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: