THE IDIOT BOY.
But then he is a horse that thinks!
To drown herself therein.
And Bettys husbands at the wood,
"Theyll both be here before eleven."
Why are you in this mighty fret?
And Betty will not then depart.
The moon was setting on the hill,
What he has got upon his back.
And thence full many a sound she hears,
With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?
Oh! Betty shell be in a fright.
And with a hurly-burly now
She spies her friends, she shouts a greeting;
"But I shall soon be back again."
Him whom you love, your idiot boy?
Johnny perhaps his horse forsook,
From eight oclock till ?ve.
(His very words I give to you,)
His lips with joy they burr at you,
Are shouting to each other still:
But, Betty! what has he to do
Whos yon, that, near the waterfall,
A most delightful tale pursuing!
What theyve been doing all this time,
And Bettys still at Susans side.
Is silent as the skies.
And from the brink she hurries fast,
These fourteen years, by strong indentures;
The cliffs and peaks so high that are,
--Shes in a sad quandary.
With, "God forbid it should be true!"
Wind slowly through the woody dale:
And then! his words were not a few,
Theres scarce a soul thats out of bed;
And Susans growing worse and worse,
"Oh Doctor! Doctor! wheres my Johnny?"
"And the sun did shine so cold."
That should he lose his eyes and ears,
So through the moonlight lanes they go,
Among the fern or in the gorse;
Who is it, but old Susan Gale?
And why on horseback have you set
The Doctor, looking somewhat grim,
The grass you almost hear it growing,
Poor Betty now has lost all hope,
She stops, she stands, she looks about,
Theres neither doctor nor his guide.
The roaring water-fall she hears,
That happy time all past and gone,
For in the moonlight he had been
And Susan she begins to fear
She sees him in his travelling trim;
Her body still grew better.
And never will be heard of more.
She almost has oerturned the horse,
No wonder if her senses fail,
The boy who is her best delight,
That hobbles up the steep rough road?
"Im here, what ist you want with me?"
Yon valley, thats so trim and green,
For sure he met with strange adventures.
And now shes got into the town,
"The devil take his wisdom!" said
"And carried Johnny to the wood."
"Susan, we must take care of him,
All like a silent horseman-ghost,
She kisses oer and oer again,
Both for her messenger and nurse;
Fond lovers, yet not quite hob nob,
"If he is hurt in life or limb"--
Now, though he knows poor Johnny well,
He seems, I think, the rein to give;
If she had heart to knock again;
And he is all in travelling trim,
No hand to help them in distress:
"Good Susan tell me, and Ill stay;
"What九-九-藏-书-网, woman! should I know of him?"
Bethink you of the time of night;
"O woe is me! O woe is me!
What Johnny and his horse are doing!
So pale you scarcely looked at her:
Shes coming from among the trees,
Could lend out of that moments store
For joy he cannot hold the bridle,
You hear it now if eer you can.
Perhaps hes turned himself about,
Oh me! it is a merry meeting,
Is in the middle of her story,
And Bettys drooping at the heart,
If she must go or she must stay:
And, grumbling, he went back to bed.
For joy his head and heels are idle,
A few sad tears does Betty shed.
Where by the week he doth abide,
But neither Doctor nor his guide
And on he goes beneath the moon.
Both with his head, and with his hand,
Theres neither Johnny nor his horse,
And Betty sees the pony too:
Across the bridge thats in the dale,
Her pony, that is mild and good,
Tis he whom you so long have lost,
And all that to herself she talked,
"A little idle sauntering thing!"
Of such we in romances read,
With Betty all was not so well,
"And we have always used him well;
"I thought to ?nd my Johnny here,
Then up she springs as if on wings;
To lay his hands upon a star,
By this time shes not quite so ?urried;
To hunt the moon thats in the brook,
This piteous news so much it shockd her,
Was, "Johnny! Johnny! mind that you
"If Susan had not been so ill,
And while her mind was ?ghting thus,
Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,
"The doctor he has made him wait,
Whether in cunning or in joy,
And far into the moonlight dale,
Five years of happiness or more,
As ever was in Christendom.
And should he live a thousand years,
Tis eight oclock,--a clear March night,
Cried Betty, rising from the bed,
She listens, but she cannot hear
Why stand you thus Good Betty Foy?
And now, all full in view, she sees
And Betty, half an hour ago,
Or bringing faggots from the wood.
She thinks no more of deadly sin;
Which thunders down with headlong force,
"What can I do?" says Betty, going,
The clock gives warning for eleven;
Why of your further aid bereave me?
"Hes not so wise as some folks be,"
And all his skill in horsemanship,
"And Johnny, mind you tell us true."
The moon is up--the sky is blue,
And fast she holds her idiot boy.
"The pony he is mild and good,
For Johnny has his holly-bough,
And to the wood at length is come,
"My Johnny, till my dying day."
Her body it grew better.
As if by magic cured.
"I fear youre in a dreadful way,
She watches till hes out of sight,
And many dreadful fears beset her,
You plainly in her face may read it,
He with his pony now doth roam
The moons in heaven, as Betty sees,
Lest she should drown herself therein.
A de九*九*藏*书*网sart wilderness will be.
Even he, of cattle the most mild,
What do, and what to leave undone,
Demure with porringer and plate
Hes galloping away, away,
Now Johnny all night long had heard
He whom you love, your idiot boy.
The owlet in the moonlight air,
"Or him that wicked ponys carried
His face unto his horses tail,
She is uneasy every where;
She hardly can sustain her fears;
"These fears can never be endured,
She screams--she cannot move for joy;
But yet I guess that now and then
"Good Betty go, good Betty go,
And now shes at the ponys tail,
"Where he will stay till he is dead;
"Oh God forbid!" poor Susan cries.
In tree and tower was Johnny seen,
And Betty listens, glad to hear it.
Both what to follow, what to shun,
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.
Your ponys worth his weight in gold,
"Theres nothing that can ease my pain."
But half of what to him befel,
She sits, as if in Susans fate
The streams with softest sound are ?owing,
And one hand rubs his old night-cap.
And Bettys still at Susans side:
The moon that shines above his head
Poor Betty! it would ease her pain
And with the owls must end.
Though yet their tongues were still.
And Bettys standing at the door,
"Where all this long night you have been,
"But he is neither far nor near,
She gently pats the ponys side,
Her limbs are all alive with joy.
Shes past the bridge thats in the dale,
Sits upright on a feeding horse?
Has up upon the saddle set,
And that was all his travels story.
"The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo,
"Among the ghosts, his own undoing;
The doctors self would hardly spare,
In high and low, above, below,
Then calm your terrors, Betty Foy!
And he must post without delay
Which they must both for ever rue.
And now, perhaps, hes hunting sheep,
He quite forgot his holly whip,
Shes happy here, shes happy there,
Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs,
"Perhaps hes gone along the dell,
They lengthen out the tremulous sob,
What must be done? what will betide?
She darts as with a torrents force,
While our four travellers homeward wend;
And now shes at the ponys head,
The little pony glad may be,
She pats the pony, where or when
"You know him--him you often see;
Oh gentle muses! let me tell
That echoes far from hill to hill.
The world will say tis very idle,
His glimmering eyes that peep and doze;
Tis silence all on every side;
Of Johnnys wit and Johnnys glory.
And as her mind grew worse and worse,
"Or in the castle hes pursuing,
Oh could I put it into rhyme,
"My Johnny do, I pray you do."
"And I have lost my poor dear boy,
As loud as any mill, or near it,
"How can it be he is so late?
But Betty is not quite at ease;
I to the muses have
www.99lib.net
been bound,He travels on along the vale.
--Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.
That Johnny may perhaps be drownd,
"As sure as theres a moon in heaven,"
But wherefore set upon a saddle
"Youve done your best, and that is all."
How turn to left, and how to right.
"Oh! what a wretched mother I!"
"Oh dear, dear pony! my sweet joy!
"Oh Sir! you know Im Betty Foy,
The doctor at the casement shews,
Cries Betty, "hell be back again;
Hes idle all for very joy.
Till she comes back again.
The clock is on the stroke of one;
And now she sits her down and weeps;
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.
And how she ran, and how she walked,
"Oh! Johnny, never mind the Doctor;
Would surely be a tedious tale.
Which she to Susan will not tell.
Perhaps, and no unlikely thought!
"Alas! what is become of them?
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy,
With other names, an endless string,
In ?ve months time, should he be seen,
Theres neither horse nor man abroad,
He shakes the green bough in his hand.
Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin;
She took the reins, when this was said,
Away she hies to Susan Gale:
Hes at the guide-post--he turns right,
She prefaced half a hint of this
"Oh saints! what is become of him?
Proud of herself, and proud of him,
Of sad mischances not a few,
And proudly shook the bridle too,
From the loud water-fall.
By this the stars were almost gone,
He shouts from nobody knows where;
And gently turned the ponys head
On all sides doubts and terrors met her;
"Alas! I should have had him still,
Quoth Betty "he will soon be here,
The last of all her thoughts would be,
No doubt too he the moon had seen;
Though Bettys in a mighty ?urry,
"I must be gone, I must away,
To this did Johnny answer make,
A green-grown pond she just has passd,
Or she will die, old Susan Gale.
Oh! happy, happy, happy John.
And now shes high upon the down,
Is sick, and makes a piteous moan,
"Theyll both be here, tis almost ten,
And when he thinks his pace is slack;
While to the town she posts away;
Alone amid a prospect wide;
"Perhaps hes climbed into an oak,
The green boughs motionless and dead;
Oh reader! now that I might tell
The clock is on the stroke of twelve,
And still and mute, in wonder lost,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!
"Susan! theyll both be here anon."
Good Betty! put him down again;
Theres not a house within a mile.
And now that Johnny is just going,
That God poor Susans life would spare,
The owls in tuneful concert strive;
For what she ails they cannot guess.
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Did Susan rise up from her bed,
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
She turned, she tossd herself in bed,
Ye muses! whom I love so well.
If Betty ?fty ponds should see,
And seems no longer in a hurry.
Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
And Bettys most especial charge,
For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
Unworthy things she talked and wild,
His steed and he right well agree,
But when the pony moved his legs,
"To the dark cave, the goblins hall,
"Consider, Johnnys but half-wise;
The owls have hardly sung their last,
Or lost perhaps, and never found;
She knows not, happy Betty Foy!
Is not more still and mute than he.
You hardly can perceive his joy.
"Oh carry back my idiot boy!
A thought is come into her head;
The owlets through the long blue night
Meek as a lamb the pony moves,
For of this pony theres a rumour,
With many a most diverting thing,
Feeding at will along the lane,
And now the thought torments her sore,
It is no goblin, tis no ghost,
Old Susan lies a bed in pain,
Where is she, where is Betty Foy?
--Why bustle thus about your door,
What comfort Johnny soon will bring,
Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
"Ill to the wood."--The word scarce said,
"And joined the wandering gypsey-folk.
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
But Betty, poor good woman! she,
And Betty from the lane has fetched
"Oh cruel! Im almost three-score;
She quite forgot to send the Doctor,
With girt and stirrup ?ddle-faddle;
She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap,
Of moon or stars he takes no heed;
To bring a doctor from the town,
To bring a doctor from the town,
In Johnnys left-hand you may see,
To any that might need it.
What hopes it sends to Bettys heart!
The owlets hoot, the owlets curr,
That till full ?fty yards were gone,
In bush and brake, in black and green,
And far into the moonlight dale;
And then theres nobody to say
And Johnny burrs and laughs aloud,
Poor Betty! in this sad distemper,
And thus to Bettys question, he
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
And like the very soul of evil,
Theres not a mother, no not one,
The town so long, the town so wide,
The pony had his share.
And so hell gallop on for aye,
She looks again--her arms are up--
Unto his horse, thats feeding free,
At poor old Susan then she railed,
So, through the moonlight lane she goes,
Which Betty well could understand.
In great and small, in round and square,
As if her very life would fail.
And sorely puzzled are the twain,
A woodman in the distant vale;
And in his pocket bring it home.
Long Susan lay deep lost in thought,
And Bettys in a sad quandary;
--The clock strikes three--a dismal knell!
Old Susan, she who dwells alone,
Why will ye thus my suit repel?
There is no need of whip or wand,
But he is milder far than she,
And almost sti?ed with her bliss,
The foot of horse, the voice of man;
And Johnny is not yet in si99lib•netght,
Oh gentle muses! is this kind?
The pony, Betty, and her boy,
And Betty oer and oer has told
Point after point did she discuss;
And Bettys face with joy oer?ows,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
How quietly her Johnny goes.
And by the moonlight, Betty Foy
THE IDIOT BOY.
Which way to turn she cannot tell.
And Johnnys in a merry tune,
The like was never heard of yet,
"And we will neer oerload thee more."
But Bettys bent on her intent,
For while they all were travelling home,
Whether he be in joy or pain,
At the ?rst word that Susan said
On which her idiot boy must ride,
"Theres not a single soul abroad."
And now shes at the doctors door,
There is no need of boot or spur,
He never will be out of humour.
"What you have heard, what you have seen,
The little birds began to stir,
And Susan has a dreadful night.
Oh! then for the poor idiot boy!
"As sure as theres a moon in heaven."
The silence of her idiot boy,
A ?erce and dreadful hunter he!
The owls have hooted all night long,
And Johnny makes the noise he loves,
"Come home again, whateer befal,
I cannot tell; but while he laughs,
The bane of all that dread the devil.
"What can I do to ease your pain?
And by the church, and oer the down,
Her life and soul were buried.
"Or sadly he has been misled,
And can ye thus unfriended leave me?
And cannot ?nd her idiot boy.
On that side now, and now on this,
His heart it was so full of glee,
"Here will I die; here will I die;
And with the owls began my song,
And to the doctors door she hies;
Yet for his life he cannot tell
On Johnny vile re?ections cast;
And thats the very pony too.
But when she hears what you have done,
Appear along the moonlight road,
Theres none to help poor Susan Gale,
"Or playing with the waterfall."
To hear again her idiot boy.
And to the road she turns her ears,
And while the pony moves his legs,
"Come home again, nor stop at all,
But now that time is gone and past.
Beneath the moon, yet shining fair,
Away she posts up hill and down,
Made answer, like a traveller bold,
"Such night as this was neer before,
"Susan, Id gladly stay with you.
Such tears she never shed before;
As careless as if nothing were,
Twas Johnny, Johnny, every where.
And who is she, be-times abroad,
And Betty, now at Susans side,
Then off she hies, but with a prayer
And now shes high upon the down,
Then up along the town she hies,
--Thus answered Johnny in his glory,
And Johnnys lips they burr, burr, burr,
And she can see a mile of road,
Tis on the stroke--"If Johnnys near,"
And by the church, and oer the down,
Perhaps, with head and heels on ?re,
Burr, burr--now Johnnys lips they burr,
Cried Betty, "Tell us Johnny, do,