Two island swans, mated for their life,
And his faithful heart would not consider any other wife.
For three years peaceful joy midst [bad word] of the pond,
Proud and gentle was the loving of the last two island swans.

And their love was like a circle, no beginning and no end,
With his lady by his side a treasure and a best friend.
The pond was all so peaceful in the rising of the sun,
Young and free as the island breeze their life had just begun.

'Til a dread day in November when the searing cold did start,
Stalked the hunter with his bow and put an arrow through her heart.
 [bad word] to my side, let your feathers warm my pain,
For I feel I shall not share another day with you again".

And the cold winds blow,
He was brave but he's laid low.
By her body in the island mist,
I saw him give her one last cold kiss, one last cold kiss.

Of swans the people talk of only one in this day's tide,
Though they brought him twenty ladies he would take no other bride.
And they say he will [bad word] from the spot where she did fall,
Once so proud he's beaten now and he will not speak at all.