This poem was first introduced by a stanza that I have since transferred to the Notes, for reasons there given, and I cannot comply with the request expressed by some of my friends that the rejected stanza should be restored. I hope they will be content if it be, hereafter, immediately attached to the poem, instead of its being degraded to a place in the Notes.

This poem began with the following stanza, which has been displaced on account of its detaining the reader too long from the subject, and as rather precluding, than preparing for, the due effect of the allusion to the genius of Plato:--
            Fair is the Swan, whose majesty, prevailing
            O'er breezeless water, on Locarno's lake,
            Bears him on while proudly sailing
            He leaves behind a moon-illumined wake:
            Behold! the mantling spirit of reserve
            Fashions his neck into a goodly curve;
            An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings
            Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs
            To which, on some unruffled morning, clings
            A flaky weight of winter's purest snows!
            --Behold!--as with a gushing impulse heaves
            That downy prow, and softly cleaves
            The mirror of the crystal flood,
            Vanish inverted hill, and shadowy wood,
            And pendent rocks, where'er, in gliding state,
            Winds the mute Creature without visible Mate
            Or Rival, save the Queen of night
            Showering down a silver light,
            From heaven, upon her chosen Favourite!