THE IDIOT BOY.
Tis eight oclock,--a clear Maright,
The moon is up--the sky is blue,
The owlet in the moonlight air,
He shouts from nobody knows where;
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!
--Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret?
And why on horseback have you set
Him whom you love, your idiot boy?
Beh the moon that shines sht,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup ?ddle-faddle;
But wherefore set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
Theres scarce a soul thats out of bed;
Good Betty! put him down again;
His lips with joy they burr at you,
But, Betty! what has he to do
With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?
The world will say tis very idle,
Bethink you of the time of night;
Theres not a mother, no not one,
But when she hears what you have done,
Oh! Betty shell be in a fright.
But Bettys bent on her i,
For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
Old Susan, she who dwells alone,
Is sick, and makes a piteous moan,
As if her very life would fail.
Theres not a house within a mile.
No hand to help them in distress:
Old Susan lies a bed in pain,
And sorely puzzled are the twain,
For what she ails they ot guess.
Ays husbands at the wood,
Where by the week he doth abide,
A woodman in the distant vale;
Theres o help poor Susan Gale,
What must be done? what will betide?
Ay from the lane has fetched
Her pony, that is mild and good,
Whether he be in joy or pain,
Feeding at will along the lane,
ing faggots from the wood.
And he is all in travelling trim,
And by the moonlight, Betty Foy
Has up upon the saddle set,
The like was never heard of yet,
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.
And he must post without delay
Across the bridge thats in the dale,
And by the church, ahe down,
T a doctor from the town,
Or she will die, old Susan Gale.
There is no need of boot or spur,
There is no need of whip or wand,
For Johnny has his holly-bough,
And with a hurly-burly now
He shakes the green bough in his hand.
Ay oer and oer has told
The boy who is her best delight,
Both what to follow, what to shun,
What do, and what to leave undone,
How turn to left, and how tht.
Ays most especial charge,
Was, "Johnny! Johnny! mind that you
"e home again, nor stop at all,
"e home again, whateer befal,
"My Johnny do, I pray you do."
To this did Johnny answer make,
Both with his head, and with his hand,
And proudly shook the bridle too,
And then! his words were not a few,
Which Betty well could uand.
And now that Johnny is just going,
Though Bettys in a mighty ?urry,
She gently pats the ponys side,
On which her idiot boy must ride,
And seems no longer in a hurry.
But when the pony moved his legs,
Oh! then for the poor idiot boy!
For joy he ot hold the bridle,
For joy his head and heels are idle,
Hes idle all for very joy.
And while the pony moves his legs,
In Johnnys left-hand you may see,
The green boughs motionless and dead;
The moon that shin