. Ein Jahr mit den Vögeln . MückenflowUnd stach sie alle außer der Schlange – EINE boshafte Sache, die man tun sollte. Dann schlucken, schnell nach unten. Biss Moskitos Zunge aus, und seit diesem Tag kann er nicht sprechen – BZ-bz-bz – Hes gesungen. Die verräterische Schlange gleitete den Freund des Menschen aus, um zu töten; er schlug und biss – aber Schwalbe flog zu schnell, um seine Beute zu sein. Alte Schlangen gekrümmt, Venomed Mund riss einen Teil der Schwalben Schwanz weg; zwei scharf-spitzen Gabeln blieb - youll finden sie heute dort. A. E. B. 102 The Purple MartinThe Chimney Swift 103 The Purple Martin Bird geliebt von scharfsichigen Indianern, Vogel, der nie ruht;C

• Bildanbieter: Reading Room 2020 / Alamy Stock Foto
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• Format: 1358 x 1840 px | 23 x 31,2 cm | 9,1 x 12,3 inches | 150dpi

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. A year with the birds . Mosquito flewAnd stung them all except the snake— A spiteful thing to do. Then Swallow, darting swiftly down. Bit out Mosquitos tongue, And since that day he cannot speak— Bz-bz—bz-bz—hes sung. The treacherous serpent glided forth The friend of Man to slay;He struck and bit—but Swallow flew Too fast to be his prey. Old Snakes curved, venomed mouth tore part Of Swallows tail away;Two sharply-pointed forks remained— Youll find them there today. A. E. B. 102 The Purple MartinThe Chimney Swift 103 The Purple Martin Bird beloved by keen-eyed Indians, Bird that never rests;Cherished, too, by southern negroes. Who provide them nests.Knowing thus their tiny chickens Safe from hawks will be;Valued, too, by northern farmers, As crows enemy. Martins seek the sheltering houses, Placed where insects humMidst a tangle of sweet blossoms; But if sparrows come, The noisy, selfish, rude intruders For those homes will fight.Till the vanquished purple martins Take a speedy flight. A. E. B. 104. T1 Brtuce. ^oi^^rA^i PURPLE MARTIN This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approveBy his loved mansionery that the heavens breathSmells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze.Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this birdHath made his pendant bed. Shakespeare: Macbeth 105 The Chimney Swift Some soft spring day, athwart the sky, A bird like a bow-and-arrow speeds by From tropic lands in the distant South. Tis the twittering Swift, that with open mouth And unwearying wings seeks insect prey; And countless others arrive straightway. Such flapping and whirling and wheeling about, Till the sun goes down, and the stars come out!Then hollow trees they speedOy seek.Or chimneys unused; with feet tiny and weakAnd strong pointed tails, to the walls they cling.A flock of a thousand the night will bring! Their nests are pockets against the wall.Built deftly of sticks, which rarely fallBecause they are fastened too snug with a glue. From the mouths of these birds of s

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