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.
