And rosy billows of clover bloom

Surged in the sunshine and breathed perfume. Swinging low on a slender limb,

The sparrow warbled his wedding hymn ;
And, balancing on a blackberry-brier,
The bobolink sang with his heart on fire,
"Chink! If you wish to kiss her, do!
Do it, do it! You coward, you!

Kiss her! Kiss, kiss her! Who will see?
Only we three! we three! we three!"

Under garlands of drooping vines,
Through dim vistas of sweet-breathed pines,
Past wide meadow-fields lately mow'd,
Wander'd the indolent country road.
The lovers follow'd it, listening still,
And, loitering slowly, as lovers will,

Enter'd a low-roof'd bridge, that lay,
Dusky and cool, in their pleasant way.
Under its arch a smooth, bright stream
Silently glided, with glint and gleam,

Shaded by graceful elms that spread
Their verdurous canopy overhead,
The stream so narrow, the boughs so wide,
They met and mingled across the tide.

Alders loved it, and seem'd to keep
Patient watch as it lay asleep,

Mirroring clearly the trees and sky
And the flitting form of the dragon-fly,

Save where the swift-wing'd swallow play'd
In and out in the sun and shade,

And, darting and circling in merry chase,
Dipp'd, and dimpled its clear dark face.

Fluttering lightly from brink to brink
Follow'd the garrulous bobolink,

Rallying loudly, with mirthful din,
The pair who linger'd unseen within.

And, when from the friendly bridge at last
Into the road beyond they pass'd,

Again beside them the tempter went,

Keeping the thread of his argument, "Kiss her! kiss her! chink-a-chee-chee! I'll not mention it! don't mind me!

All around from this tall birch-tree!

But, ah! they noted nor deemed it strange

In his rollicking chorus a trifling change:

"Do it! do it!" with might and main Warbled the telltale,

"Do it again!"

ROBERT OF LINCOLN.

W. C. 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 gaily dress'd,

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;

White are his shoulders and white his crest.
Hear him call his merry note:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Look, what a nice new coat is mine,

Sure there never was 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,

Fleck'd 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.

Lips grown agèd sung the hymn Trustingly and tenderly,

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim,

"Let me hide myself in Thee."

Trembling though the voice, and low, Rose the sweet strain peacefully

As a river in its flow;

Sung as only they can sing

Who life's thorny paths have press'd;

Sung as only they can sing

Who behold the promised rest.

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," Sung above a coffin-lid; Underneath, all restfully

All life's cares and sorrows hid.