But when the Pony moved his legs,
Oh! then for the poor Idiot Boy!
For joy he cannot hold the bridle,
For joy his head and heels are idle,
Heidle all for very joy.
And while the Pony moves his legs,
Johnny's left hand you may see
The green bough motionless and dead:
The Moon that shines above his head
Lot more still and mute than he.
His heart it was so full of glee
That, till full fifty yards were gone,
He quite forgot his holly whip,
And all his skill in horsemanship:
Oh happy, happy, happy John.
So through the moonlight lanes they go,
And far into the moonlight dale,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
75 To bring a Doctor from the town,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
And while the Mother, at the door,
Stands fixed, her face with joy o'erflows,
Proud of herself, and proud of him,
She sees him in his travelling trim,
How quietly her Johnny goes.
The silence of her Idiot Boy,
What hopes it sends to Betty's heart!
He's at the guide-post-he turns right;
She watches till he's out of sight,
And Betty, now at Susan's side,
Is in the middle of her story,
And Betty, still at Susan's side,
By this time is not quite so flurried:
Demure with porringer and plate
85 She sits, as if in Susan's fate
Her life and soul were buried.
But Betty, poor good woman! she,
You plainly in her face may read it,
Could lend out of that moment's store
90 Five years of happiness or more
To any that might need it.
But yet I guess that now and then
With Betty all was not so well;
And to the road she turns her ears,
And thence full many a sound she hears,
Which she to Susan will not tell.
Burr, burr-now Johnny's lips they burr, Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans;
And Betty will not then depart.
Aloud as any mill, or near it;
Meek as a lamb the Pony moves,
And Johnny makes the noise he loves,
And Betty listens, glad to hear it.
As sure as there's a moon in heaven," Cries Betty, "he'll be back again; They'll both be here-'tis almost ten-145 Both will be here before eleven."
Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans;
The clock gives warning for eleven;
"Tis on the stroke-"He must be near,"
Quoth Betty, "and will soon be here, 150
As sure as there's a moon in heaven."
The clock is on the stroke of twelve,
And Johnny is not yet in sight:
But then he is a horse that thinks!
And, when he thinks, his pace is slack;
Now, though he knows poor Johnny well,
Yet, for his life, he cannot tell
What he has got upon his back.
There's neither horse nor man abroad, 175 There's neither Johnny nor his Horse
And Betty's still at Susan's side
And Susan now begins to fear
Of sad mischances not a few,
Among the fern or in the gorse;
There's neither Doctor nor his Guide.
That Johnny may perhaps be drowned;
Or lost, perhaps, and never found;
Which they must both for ever rue.
She prefaced half a hint of this
With, "God forbid it should be true!"
At the first word that Susan said
Cried Betty, rising from the bed,
'Susan, I'd gladly stay with you.
"I must be gone, I must away:
Consider, Johnny's but half-wise;
Susan, we must take care of him,
If he is hurt in life or limb"-
"Oh God forbid !" poor Susan cries.
"What can I do?" says Betty, going,
"What can I do to ease your pain?
Good Susan tell me, and I'll stay;
I fear you're in a dreadful way,
But I shall soon be back again."
'Or him that wicked Pony's carried To the dark cave, the goblin's hall; 185 Or in the castle he's pursuing
Among the ghosts his own undoing; 2
Or playing with the waterfall.”
At poor old Susan then she railed,
While to the town she posts away;
"If Susan had not been so ill,
Alas! I should have had him still,
My Johnny, till my dying day."
Poor Betty, in this sad distemper,
The Doctor's self could hardly spare:
Unworthy things she talked, and wild;
195 Even he, of cattle the most mild,
The Pony had his share.
But now she's fairly in the town, And to the Doctor's door she hies; 'Tis silence all on every side;
The town so long, the town so wide, 24
Is silent as the skies.
And now she's at the Doctor's door,
She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap;
The Doctor at the casement shows
His glimmering eyes that peep and doze
And one hand rubs his old night-cap. 2
O Doctor!
Johnny?"
I'm here, what is 't you want with me?"
"Oh Sir! you know I'm Betty Foy,
And I have lost my poor dear Boy,
You know him-him you often see;
He's not so wise as some folks be:"
"The devil take his wisdom!" said
The Doctor, looking somewhat grim,
What, Woman! should I know of him?"
And, grumbling, he went back to bed! 261
O woe is me! O woe is me!
Here will I die; here will I die;
Ithought to find my lost one here,
But he is neither far nor near,
Oh what a wretched Mother I!"
A thought is come into her head:
The Pony he is mild and good,
And we have always used him well;
Perhaps he's gone along the dell,
And carried Johnny to the wood.
Then up she springs as if on wings;
She thinks no more of deadly sin;
If Betty fifty ponds should see,
The last of all her thoughts would be 310
265 To drown herself therein.
She stops, she stands, she looks about;
Which way to turn she cannot tell.
Poor Betty! it would ease her pain
If she had heart to knock again;
The clock strikes three-a dismal knell!
Then up along the town she hies,
No wonder if her senses fail;
This piteous news so much it shocked her,
She quite forgot to send the Doctor,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
And now she's high upon the down,
And she can see a mile of road:
"O cruel! I'm almost threescore;
Sach night as this was ne'er before,
There's not a single soul abroad."
Oh Reader! now that I might tell
What Johnny and his Horse are doing!
What they've been doing all this time,
Oh could I put it into rhyme,
A most delightful tale pursuing!
Perhaps, and no unlikely thought!
He with his Pony now doth roam
The cliffs and peaks so high that are,
To lay his hands upon a star,
And in his pocket bring it home.
Perhaps he's turned himself about,
His face unto his horse's tail,
And, still and mute, in wonder lost,
All silent as a horseman-ghost,
280 He travels slowly down the vale.
und lovers! yet not quite hob nob,
And now, perhaps, is hunting sheep,
A fierce and dreadful hunter he;
Yon valley, now so trim and green,
In five months' time, should he be seen,
A desert wilderness will be!
Perhaps, with head and heels on fire,
And like the very soul of evil,
He's galloping away, away,
And so will gallop on for aye,
hey lengthen out the tremulous sob, 290 The bane of all that dread the devil!
That echoes far from hill to hill.
Poor Betty now has lost all hope,
Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin,
green-grown pond she just has past,
And from the brink she hurries fast,
st she should drown herself therein.
I to the Muses have been bound
O gentle Muses! is this kind?
Why will ye thus my suit repel?
Why of your further aid bereave me?
And can ye thus unfriended leave me; 345
Ye Muses! whom I love so well?
Who's yon, that, near the waterfall,
Which thunders down with headlong force,
Beneath the moon, yet shining fair,
As careless as if nothing were,
Sits upright on a feeding horse?
Unto his horse-there feeding free,
He seems, I think, the rein to give;
Of moon or stars he takes no heed;
Of such we in romances read:
-Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.
And that's the very Pony, too!
Where is she, where is Betty Foy?
She hardly can sustain her fears;
The roaring waterfall she hears,
And cannot find her Idiot Boy.
Your Pony's worth his weight in gold:
Then calm your terrors, Betty Foy!
She's coming from among the trees,
And now all full in view she sees
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.
And Betty sees the Pony too:
Why stand you thus, good Betty Foy?
It is no goblin, 'tis no ghost,
"Tis he whom you so long have lost,
He whom you love, your Idiot Boy.
She looks again-her arms are up-
She screams-she cannot move for joy;
She darts, as with a torrent's force,
She almost has o'erturned the Horse,
And fast she holds her Idiot Boy.
And Johnny burrs, and laughs aloud;
Whether in cunning or in joy
I cannot tell; but, while he laughs,
Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs
To hear again her Idiot Boy.
And now she's at the Pony's tail,
And now is at the Pony's head,-
On that side now, and now on this;
And, almost stifled with her bliss,
A few sad tears does Betty shed.
She kisses o'er and o'er again
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy;
She's happy here, is happy there,
She is uneasy everywhere;
Her limbs are all alive with joy.
She pats the Pony, where or when
She knows not, happy Betty Foy!
The little Pony glad may be,
350 But he is milder far than she,
You hardly can perceive his joy.
"Oh! Johnny, never mind the Doctor;
You've done your best, and that is all:
She took the reins, when this was said,
And gently turned the Pony's head
From the loud waterfall.
By this the stars were almost gone,
The moon was setting on the hill,
So pale you scarcely looked at her:
The little birds began to stir,
Though yet their tongues were still.
The Pony, Betty, and her Boy,
Wind slowly through the woody dale;
And who is she, betimes abroad,
That hobbles up the steep rough road!
Who is it, but old Susan Gale?
Long time lay Susan lost in thought;
And many dreadful fears beset her,
Both for her Messenger and Nurse;
And, as her mind grew worse and worse
370 Her body-it grew better.
She turned, she tossed herself in bed,
On all sides doubts and terrors met her;
Point after point did she discuss;
And, while her mind was fighting thus,
375 Her body still grew better.
"Alas! what is become of them?
These fears can never be endured;
I'll to the wood."-The word scarce said
Did Susan rise up from her bed,
380 As if by magic cured.
Away she goes up hill and down,
And to the wood at length is come;
She spies her Friends, she shouts a gree
385 Oh me! it is a merry meeting
As ever was in Christendom.
F while they all were travelling home,
Cred Betty, "Tell us, Johnny, do,
Where all this long night you have been,
What you have heard, what you have seen:
Ad Johnny, mind you tell us true." 441
Johnny all night long had heard
The owls in tuneful concert strive;
No doubt too he the moon had seen;
fut in the moonlight he had been
from eight o'clock till five.
And thus, to Betty's question, he
Made answer, like a traveller bold,
His very words I give to you,)
The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo,
And the sun did shine so cold!"
-Thus answered Johnny in his glory,
And that was all his travel's story.
A PASTORAL POEM.
Composed October 11-December 9, 1800.Published 1800.]
fy from the public way you turn your steps Ep the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright
er feet must struggle; in such bold
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
But for one object which you might pass by,
15 Might see and notice not. Beside the
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones!
And to that simple object appertains
Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 20
A story-unenriched with strange events,
Or for the summer shade. It was the first
Of those domestic tales that spake to me
Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys,
Whom I already loved ;-not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields
and hills 25 Where was their occupation and abode. And hence this Tale, while I was yet a
Careless of books, yet having felt the
Of Nature, by the gentle agency
Of natural objects, led me on to feel 30 For passions that were not my own, and think
(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life.
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same 35
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.
UPON the forest-side in Grasmere Vale The pastoral mountains front you, face to There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his
face. But, courage! for around that boisterous An old man, stout of heart, and strong of brook
The mountains have all opened out them- His bodily frame had been from youth to selves,
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