Episode 33/34: Robert of Lincoln

ROBERT OF LINCOLN
by William Cullen Bryant

Merrily swinging on brier 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 is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers,
                            Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
Wearing a bright black wedding coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest.
  Hear him call in 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 patient life,
  Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
   Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
    Spink, spank, spink;
Brood, kind creature; 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 seeds 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.