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 this 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 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-'-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 hum-drum drone;
⁠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.