The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume I Part 103

And now she's at the Doctor's door, She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap; The Doctor at the cas.e.m.e.nt shows His glimmering eyes that peep and doze! 250 And one hand rubs his old night-cap.

"Oh Doctor! Doctor! where's my Johnny?"

"I'm here, what is't you want with me?"

"Oh Sir! you know I'm Betty Foy, And I have lost my poor dear Boy, 255 You know him--him you often see;

"He's not so wise as some folks be": "The devil take his wisdom!" said The Doctor, looking somewhat grim, "What, Woman! should I know of him?" 260 And, grumbling, he went back to bed!

"O woe is me! O woe is me!

Here will I die; here will I die; I thought to find my lost one here, [23]

But he is neither far nor near, 265 Oh! what a wretched Mother I!"

She stops, she stands, she looks about; Which way to turn she cannot tell.

Poor Betty! it would ease her pain If she had heart to knock again; 270 --The clock strikes three--a dismal knell!

Then up along the town she hies, No wonder if her senses fail; This piteous news so much it shocked her, She quite forgot to send the Doctor, 275 To comfort poor old Susan Gale.

And now she's high upon the down, And she can see a mile of road: "O cruel! I'm almost threescore; Such night as this was ne'er before, 280 There's not a single soul abroad."

She listens, but she cannot hear The foot of horse, the voice of man; The streams with softest sound are flowing, The gra.s.s you almost hear it growing, 285 You hear it now, if e'er you can.

The owlets through the long blue night Are shouting to each other still: Fond lovers! yet not quite hob n.o.b, They lengthen out the tremulous sob, 290 That echoes far from hill to hill.

Poor Betty now has lost all hope, Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin, A green-grown pond she just has past, And from the brink she hurries fast, 295 Lest she should drown herself therein.

And now she sits her down and weeps; Such tears she never shed before; "Oh dear, dear Pony! my sweet joy!

Oh carry back my Idiot Boy! 300 And we will ne'er o'erload thee more."

A thought is come into her head: The Pony he is mild and good, And we have always used him well; Perhaps he's gone along the dell, 305 And carried Johnny to the wood.

Then up she springs as if on wings; She thinks no more of deadly sin; If Betty fifty ponds should see, The last of all her thoughts would be 310 To drown herself therein.

O Reader! now that I might tell What Johnny and his Horse are doing!

What they've been doing all this time, Oh could I put it into rhyme, 315 A most delightful tale pursuing!

Perhaps, and no unlikely thought!

He with his Pony now doth roam The cliffs and peaks so high that are, To lay his hands upon a star, 320 And in his pocket bring it home.

Perhaps he's turned himself about, His face unto his horse's tail, And, still and mute, in wonder lost, All silent as a horseman-ghost, 325 He travels slowly down the vale. [24]

And now, perhaps, is hunting [25] sheep, A fierce and dreadful hunter he; Yon valley, now so trim [26] and green, In five months' time, should he be seen, 330 A desert wilderness will be!

Perhaps, with head and heels on fire, And like the very soul of evil, He's galloping away, away, And so will gallop [27] on for aye, 335 The bane of all that dread the devil!

I to the Muses have been bound These fourteen years, by strong indentures: [A]

O gentle Muses! let me tell But half of what to him befel; 340 He surely met [28] with strange adventures.

O gentle Muses! is this kind?

Why will ye thus my suit repel?

Why of your further aid bereave me?

And can ye thus unfriended [29] leave me; 345 Ye Muses! whom I love so well?

Who's yon, that, near the waterfall, Which thunders down with headlong force Beneath the moon, yet shining fair, As careless as if nothing were, 350 Sits upright on a feeding horse?

Unto his horse--there feeding [30] free, He seems, I think, the rein to give; Of moon or stars he takes no heed; Of such we in romances read: 355 --'Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.

And that's the very Pony, too!

Where is she, where is Betty Foy?

She hardly can sustain her fears; The roaring waterfall she hears, 360 And cannot find her Idiot Boy.

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 365 Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.

And Betty sees the Pony too: Why stand you thus, good Betty Foy?

It is no goblin, 'tis no ghost, 'Tis he whom you so long have lost, 370 He whom you love, your Idiot Boy.

She looks again--her arms are up-- She screams--she cannot move for joy; She darts, as with a torrent's force, She almost has o'erturned the Horse, 375 And fast she holds her Idiot Boy.

And Johnny burrs, and laughs aloud; Whether in cunning or in joy I cannot tell; but while he laughs, Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs 380 To hear again her Idiot Boy.

And now she's at the Pony's tail, And now is [31] at the Pony's head,-- On that side now, and now on this; And, almost stifled with her bliss, 385 A few sad tears does Betty shed.

She kisses o'er and o'er again Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy; She's happy here, is happy there, [32]

She is uneasy every where; 390 Her limbs are all alive with joy.

She pats the Pony, where or when She knows not, happy Betty Foy!

The little Pony glad may be, But he is milder far than she, 395 You hardly can perceive his joy.

"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 400 From the loud waterfall.

By this the stars were almost gone, The moon was setting on the hill, So pale you scarcely looked at her: The little birds began to stir, 405 Though yet their tongues were still.

The Pony, Betty, and her Boy, Wind slowly through the woody dale; And who is she, betimes abroad, That hobbles up the steep rough road? 410 Who is it, but old Susan Gale?

Long time lay Susan lost in thought; [33]

And many dreadful fears beset her, Both for her Messenger and Nurse; And, as her mind grew worse and worse, 415 Her body--it grew better.

She turned, she tossed herself in bed, On all sides doubts and terrors met her; Point after point did she discuss; And, while her mind was fighting thus, 420 Her body still grew better.

"Alas! what is become of them?

These fears can never be endured; I'll to the wood."--The word scarce said, Did Susan rise up from her bed, 425 As if by magic cured.

Away she goes [34] up hill and down, And to the wood at length is come; She spies her Friends, she shouts a greeting; Oh me! it is a merry meeting 430 As ever was in Christendom.

The owls have hardly sung their last, While our four travellers homeward wend; The owls have hooted all night long, And with the owls began my song, 435 And with the owls must end.

For while they all were travelling home, Cried Betty, "Tell us, Johnny, do, Where all this long night you have been, What you have heard, what you have seen: 440 And, Johnny, mind you tell us true."

Now Johnny all night long had heard The owls in tuneful concert strive; No doubt too he the moon had seen; For in the moonlight he had been 445 From eight o'clock till five.