24 
can be left open the whole year, or, at least, all the time the swallows 
are with us. This is a custom of our fathers which should not be 
permitted to lapse. Old 
barns are sometimes seen 
with this wise provision, 
but it is seldom, if ever 
found in the new ones that 
are fast taking their places. 1 
Gentle swallow, thou we know 
Every year dost come and go ; 
In the spring thy nest thou mak’st; 
In the winter it forsak’st. 
And divert’st thyself awhile 
Near the Memphian towers, or Nile. 
— Anacreon , XXXV, p. 89, Stanley's 
Translation, ( B. C. 562.) 
The Indians, 
wigwam poles 
Barn N<S llows f° r the mar this. 
As the old barns fell to ruin, 
New ones, raised to take their places, 
backed the broad and generous shel¬ 
ter 
Which the eaves had once afforded 
To the owners of the mud huts, 
To the swallows of the Saco. 
even, used to hang gourds to their 
As well suppose the trees without 
leaves as the summer air without 
swallows. Ever since of old time the 
Greeks went round from house to 
house in spring singing the swallow 
song, these birds have been looked 
upon as the friends of man, and almost 
as the very givers of the sunshine. . 
The beautiful swallows, be 
tender with them, for they symbol all 
that is best in nature and all that is 
best in our hearts. 
Weary-winged, from distant South¬ 
lands, 
In the spring have come the swallows, 
Seeking hopefully their nestings, 
Seeking eaves and sun-warmed barn- 
sides ; 
Come and found the crackless clap¬ 
boards, 
Come and found ill-odored pigments, 
Come and found new barns for old 
ones, 
Come and found no eaves for shelter, 
Come with joy and met with sorrow, 
.Seeking vainly for old barn sides 
Changeless as the cliffs of Paugus. 
Weary-winged, the homeless swallows 
Flutter on into the darkness— 
Whither going ? That they know not. 
But’t is certain that the Saco, 
That the lonely cliffs of Paugus, 
That the steeps below Choeorua, 
Do not bear their cosy dwellings. 
Years ago, on man depending, 
» Mother swallows taught their nest¬ 
lings 
Barns alone were made to build on— 
Barns have failed them, man betrayed 
them. 
— Bolles , Choeorua's Tenants. 
— Jeffries , Field and Hedgerow , p. 100. 
Then out of the high heaven above, 
at once one hears the happy chorus of 
the barn swallows ; they come rejoic¬ 
ing, their swift wings cleave the blue, 
they fill the air with woven melody of 
grace and music. Till late August 
the3 r remain. Like the martins, their 
note is pure joy; there is no coloring 
of sadness in any sound they make. 
The sandpiper’s note is pensive with 
all its sweetness ; there is a quality of 
thoughtfulness, as it were, in the 
voice of the song sparrow ; the robin 
has many cadences; in the fairy 
bugling of the oriole there is a tri¬ 
umphant richness, but not such pure 
delight; the blackbird’s call is keen 
and sweet, but not so glad; and the 
bobolink, when he shakes those bril¬ 
liant jewels of sound from his bright 
throat, is always the prince of jokers, 
full of fun, but not so happy as com¬ 
ical. The swallow’s twittering seems 
an expression of unalloyed rapture,— 
I should select it from the songs of all 
the birds I know as the voice of un¬ 
shadowed gladness. 
—Celia Thaxter , Island Garden . p. 22. 
1 The nest in the margin was taken from such an old barn, with swallow 
holes in the peak, belonging to Elliott Moore of Worcester, and the swallows 
have nested in it regularly for many years. Paint and planed lumber are fast 
making our buildings impossible for swallows. A case has recently come to 
my knowledge, and they are doubtless numerous, where the nests of a large 
colony of eave swallows were scraped down in order to paint a barn. They 
deserted the place and have never returned. It would certainly pay to tack a 
rough board along under the eaves of barns to attract colonies of this most 
valuable bird. 
