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And while the
pony moves his legs,
In Johnny's left-hand you may see,
Is not more still and mute than he.
His heart it was so full of glee,
And Betty's standing at the door,
And Betty's face with joy o'erflows,
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 will not then depart.
Burr, burr—now Johnny's lips they burr, As loud as any mill, or near it,
Meek as a lamb the pony moves,
And Johnny makes the noise he loves,
Away she hies to Susan Gale:
And Johnny's in a merry tune,
The owlets hoot, the owlets curr,
And Johnny's lips they burr, burr, burr,
And on he goes beneath the moon.
His steed and he right well agree,
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.
So through the moonlight lanes they go,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
And Betty, now at Susan's side,
What comfort Johnny soon will bring,
And Betty's still at Susan's side:
By this time she's not quite so flurried; Demure with porringer and plate
She sits, as if in Susan's fate
Her life and soul were buried.
But Betty, poor good woman! she,
Five years of happiness or more,
But yet I guess that now and then
And to the road she turns her ears,
And thence full many a sound she hears, Which she to Susan will not tell.
Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans, "As sure as there's a moon in heaven," Cries Betty," he'll be back again; "They'll both be here, 'tis almost ten, "They'll both be here before eleven."
Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans, The clock gives warning for eleven; 'Tis on the stroke—" If Johnny's near," " he will soon be here,
"As sure as there's a moon in heaven."