Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows but my mate and I 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. TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT HOU blossom, bright with morning dew, That openest when the quiet light Thou comest not when violets lean Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see SONG OF MARION'S MEN WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT UR band is few, but true and tried, The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. As seamen know the sea. Woe to the English soldiery And they who fly in terror deem And hear the tramp of thousands Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if the hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. That lifts his tossing mane. Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore. |