Thomas Ross, Jr.This I saw with my own eyes: A cliff—swallowMade her nest in a hole of the high clay-bankThere near Miller’s Ford.But no sooner were the young hatchedThan a snake crawled up to the nestTo devour the brood.Then the mother swallow with swift flutteringsAnd shrill criesFought at the snake,Blinding him with the beat of her wings,Until he, wriggling and rearing his head,Fell backward down the bankInto Spoon River and was drowned.Scarcely an hour passedUntil a shrikeImpaled the mother swallow on a thorn.As for myself I overcame my lower natureOnly to be destroyed by my brother’s ambition.
This I saw with my own eyes: A cliff—swallowMade her nest in a hole of the high clay-bankThere near Miller’s Ford.But no sooner were the young hatchedThan a snake crawled up to the nestTo devour the brood.Then the mother swallow with swift flutteringsAnd shrill criesFought at the snake,Blinding him with the beat of her wings,Until he, wriggling and rearing his head,Fell backward down the bankInto Spoon River and was drowned.Scarcely an hour passedUntil a shrikeImpaled the mother swallow on a thorn.As for myself I overcame my lower natureOnly to be destroyed by my brother’s ambition.