[12,3] εἰ δ´ αὖ τις ἐθέλοι σκοπεῖν τῆς πτερώσεως τὸ κοῦφον, ὡς μὴ χαλεπὸν εἶναι μηδὲ δύσφορον διὰ τὸ μῆκος, ἐν μέσῳ μάλα ἥσυχον καὶ ἀτρεμοῦντα παρέχει θεάσασθαι ἑαυτόν, ὥσπερ ἐν πομπῇ περιστρεφόμενος, ὅταν δὲ βουληθῇ ἐκπλῆξαι, σείων τὰ πτερὰ καί τινα ἦχον οὐκ ἀηδῆ ποιῶν, οἷον ἀνέμου κινήσαντος οὐ πολλοῦ πυκνήν τινα ὕλην. ἀλλ´ οὔτε τὸν ταῶ πάντα ταῦτα καλλωπιζόμενον τὰ ὄρνεα βούλεται ὁρᾶν οὔτε τῆς ἀηδόνος ἀκούοντα τῆς φωνῆς ἕωθεν ἐπορθρευομένης οὐδὲν πάσχει πρὸς αὐτήν,

[12,3] And, if you want something further, observe the lightness of his plumage, so light indeed that it is not an encumbrance nor hard to carry on account of its length. In the centre of it he offers himself to the spectator's gaze, quite calm and unconcerned, turning himself this way and that as if on parade ; and when he wishes really to astound us, he rustles his feathers and makes a sound not unpleasing, as of a light breeze stirring some thick wood. But it is not the peacock with all this fine display that the birds want to see, nor when they hear the song of the nightingale as she rises at early dawn are they at all affected by her—

[12,4] ἀλλ´ οὐδὲ τὸν κύκνον ἀσπάζεται διὰ τὴν μουσικήν, οὐδὲ ὅταν ὑμνῇ τὴν ὑστάτην ᾠδὴν ἅτε εὐγήρως, ὑπὸ ἡδονῆς τε καὶ λήθης τῶν ἐν τῷ βίῳ χαλεπῶν εὐφημῶν ἅμα καὶ προπέμπων ἀλύπως αὑτόν, ὡς ἔοικε, πρὸς ἄλυπον τὸν θάνατον· οὔκουν οὐδὲ τότε ἀθροίζεται κηλούμενα τοῖς μέλεσι πρὸς ὄχθην ποταμοῦ τινος ἢ λειμῶνα πλατὺν ἢ καθαρὰν ᾐόνα λίμνης ἤ τινα σμικρὰν εὐθαλῆ ποταμίαν νησῖδα.

[12,4] nay, not even the swan do they greet on account of its music, not even when in the fullness of years it sings its fast song, and through joy, and because it has forgotten the troubles of life, utters its triumphant notes and at the same time without sorrow conducts itself, as it seems, to a sorrowless death— even then, I say, the birds are not so charmed by its strains that they gather on some river's bank or on a broad mead or the clean strand of a mere, or on some tiny green islet in a river?