The IDIOT BOY. "Tis eight o'clock,-a clear March night, 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, And why on horseback have you set Him whom you love, your Idiot Boy? Beneath the Moon that shines so bright, Till she is tired, let Betty Foy But wherefore set upon a saddle There's scarce a soul that's out of bed; But, Betty! what has he to do The world will say 'tis very idle, There's not a mother, no not one, O Betty, she'll be in a fright. But Betty's bent on her intent; There's not a house within a mile, And sorely puzzled are the twain, And Betty's Husband's at the wood, And Betty 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, And he is all in travelling trim, The like was never heard of yet, Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy. And he must post without delay To bring a Doctor from the town, Or she will die, old Susan Gale. There is no need of boot or spur, He shakes the green bough in his hand. And Betty o'er and o'er has told The Boy who is her best delight Both what follow, what to shun, What do, and what to leave undone, How turn to left, and how to right. And Betty's most especial charge, Come home again, nor stop at all, Come home again, whate'er befal, My Johnny, do, I pray you do." |