No lov'd one now, no nestling nigh:
He is floating down by himself to die.
Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings:
Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home.'"
G. W. Doane.[7]
[7] I am not sure whether this gentleman be the American Bishop of New Jersey, or a namesake only.
Tennyson, with all that luxury of dreariness, sadness, and weariness, which characterises his masterpieces, has also sung of "The Dying Swan." I subjoin an extract, wishing your limits would admit of the entire:
"The plain was grassy, wild and bare,