What means this bustle, Betty Foy?

But wherefore set upon a saddle

In ?ve months time, should he be seen,

Which she to Susan will not tell.

But then he is a horse that thinks!

He with his pony now doth roam

Though Bettys in a mighty ?urry,

The moon is up--the sky is blue,

"What you have heard, what you have seen,

"Oh Doctor! Doctor! wheres my Johnny?"

"Consider, Johnnys but half-wise;

And to the doctors door she hies;

From eight oclock till ?ve.

Poor Betty now has lost all hope,

Proud of herself, and proud of him,

And now that Johnny is just going,

And Bettys standing at the door,

The Doctor, looking somewhat grim,

The owls have hooted all night long,

Why will ye thus my suit repel?

This piteous news so much it shockd her,

For of this pony theres a rumour,

Away she hies to Susan Gale:

A desart wilderness will be.

And he is all in travelling trim,

Or bringing faggots from the wood.

And seems no longer in a hurry.

And one hand rubs his old night-cap.

Of sad mischances not a few,

"I thought to ?nd my Johnny here,

Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.

"Oh saints! what is become of him?

And Susan has a dreadful night.

Both with his head, and with his hand,

Is in the middle of her story,

The streams with softest sound are ?owing,

And now shes high upon the down,

Hes galloping away, away,

And Johnnys lips they burr, burr, burr,

"You know him--him you often see;

Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin;

By this time shes not quite so ?urried;

Did Susan rise up from her bed,

To comfort poor old Susan Gale.

"Oh dear, dear pony! my sweet joy!

She hardly can sustain her fears;

With Betty all was not so well,

And Betty from the lane has fetched

"Where he will stay till he is dead;

The doctors self would hardly spare,

That hobbles up the steep rough road?

Even he, of cattle the most mild,

But half of what to him befel,

She kisses oer and oer again,

And Bettys still at Susans side.

"Good Susan tell me, and Ill stay;

"Theres nothing that can ease my pain."

She took the reins, when this was said,

Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,

Till she is tired, let Betty Foy

"But I shall soon be back again."

Oh! Betty shell be in a fright.

His glimmering eyes that peep and doze;

There is no need of whip or wand,

To lay his hands upon a star,

"Oh! Johnny, never mind the Doctor;

The boy who is her best delight,

"Among the ghosts, his own undoing;

But Betty is not quite at ease;

And as her mind grew worse and worse,

The clock is on the stroke of twelve,

Her body it grew better.

With many a most diverting thing,

Feeding at will along the lane,

Theres none to help poor Susan Gale,

And he must post without delay

Wind slowly through the woody dale:

&quo九*九*藏*書t;Theres not a single soul abroad."

And Johnnys in a merry tune,

--Shes in a sad quandary.

And, grumbling, he went back to bed.

And now shes at the doctors door,

Beneath the moon, yet shining fair,

With other names, an endless string,

Shes coming from among the trees,

Johnny perhaps his horse forsook,

And sorely puzzled are the twain,

"Oh! what a wretched mother I!"

Lest she should drown herself therein.

Or lost perhaps, and never found;

But now that time is gone and past.

Theres scarce a soul thats out of bed;

And cannot ?nd her idiot boy.

She gently pats the ponys side,

As ever was in Christendom.

The pony, Betty, and her boy,

(His very words I give to you,)

The owls have hardly sung their last,

The town so long, the town so wide,

And when he thinks his pace is slack;

The pony had his share.

At the ?rst word that Susan said

Old Susan, she who dwells alone,

Him whom she loves, her idiot boy,

"But he is neither far nor near,

With girt and stirrup ?ddle-faddle;

And then theres nobody to say

Beneath the moon that shines so bright,

And with the owls must end.

"Alas! I should have had him still,

Long Susan lay deep lost in thought,

The foot of horse, the voice of man;

And now, perhaps, hes hunting sheep,

Both what to follow, what to shun,

The moons in heaven, as Betty sees,

Whether he be in joy or pain,

"Susan! theyll both be here anon."

"My Johnny do, I pray you do."

Then up she springs as if on wings;

And fast she holds her idiot boy.

In bush and brake, in black and green,

"Come home again, whateer befal,

But Bettys bent on her intent,

Old Susan lies a bed in pain,

She sits, as if in Susans fate

Oh! then for the poor idiot boy!

There is no need of boot or spur,

These fourteen years, by strong indentures;

"As sure as theres a moon in heaven."

"The doctor he has made him wait,

And with a hurly-burly now

Her limbs are all alive with joy.

She almost has oerturned the horse,

For sure he met with strange adventures.

--Why bustle thus about your door,

She stops, she stands, she looks about,

Away she posts up hill and down,

And with the owls began my song,

And Betty will not then depart.

And now, all full in view, she sees

That God poor Susans life would spare,

Tis eight oclock,--a clear March night,

Whether in cunning or in joy,

And proudly shook the bridle too,

Good Betty! put him down again;

And now shes at the ponys tail,

"Come home again, nor stop at all,

She listens, but she cannot hear

Though yet their tongues were still.

If she had heart to knock again;

And Bettys still at Susans side:

On which her idiot boy must ride,

Then calm your terrors, Betty Foy!

Oh! happy, happy, happy J九*九*藏*書ohn.

For while they all were travelling home,

You plainly in her face may read it,

To hunt the moon thats in the brook,

And Betty oer and oer has told

No doubt too he the moon had seen;

And while the pony moves his legs,

"Or him that wicked ponys carried

And thence full many a sound she hears,

"Ill to the wood."--The word scarce said,

For joy he cannot hold the bridle,

A few sad tears does Betty shed.

Her life and soul were buried.

He whom you love, your idiot boy.

And so hell gallop on for aye,

Why stand you thus Good Betty Foy?

And far into the moonlight dale,

"Or sadly he has been misled,

Five years of happiness or more,

And how she ran, and how she walked,

Oh me! it is a merry meeting,

But he is milder far than she,

Now, though he knows poor Johnny well,

Bethink you of the time of night;

And Betty sees the pony too:

That Johnny may perhaps be drownd,

To any that might need it.

You hear it now if eer you can.

Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.

"A little idle sauntering thing!"

Or she will die, old Susan Gale.

Is not more still and mute than he.

So pale you scarcely looked at her:

Across the bridge thats in the dale,

And Johnny makes the noise he loves,

That till full ?fty yards were gone,

What comfort Johnny soon will bring,

The little pony glad may be,

As careless as if nothing were,

What Johnny and his horse are doing!

Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?

She spies her friends, she shouts a greeting;

Could lend out of that moments store

"If Susan had not been so ill,

"Alas! what is become of them?

But Betty, poor good woman! she,

On that side now, and now on this,

You hardly can perceive his joy.

"Oh God forbid!" poor Susan cries.

And Johnny is not yet in sight,

Such tears she never shed before;

Are shouting to each other still:

Which they must both for ever rue.

The cliffs and peaks so high that are,

And Bettys most especial charge,

He seems, I think, the rein to give;

And can ye thus unfriended leave me?

Perhaps, and no unlikely thought!

And to the wood at length is come,

On Johnny vile re?ections cast;

"O woe is me! O woe is me!

"The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo,

His face unto his horses tail,

Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,

The moon was setting on the hill,

And thus to Bettys question, he

And while her mind was ?ghting thus,

It is no goblin, tis no ghost,

And on he goes beneath the moon.

A green-grown pond she just has passd,

As if by magic cured.

And from the brink she hurries fast,

His steed and he right well agree,

The bane of all that dread the devil.

She darts as with a torrents force,

Whos yon, that, near the waterfall,

And Betty, half an hour ago,

The like was never heard of yet,

The owlets through the l九*九*藏*書ong blue night

"Good Betty go, good Betty go,

"I fear youre in a dreadful way,

The last of all her thoughts would be,

From the loud water-fall.

A most delightful tale pursuing!

The grass you almost hear it growing,

By this the stars were almost gone,

Unworthy things she talked and wild,

"My Johnny, till my dying day."

What must be done? what will betide?

"Susan, we must take care of him,

Would surely be a tedious tale.

"And I have lost my poor dear boy,

As loud as any mill, or near it,

Among the fern or in the gorse;

The roaring water-fall she hears,

As if her very life would fail.

The owlets hoot, the owlets curr,

In Johnnys left-hand you may see,

"And joined the wandering gypsey-folk.

And in his pocket bring it home.

For Johnny has his holly-bough,

And by the church, and oer the down,

And now she sits her down and weeps;

Your ponys worth his weight in gold,

She quite forgot to send the Doctor,

"I must be gone, I must away,

And to the road she turns her ears,

In tree and tower was Johnny seen,

"Hes not so wise as some folks be,"

But neither Doctor nor his guide

Point after point did she discuss;

--Thus answered Johnny in his glory,

And why on horseback have you set

Perhaps hes turned himself about,

A thought is come into her head;

Of Johnnys wit and Johnnys glory.

Oh reader! now that I might tell

For joy his head and heels are idle,

"As sure as theres a moon in heaven,"

Has up upon the saddle set,

Hes at the guide-post--he turns right,

"Im here, what ist you want with me?"

"Where all this long night you have been,

Hes idle all for very joy.

The little birds began to stir,

And then! his words were not a few,

And by the church, and oer the down,

Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!

Theres not a house within a mile.

Tis he whom you so long have lost,

The green boughs motionless and dead;

Poor Betty! it would ease her pain

To hear again her idiot boy.

What hopes it sends to Bettys heart!

"Susan, Id gladly stay with you.

To comfort poor old Susan Gale.

Yon valley, thats so trim and green,

Oh gentle muses! let me tell

Made answer, like a traveller bold,

What he has got upon his back.

She looks again--her arms are up--

And now shes high upon the down,

"Perhaps hes gone along the dell,

Tis on the stroke--"If Johnnys near,"

With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?

Cries Betty, "hell be back again;

No wonder if her senses fail,

Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs,

--Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.

Theres neither horse nor man abroad,

Poor Betty! in this sad distemper,

But, Betty! what has he to do

But yet I guess that now and then

Is sick, and makes a piteous moan,

For what she ails they cannot guess.

Demure with porhttps://read.99csw.comringer and plate

And by the moonlight, Betty Foy

"To the dark cave, the goblins hall,

Shes past the bridge thats in the dale,

Of moon or stars he takes no heed;

Was, "Johnny! Johnny! mind that you

She thinks no more of deadly sin;

He quite forgot his holly whip,

"Or playing with the waterfall."

She is uneasy every where;

Is silent as the skies.

"Perhaps hes climbed into an oak,

"And carried Johnny to the wood."

Unto his horse, thats feeding free,

"Oh carry back my idiot boy!

And Betty listens, glad to hear it.

And now shes at the ponys head,

Alone amid a prospect wide;

Perhaps, with head and heels on ?re,

Cried Betty, rising from the bed,

Oh could I put it into rhyme,

She prefaced half a hint of this

Meek as a lamb the pony moves,

The moon that shines above his head

And she can see a mile of road,

Her pony, that is mild and good,

"These fears can never be endured,

A ?erce and dreadful hunter he!

Why are you in this mighty fret?

If Betty ?fty ponds should see,

And should he live a thousand years,

And now shes got into the town,

He lengthens out his lonely shout,

Which thunders down with headlong force,

Sits upright on a feeding horse?

"Such night as this was neer before,

The clock gives warning for eleven;

The owlet in the moonlight air,

And Bettys drooping at the heart,

Cried Betty, "Tell us Johnny, do,

He travels on along the vale.

And many dreadful fears beset her,

"What, woman! should I know of him?"

And never will be heard of more.

Of such we in romances read,

His heart it was so full of glee,

"Here will I die; here will I die;

And Susan she begins to fear

While our four travellers homeward wend;

Ye muses! whom I love so well.

And all his skill in horsemanship,

She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap,

And that was all his travels story.

To this did Johnny answer make,

"What can I do to ease your pain?

She screams--she cannot move for joy;

And Bettys husbands at the wood,

Then up along the town she hies,

In great and small, in round and square,

She watches till hes out of sight,

And like the very soul of evil,

Who is it, but old Susan Gale?

And thats the very pony too.

What do, and what to leave undone,

No hand to help them in distress:

Which way to turn she cannot tell.

To bring a doctor from the town,

Quoth Betty "he will soon be here,

His lips with joy they burr at you,

For in the moonlight he had been

She sees him in his travelling trim;

He never will be out of humour.

If she must go or she must stay:

The owls in tuneful concert strive;

She knows not, happy Betty Foy!

And now the thought torments her sore,

So, through the moonlight lane she goes,

They lengthen out the tremulous sob,

How quietly her Johnny goes.

Aｈtｔpｓ://read.９９ｃｓw•ｃoｍnd Johnny burrs and laughs aloud,

Burr, burr--now Johnnys lips they burr,

But when she hears what you have done,

He shakes the green bough in his hand.

"And we have always used him well;

Where by the week he doth abide,

And gently turned the ponys head

So through the moonlight lanes they go,

What theyve been doing all this time,

All like a silent horseman-ghost,

"The pony he is mild and good,

Both for her messenger and nurse;

That echoes far from hill to hill.

"Oh cruel! Im almost three-score;

And Bettys face with joy oer?ows,

And still and mute, in wonder lost,

"The devil take his wisdom!" said

--The clock strikes three--a dismal knell!

"How can it be he is so late?

How turn to left, and how to right.

Fond lovers, yet not quite hob nob,

The clock is on the stroke of one;

Now Johnny all night long had heard

Appear along the moonlight road,

Where is she, where is Betty Foy?

And almost sti?ed with her bliss,

On all sides doubts and terrors met her;

And Betty, now at Susans side,

"And the sun did shine so cold."

Then off she hies, but with a prayer

But when the pony moved his legs,

Oh gentle muses! is this kind?

"If he is hurt in life or limb"--

"Youve done your best, and that is all."

"Theyll both be here before eleven."

"What can I do?" says Betty, going,

That should he lose his eyes and ears,

She pats the pony, where or when

Theres neither Johnny nor his horse,

Twas Johnny, Johnny, every where.

A woodman in the distant vale;

For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,

The world will say tis very idle,

Shes happy here, shes happy there,

Theres not a mother, no not one,

"Or in the castle hes pursuing,

That happy time all past and gone,

In high and low, above, below,

And who is she, be-times abroad,

Her body still grew better.

And Bettys in a sad quandary;

Yet for his life he cannot tell

At poor old Susan then she railed,

Why of your further aid bereave me?

"Theyll both be here, tis almost ten,

Tis silence all on every side;

And Susans growing worse and worse,

"Oh Sir! you know Im Betty Foy,

To bring a doctor from the town,

To drown herself therein.

Him whom you love, your idiot boy?

The silence of her idiot boy,

Till she comes back again.

"And Johnny, mind you tell us true."

"And we will neer oerload thee more."

With, "God forbid it should be true!"

She turned, she tossd herself in bed,

I to the muses have been bound,

I cannot tell; but while he laughs,

And all that to herself she talked,

And far into the moonlight dale;

Which Betty well could understand.

He shouts from nobody knows where;

Theres neither doctor nor his guide.

While to the town she posts away;

The doctor at the casement shews,