Who's yon, that, near the waterfall, Which thunders down with headlong force, As careless as if nothing were, Unto his Horse, that's feeding free, -'Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live. And that's the very Pony too. 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 : 'Tis he whom you so long have lost, He whom you love, your Idiot Boy. She looks again-her arms are up- And Johnny burrs, and laughs aloud, I cannot tell; but while he laughs, To hear again her Idiot Boy. And now she's at the Pony's tail, She kisses o'er and o'er again, Her limbs are all alive with joy. She pats the Pony, where or when The little Pony glad may be, But he is milder far than she, "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 By this the stars were almost gone, Though yet their tongues were still. The Pony, Betty, and her Boy, Wind slowly through the woody dale; And who is she, be-times abroad, That hobbles up the steep rough road? Who is it, but old Susan Gale? Long Susan lay deep lost in thought, She turned, she toss'd herself in bed, On all sides doubts and terrors met her; Point after point did she discuss ; And while her mind was fighting thus, Her body still grew better. |