190 
YERTEBRATA. 
black, assumes a russet, dusky garb, and sinks to tbe gross enjoyments of common, vulgar birds. 
His notes no longer vibrate on the ear; he is stuffing himself with the seeds of the tall weeds, on 
which he lately swung and chanted so melodiously. He has become a ' bon-vivant,' a 'gour- 
mand;' with him now there is nothing like the 'joys of the table.' In a little while he grows 
tired of plain, homely fare, and is off on a gastronomical tour in quest of foreign luxuries. We 
next hear of him, with myriads of his kind, banqueting among the reeds of the Delaware, and 
grown corpulent with good feeding. He has changed his name in traveling : Boblincon no more, 
he is the Reed-Bird now, the much sought for titbit of Pennsylvania epicures ; the rival in un- 
lucky fame of the ortolan! Wherever he goes, pop ! pop ! pop ! every rusty firelock in the coun- 
try is blazing away. He sees his companions falling by thousands around him. 
"Does he take warning and reform ? Alas, not he ! Incorrigible epicure! again he wings his 
flight. The rice-swamps of the South invite him. He gorges himself among them almost to 
bursting ; he can scarcely fly for corpulency. He has once more changed his name, and is now 
the famous Rice-Bird of the CaroHnas. 
" Last stage of his career : behold him spitted with dozens of his corpulent companions, and 
served up a vaunted dish on the table of some Southern gastronome. 
" Such is the story of the boblink : once spiritual, musical, admired, the joy of the meadows, 
and the favorite bird of spring; finally, a gross little sensualist, who expiates his sensuality in the 
larder. His story contains a moral worthy the attention of all little birds and little boys, warning 
them to keep to those refined and intellectual pursuits which raised him to so high a pitch of 
popularity during the early part of his career ; but to eschew all tendency to that gross and dis- 
sipated indulgence which brought this mistaken little bird to an untimely end." 
Bryant speaks in a gayer humor : 
" Merrily swinging on briar and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame, 
Over the mountain, river, and 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. 
" 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 home while I frolic about, 
Chee, chee, chee. 
" Robert of Lincoln is gaily drest, 
Wearing a bright blue wedding-coat. 
White on 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. 
" 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's Quaker wife. 
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings. 
Passing at home a patient life, 
Breeds in the grass while her husband sings : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Brood, kind creature, and never fear 
Thieves or robbers while I am here, 
Chee, chee, chee. 
"Robert of Lincoln at length is made 
Sober with work and silent with care ; 
OflF is his holiday garment laid, 
Half-forgotten that merry air : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my wife and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie, 
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. 
" Summer wanes — the children are grown, 
Leisure 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 again, 
Chee, chee, chee." 
