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-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 hum-drum 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.