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.”