Читать книгу Neighbors with Wings and Fins and Some Others, for Young People - James Johonnot - Страница 9
ОглавлениеBEACH-WALKERS.
1. A small boy, perched upon a pair of stilts that add two feet to the length of his legs, presents an odd and ridiculous figure. But here is the stilt-bird, no bigger than a pigeon, mounted on a pair of bright-red legs two feet high. And these pipe-stem legs are not thus out of proportion to the small body simply to make us laugh; they are for use and business.
The Stilt.
2. The stilt-bird gets his living by his long legs and his long, straight, sharp bill. In the mud at the bottom of sea-marshes and ponds, and even in the fresh water of the interior, lies his food, in the shape of worms, insect-eggs, and small shell-fish. He also catches the flies and beetles that dance and play on the surface of the water.
3. At the top of these long legs, which are without the hind-toe, there is a very pretty bird—slender, with long, pointed wings, greenish-black back, and white breast. One who has watched the stilt-birds in their wild home describes them thus:
4. "The birds had observed me, of course, as the grass was only a few inches high and the ground perfectly flat, but they stood motionless, looking with more curiosity than fear. It was a picturesque group; still as statues the birds stood in the water, raised only a little above it on their firm though so slender supports, their trim bodies drawn up to full height, and their large, soft eyes dilated in wonder. In an instant, however, as if they had but one mind in common, a thought occurred, and, quick as the thought, they were off."
5. Upon a much shorter pair of stilts come the common snipes, brown and white, and about the size of a newly hatched chick, tripping over our low meadows in the early spring. A bill, two and a half inches long, with sensitive nerves running down to its tip, enables them to feel their food as they bore into the soft ground. These birds are hunted for the excellence of their flesh.
6. The ruff is another stilt-walker. It is found in the temperate portions of Europe and America. About the size of a large snipe, the female wears a sober brown dress, while the male carries a large ruff of thick, long feathers about his neck, and changes his robes once each year, putting on a great variety of fine colors.
The Curlew.
7. The lapwing, another long-legged lover of wet-ground food, is not found in America, but makes for itself a happy home in Europe. In size and habits it is much like the snipe, but has a shorter bill, and a tall crest of feathers upon its head. Its voice is loud and piercing. And this is the way the poet sings of it:
"Thou dove, whose soft echoes resound from the hill,
Thou green-crested lapwing with noise loud and shrill,
Ye wild whistling warblers, your music forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair."
8. With a clear, mellow, piping voice the sandpiper divides the coasts and the wet grounds with his cousin the snipe. In large families the sandpipers come and go with the changing seasons. Their movements are graceful, whether they swim in the water, or trip lightly on their toes over the moist ground, or make a voyage in the air on their wings. There are more than twenty varieties of them, from the ash-colored sandpiper, which is ten inches long, to the little "tip-up," brown and happy, that measures but five inches.
THE SANDPIPER.
9. Across the narrow beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, bit by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit—
One little sandpiper and I.
10. Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud, black and swift, across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white lighthouses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach—
One little sandpiper and I.
11. I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
Or flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong;
He scans me with a fearless eye:
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong—
The little sandpiper and I.
12. Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My drift-wood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky,
For are we not God's children both—
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?
Celia Thaxter
