第32章 ROBERT OF LINCOLN.

Merrily swinging on briar and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name;

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

Snug and safe in that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed.

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;

White are his shoulders and white his crest, Hear him calling his merry note:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a quiet life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings:

Bob-o'-l ink, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

Brood, kind creatures; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here.

Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she, One weak chirp is her only note, Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

Never was I afraid of man;

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.

Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!

There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about.

Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the-little ones chip the shell Six wide mouths are open for food;

Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seed for the hungry brood.

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care;

Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie.

Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown;

Fun and frolic no more he knows;

Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;

Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again.

Chee, chee, chee.