But the other story I thought I should
find completely true there—the one about troops of
swans that sing on the banks of the river. So I put
a second question to the boatmen—for we were still
on our way up. “But, how about your swans?” I
asked. “At what time do they sing so melodiously,
ranged along the river, on this side and on that?
People say, at all events, that they were associates
of Apollo, men with the gift of song, who somewhere
in these parts changed into birds, and for that
reason do not forget their music, but still continue
to sing.”