The Swan. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

1 Look at the swan! how still he goes! His neck and breast like silver gleam; He seems majestic as he rows; The glory of the lonely stream. 2 There is a glory in the war, A glory when the warrior wears (His visage marked with many a scar) The laurel wet with human tears. 3 Such scenes no glory can impart, With trumps, and drums, and noises rude, Like that which fills his silent heart Who walks with God in quietude.