THE DYING SWAN.

(Latest Version, a long way after the Laureate.)

"THAMES 'SWAN UPPING.'—The QUEEN'S swanherd and the officials of the Dyers' and Vintners' Companies arrived at Windsor yesterday on their annual 'swan-upping' visit, for the purpose of marking or 'nicking' the swans and cygnets belonging to HER MAJESTY, and the Companies interested in the preservation of the birds that haunt the stream between London and Henley. It is said that the Thames swans are steadily decreasing owing to the traffic on the upper reaches of the river, and other causes detrimental to their breeding."—The Times.

July was wet,—a thing not rare—

With sodden ground and chilly air;

The sky presented everywhere

A low-pitched roof of doleful grey;

With a rain-flusht flood the river ran;

Adown it floated a dying Swan,

And loudly did lament.

It was the middle of the day,

The "Swanherd" and his men went on,

"Nicking" the cygnets as they went.

II.

The "Swanherd" showed a blue-peaked nose,

And white against the cold white sky

Shone many a face of those

Who o'er the upper reaches swept,

On swans and cygnets keeping an eye.

Dyers and Vintners, portly, mellow

Chasing the birds of the jetty bill

Through the reed clusters green and still;

And through the osier mazes crept

Many a cap-feathered crook-armed fellow.

III.

The lone Swan's requiem smote the soul

With the reverse of joy.

It spake of sorrow, of outfalls queer,

Dyeing the floods once full and clear;

Of launches wildly galumphing by,

Washing the banks into hollow and hole;

Sometimes afar, and sometimes a-near.

All-marring 'ARRY'S exuberant voice,

With music strange and manifold,

Howling out choruses loud and bold

As when Bank-holidayites rejoice

With concertinas, and the many-holed

Shrill whistle of tin, till the riot is rolled

Through shy backwaters, where swan-nests are;

And greasy scraps of the Echo or Star,

Waifs from the cads' oleaginous feeds,

Emitting odours reekingly rank,

Drift under the clumps of the water-weeds,

And broken bottles invade the reeds,

And the wavy swell of the many-barged tug

Breaks, and befouls the green Thames' bank.

And the steady decrease of the snow-plumed throng

That sail the upper Thames reaches among,

Was prophesied in that plaintive song.