tis eig,

        the sky is blue,

        t in t air,

        s from nobody knows where;

        ,

        halloo! halloo! a long halloo!

        --le t your door,

        means tle, Betty Foy?

        y fret?

        And w

        boy?

        Be s,

        till sired, let Betty Foy

        it and stirrup ?ddle-faddle;

        But w upon a saddle

        boy?

        ts out of bed;

        Good Betty! put him down again;

        you,

        But, Betty! w o do

        itirrup, saddle, or h rein?

        tis very idle,

        Betime of night;

        t a mot one,

        But w you have done,

        Oty s.

        But Bettys bent o,

        For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,

        Old Susan, she who dwells alone,

        Is sick, and makes a piteous moan,

        As if her very life would fail.

        t a hin a mile.

        No o ress:

        Old Susan lies a bed in pain,

        And sorely puzzled are twain,

        For w s guess.

        Ays    the wood,

        h abide,

        A ant vale;

        to help poor Susan Gale,

        must be done? ide?

        Ay from tched

        is mild and good,

        her he be in joy or pain,

        Feeding at he lane,

        ing faggots from the wood.

        And ravelling trim,

        And by t, Betty Foy

        ,

        t,

        boy.

        And    post    delay

        Across ts in the dale,

        And by the down,

        t a doctor from town,

        Or she will die, old Susan Gale.

        t or spur,

        there is no need of whip or wand,

        For Johnny has his holly-bough,

        And h a hurly-burly now

        he green bough in his hand.

        Ay oer and oer old

        t delight,

        Bot to folloo shun,

        do, and o leave undone,

        urn to left, and ht.

        Ays most especial charge,

        as, "Jo you

        "e op at all,

        "e eer befal,

        "My Jo;

        to this did Johnny answer make,

        Both his hand,

        And proudly soo,

        And t a few,

        ty and.

        And no Jo going,

        ttys in a mighty ?urry,

        Sly pats the ponys side,

        On    ride,

        And seems no longer in a hurry.

        But whe pony moved his legs,

        O boy!

        For joy    he bridle,

        For joy his head and heels are idle,

        hes idle all for very joy.

        And whe pony moves his legs,

        In Jo-hand you may see,

        tionless and dead;

        t shines above his head

        Is not more still and mute than he.

        it was so full of glee,

        t till full ?fty yards were gone,

        e fot his holly whip,

        And all his skill in horsemanship,

        Oh! happy, happy, happy John.

        Ays standing at the door,

        Ays face h joy oer?ows,

        Proud of herself, and proud of him,

        Sravelling trim;

        ly her Johnny goes.

        t boy,

        sends to Bettys !

        t--urns right,

        Scill    of sight,

        Ay    t.

        Burr, burr--now Johey burr,

        As loud as any mill, or near it,

        Meek as a lamb the pony moves,

        And Johe noise he loves,

        Ay listens, glad to .

        Away so Susan Gale:

        And Joune,

        ts , ts curr,

        And Johey burr, burr, burr,

        And on he moon.

        eed and    well agree,

        For of theres a rumour,

        t should he lose his eyes and ears,

        And shousand years,

        of humour.

        But t thinks!

        And whinks his pace is slack;

        Nohough he knows poor Johnny well,

        Yet for    tell

        upon his back.

        So t lahey go,

        And far into t dale,

        And by the down,

        t a doctor from town,

        to fort poor old Susan Gale.

        Ay, no Susans side,

        Is in tory,

        fort Johnny soon will bring,

        it diverting thing,

        Of Jo and Johnnys glory.

        Ays still at Susans side:

        By time s quite so ?urried;

        Demure e

        Ss, as if in Susans fate

        her life and soul were buried.

        But Betty, pood woman! she,

        You plainly in ,

        Could lend out of t moments store

        Five years of happiness or more,

        to any t mig.

        But yet I guess t nohen

        itty all    so well,

        And to turns her ears,

        And thence full many a sound she hears,

        o Susan    tell.

        Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,

        "As sure as t;

        Cries Betty, "hell be back again;

        "tis almost ten,

        "t;

        Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,

        the clock gives warning for eleven;

        tis on troke--"If Jo;

        Quotty "he will soon be here,

        "As sure as t;

        troke of twelve,

        And Jo yet in sight,

        tty sees,

        But Betty is not quite at ease;

        And Susan .

        Ay, half an ho,

        On Joions cast;

        "A little idle sauntering t;

        itring,

        But no time is gone and past.

        Ays drooping at t,

        t ime all past and gone,

        " be e?

        "tor ,

        "Susan! t;

        And Susans growing worse and worse,

        Ays in a sad quandary;

        And to say

        If s go or s stay:

        --Shes in a sad quandary.

        troke of one;

        But or nor his guide

        Appear along t road,

        ther horse nor man abroad,

        Ays still at Susans side.

        And Susan so fear

        Of sad misc a few,

        t Johnny may perhaps be drownd,

        Or lost perhaps, and never found;

        both for ever rue.

        S of this

        it;God forbid it srue!"

        At t    Susan said

        Cried Betty, rising from the bed,

        "Susan, Id gladly stay h you.

        "I must be gone, I must away,

        "sider, Jo half-wise;

        "Susan,    take care of him,

        "If    in life or limb"--

        "O; poor Susan cries.

        "    I do?" says Betty, going,

        "    I do to ease your pain?

        "Good Susan tell me, and Ill stay;

        "I fear youre in a dreadful way,

        "But I s;

        "Good Betty go, good Betty go,

        "t    ease my pain."

        t h a prayer

        t God poor Susans life would spare,

        till she es back again.

        So, t lane she goes,

        And far into t dale;

        And how she ran, and how she walked,

        And all t to alked,

        ould surely be a tedious tale.

        In high and low, above, below,

        I and small, in round and square,

        In tree and tower was Johnny seen,

        In bush and brake, in blad green,

        twas Johnny, Johnny, every where.

        S ts in the dale,

        And no torments her sore,

        Johnny perhaps his horse forsook,

        to    ts in the brook,

        And never will be heard of more.

        And now she down,

        Alone amid a prospect wide;

        ther Johnny nor his horse,

        Among the gorse;

        tor nor his guide.

        "Os! w is bee of him?

        "Pero an oak,

        "ay till he is dead;

        "Or sadly he has been misled,

        "And joihe wandering gypsey-folk.

        "Or    wicked ponys carried

        "to the goblins hall,

        "Or in tle hes pursuing,

        "Among ts, his own undoing;

        "Or playing erfall."

        At poor old Susan then she railed,

        o town ss away;

        "If Susan    been so ill,

        "Alas! I sill,

        "My Joill my dying day."

        Poor Betty! in temper,

        tors self would hardly spare,

        Unalked and wild,

        Eve mild,

        the pony had his share.

        And noo town,

        And to tors door she hies;

        tis silence all on every side;

        toown so wide,

        Is silent as the skies.

        And noors door,

        Ss the knocker, rap, rap, rap,

        tor at t shews,

        peep and doze;

        And one -cap.

        "Oor! Doctor! w;

        "Im    ist you    ;

        "Oty Foy,

        "And I    my poor dear boy,

        "You know en see;

        " so ;

        "take ; said

        tor, looking somew grim,

        ", woman! s;

        And, grumbling,    back to bed.

        "O woe is me! O woe is me!

        "here will I die; here will I die;

        "I t to ?nd my Johnny here,

        "But her far nor near,

        "O a c;

        Sops, sands, s,

        o turn s tell.

        Poor Betty! it would ease her pain

        If s to knock again;

        --trikes three--a dismal knell!

        town she hies,

        No wonder if her senses fail,

        teous news so muc shockd her,

        Se fot to send tor,

        to fort poor old Susan Gale.

        And now she down,

        And she    see a mile of road,

        "O three-score;

        "Suc as this was neer before,

        "t a single soul abroad."

        Sens, but s hear

        t of he voian;

        treams est sound are ?owing,

        t    growing,

        You    now if eer you .

        ts t

        Are sing to eacill:

        Fond lovers, yet not quite hob nob,

        t tremulous sob,

        t eco hill.

        Poor Betty now    all hope,

        s are bent on deadly sin;

        A green-grown pond s has passd,

        And from t,

        Lest sherein.

        And now ss her down and weeps;

        Sucears she never shed before;

        "O joy!

        "O boy!

        "And ;

        A t is e into her head;

        "the pony he is mild and good,

        "And we have always used him well;

        "Perhe dell,

        "And carried Joo t;

        then up she springs as if on wings;

        Shinks no more of deadly sin;

        If Betty ?fty ponds should see,

        t of all s would be,

        to drown herein.

        O I migell

        Johnny and his horse are doing!

        time,

        O it into rhyme,

        A most deligale pursuing!

        Per!

        h roam

        t are,

        to lay ar,

        And in    bring it home.

        Perurned ,

        o ail,

        And still and mute, in ,

        All like a silent ,

        ravels on along the vale.

        And now, pering sheep,

        A ?erd dreadful er he!

        Yon valley, ts so trim and green,

        In ?ve montime, should he be seen,

        A desart wilderness will be.

        Perh head and heels on ?re,

        And like the very soul of evil,

        hes galloping away, away,

        And so hell gallop on for aye,

        t dread the devil.

        I to the muses have been bound,

        teen years, by strong iures;

        Ole muses! let me tell

        But    to him befel,

        For sure    range adventures.

        Ole muses! is this kind?

        repel?

        her aid bereave me?

        And    ye thus unfriended leave me?

        Ye muses! whom I love so well.

        , erfall,

        h headlong force,

        Be shining fair,

        As careless as if nothing were,

        Sits upright on a feeding horse?

        Unto s feeding free,

        o give;

        Of moon or stars akes no heed;

        Of such we in romances read,

        --tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.

        And ts too.

        ty Foy?

        Sain her fears;

        ter-fall she hears,

        And ot ?nd    boy.

        Your ponys    in gold,

        terrors, Betty Foy!

        Srees,

        And now, all full in view, she sees

        boy.

        Ay sees too:

        and you tty Foy?

        It is no goblin, tis no g,

        tis ,

        boy.

        She looks again--her arms are up--

        S move for joy;

        Ss as orrents force,

        S urhe horse,

        And fast s boy.

        And Johnny burrs and laughs aloud,

        her in ing or in joy,

        I ot tell; but while he laughs,

        Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs,

        to    boy.

        And noail,

        And nohe ponys head,

        On t side nohis,

        And almost sti?ed h her bliss,

        A feears does Betty shed.

        She kisses oer and ain,

        boy,

        Shere,

        She is uneasy every where;

        h joy.

        Ss the pony, where or when

        S, ty Foy!

        ttle pony glad may be,

        But han she,

        You hardly    perceive his joy.

        "Oor;

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

        Sook this was said,

        Aly turhe ponys head

        From ter-fall.

        By tars    gone,

        tting on the hill,

        So pale you scarcely looked at her:

        ttle birds began to stir,

        t tongues ill.

        tty, and her boy,

        ind slohe woody dale:

        And wimes abroad,

        t eep rough road?

        , but old Susan Gale?

        Long Susan lay deep lost in t,

        And many dreadful fears beset her,

        Both for her messenger and nurse;

        And as her mind grew worse and worse,

        greter.

        Surned, sossd herself in bed,

        On all sides doubts and terrors met her;

        Point after point did she discuss;

        And hus,

        ill greter.

        "Alas! hem?

        "these fears ever be endured,

        "Ill to t;--the word scarce said,

        Did Susan rise up from her bed,

        As if by magic cured.

        Away ss up hill and down,

        And to t length is e,

        Ss a greeting;

        O is a merry meeting,

        As ever was in .

        t,

        ravellers homeward wend;

        ted all night long,

        And he owls began my song,

        And    end.

        For wravelling home,

        Cried Betty, "tell us Johnny, do,

        " you have been,

        " you    you have seen,

        "And Joell us true."

        Now Jo long had heard

        tuneful cert strive;

        No doubt too he moon had seen;

        For in t he had been

        From eigill ?ve.

        And to Bettys question, he

        Made ansraveller bold,

        (o you,)

        "to-wo-whoo,

        "And t;

        --thus answered Johnny in his glory,

        And t ory.
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