tear which the sinner had
shed in doing a good action, and his sins are
washed out.
MS. of Alberic, Monk of Monte-Cassino.
Found m an article on Dante. Selections
from Edinburgh Review. Vol. I. P. 67.
| seealso = (See also Moore, Sterne)
| topic =
| page = 773
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Jack was embarrassed—never hero more,
And as he knew not what to say, he swore.
| author = Byron
| work = The Island. Canto III. St. 5.
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>Bad language or abuse
I never, never use, Whatever the emergency;
