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,2 if you can!
Chee, chee, chee.

1 broods, sits on her eggs to hatch them. 2 knaves, bad fellows.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked1 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,

1 flecked, streaked or spotted.

Summer wanes;

1 the children are grown;

Fun and frolic no more he knows;

Robert of Lincoln's 2 a humdrum crone; 3 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.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

* 12 *

ROBIN REDBREAST.

GOOD-BY, good-by to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;

The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun.
Our thrushes now are silent,

Our swallows flown away;

But Robin's here, with coat of brown,
And ruddy breast-knot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly

In the falling of the year!

1 wanes, is near its end.

2 Lincoln's, Lincoln is.

3 crone, an old woman.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian princes,

But soon they'll turn to ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples

Hang russet on the bough:

It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, "Twill soon be Winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near.

The fireside for the cricket,

The wheat-stack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house.

The frosty twigs like iron,

The branches plumed with snow,— Alas! in Winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin,

His little heart to cheer!

W. ALLINGHAM.

* 13 *

THE BROOK.

WHERE are you running so fast, little brook,
Over the stones so gray?

Stop for a moment, I prithee,' dear brook,-
Just for a moment, and play.

You chatter away as you flow, little brook,
But speak to me never a word,

Though often I whisper to you, little brook,
Sweet secrets by others unheard.

Oh! what do you say to the birds, little brook, That fly to your bosom to drink?

Oh! what do you say to the flowers, dear brook, That cluster so close to your brink?

And what do you say to yourself, little brook,
As you ripple in music along?

The while that I fill my pitcher, dear brook,
Please tell me the words of your song.

You are hasting away to the sea, dear brook,
To the great, unfathoméd 2 sea;

You may not delay for a moment, dear brook :
Is that what you whisper to me?

1 I prithee (th sounded as in this), I pray thee.
2 unfathoméd, not sounded to find out the depth.