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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540141" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Idiot Boy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis eight o'clock,--a clear March night, <br>The moon is up,--the sky is blue, <br>The owlet, in the moonlight air, <br>Shouts from nobody knows where; <br>He lengthens out his lonely shout, <br>Halloo! halloo! a long halloo! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">--Why bustle thus about your door, <br>What means this bustle, Betty Foy? <br>Why are you in this mighty fret? <br>And why on horseback have you set <br>Him whom you love, your Idiot Boy? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Scarcely a soul is out of bed; <br>Good Betty, put him down again; <br>His lips with joy they burr at you; <br>But, Betty! what has he to do <br>With stirrup, saddle, or with rein? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Betty's bent on her intent; <br>For her good neighbour, Susan Gale, <br>Old Susan, she who dwells alone, <br>Is sick, and makes a piteous moan <br>As if her very life would fail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's not a house within a mile, <br>No hand to help them in distress; <br>Old Susan lies a-bed in pain, <br>And sorely puzzled are the twain, <br>For what she ails they cannot guess. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty's husband's at the wood, <br>Where by the week he doth abide, <br>A woodman in the distant vale; <br>There's none to help poor Susan Gale; <br>What must be done? what will betide? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty from the lane has fetched <br>Her Pony, that is mild and good; <br>Whether he be in joy or pain, <br>Feeding at will along the lane, <br>Or bringing faggots from the wood. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he is all in travelling trim,-- <br>And, by the moonlight, Betty Foy <br>Has on the well-girt saddle set <br>(The like was never heard of yet) <br>Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he must post without delay <br>Across the bridge and through the dale, <br>And by the church, and o'er the down, <br>To bring a Doctor from the town, <br>Or she will die, old Susan Gale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is no need of boot or spur, <br>There is no need of whip or wand; <br>For Johnny has his holly-bough, <br>And with a 'hurly-burly' now <br>He shakes the green bough in his hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty o'er and o'er has told <br>The Boy, who is her best delight, <br>Both what to follow, what to shun, <br>What do, and what to leave undone, <br>How turn to left, and how to right. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty's most especial charge, <br>Was, 'Johnny! Johnny! mind that you <br>Come home again, nor stop at all,-- <br>Come home again, whate'er befall, <br>My Johnny, do, I pray you do.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To this did Johnny answer make, <br>Both with his head and with his hand, <br>And proudly shook the bridle too; <br>And then! his words were not a few, <br>Which Betty well could understand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now that Johnny is just going, <br>Though Betty's in a mighty flurry, <br>She gently pats the Pony's side, <br>On which her Idiot Boy must ride, <br>And seems no longer in a hurry. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when the Pony moved his legs, <br>Oh! then for the poor Idiot Boy! <br>For joy he cannot hold the bridle, <br>For joy his head and heels are idle, <br>He's idle all for very joy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And while the Pony moves his legs, <br>In Johnny's left hand you may see <br>The green bough motionless and dead: <br>The Moon that shines above his head <br>Is not more still and mute than he. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">His heart it was so full of glee, <br>That till full fifty yards were gone, <br>He quite forgot his holly whip, <br>And all his skill in horsemanship: <br>Oh! happy, happy, happy John. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And while the Mother, at the door, <br>Stands fixed, her face with joy o'erflows, <br>Proud of herself, and proud of him, <br>She sees him in his travelling trim, <br>How quietly her Johnny goes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The silence of her Idiot Boy, <br>What hopes it sends to Betty's heart! <br>He's at the guide-post--he turns right; <br>She watches till he's out of sight, <br>And Betty will not then depart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Burr, burr--now Johnny's lips they burr, <br>As loud as any mill, or near it; <br>Meek as a lamb the Pony moves, <br>And Johnny makes the noise he loves, 0 <br>And Betty listens, glad to hear it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Away she hies to Susan Gale: <br>Her Messenger's in merry tune; <br>The owlets hoot, the owlets curr, <br>And Johnny's lips they burr, burr, burr, <br>As on he goes beneath the moon. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">His steed and he right well agree; <br>For of this Pony there's a rumour, <br>That, should he lose his eyes and ears, <br>And should he live a thousand years, <br>He never will be out of humour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But then he is a horse that thinks! <br>And when he thinks, his pace is slack; <br>Now, though he knows poor Johnny well, <br>Yet, for his life, he cannot tell <br>What he has got upon his back. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So through the moonlight lanes they go, <br>And far into the moonlight dale, <br>And by the church, and o'er the down, <br>To bring a Doctor from the town, <br>To comfort poor old Susan Gale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty, now at Susan's side, <br>Is in the middle of her story, <br>What speedy help her Boy will bring, <br>With many a most diverting thing, <br>Of Johnny's wit, and Johnny's glory. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty, still at Susan's side, <br>By this time is not quite so flurried: <br>Demure with porringer and plate <br>She sits, as if in Susan's fate <br>Her life and soul were buried. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Betty, poor good woman! she, <br>You plainly in her face may read it, <br>Could lend out of that moment's store <br>Five years of happiness or more <br>To any that might need it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But yet I guess that now and then <br>With Betty all was not so well; <br>And to the road she turns her ears, <br>And thence full many a sound she hears, <br>Which she to Susan will not tell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans; <br>'As sure as there's a moon in heaven,' <br>Cries Betty, 'he'll be back again; <br>They'll both be here--'tis almost ten-- <br>Both will be here before eleven.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans; <br>The clock gives warning for eleven; <br>'Tis on the stroke--'He must be near,' <br>Quoth Betty, 'and will soon be here, <br>As sure as there's a moon in heaven.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The clock is on the stroke of twelve, <br>And Johnny is not yet in sight: <br>--The Moon's in heaven, as Betty sees, <br>But Betty is not quite at ease; <br>And Susan has a dreadful night. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty, half an hour ago, <br>On Johnny vile reflections cast: <br>'A little idle sauntering Thing!' <br>With other names, an endless string; <br>But now that time is gone and past. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty's drooping at the heart, <br>That happy time all past and gone, <br>'How can it be he is so late? <br>The Doctor, he has made him wait; <br>Susan! they'll both be here anon.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Susan's growing worse and worse, <br>And Betty's in a sad 'quandary'; <br>And then there's nobody to say <br>If she must go, or she must stay! <br>--She's in a sad 'quandary'. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The clock is on the stroke of one; <br>But neither Doctor nor his Guide <br>Appears along the moonlight road; <br>There's neither horse nor man abroad, <br>And Betty's still at Susan's side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Susan now begins to fear <br>Of sad mischances not a few, <br>That Johnny may perhaps be drowned; <br>Or lost, perhaps, and never found; <br>Which they must both for ever rue. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She prefaced half a hint of this <br>With, 'God forbid it should be true!' <br>At the first word that Susan said <br>Cried Betty, rising from the bed, <br>'Susan, I'd gladly stay with you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I must be gone, I must away: <br>Consider, Johnny's but half-wise; <br>Susan, we must take care of him, <br>If he is hurt in life or limb'-- <br>'Oh God forbid!' poor Susan cries. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What can I do?' says Betty, going, <br>'What can I do to ease your pain? <br>Good Susan tell me, and I'll stay; <br>I fear you're in a dreadful way, <br>But I shall soon be back again.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Nay, Betty, go! good Betty, go! <br>There's nothing that can ease my pain,' <br>Then off she hies, but with a prayer <br>That God poor Susan's life would spare, 0 <br>Till she comes back again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, through the moonlight lane she goes, <br>And far into the moonlight dale; <br>And how she ran, and how she walked, <br>And all that to herself she talked, <br>Would surely be a tedious tale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In high and low, above, below, <br>In great and small, in round and square, <br>In tree and tower was Johnny seen, <br>In bush and brake, in black and green; <br>'Twas Johnny, Johnny, every where. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And while she crossed the bridge, there came <br>A thought with which her heart is sore-- <br>Johnny perhaps his horse forsook, <br>To hunt the moon within the brook, <br>And never will be heard of more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now is she high upon the down, <br>Alone amid a prospect wide; <br>There's neither Johnny nor his Horse <br>Among the fern or in the gorse; <br>There's neither Doctor nor his Guide. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O saints! what is become of him? <br>Perhaps he's climbed into an oak, <br>Where he will stay till he is dead; <br>Or, sadly he has been misled, <br>And joined the wandering gipsy-folk. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Or him that wicked Pony's carried <br>To the dark cave, the goblin's hall; <br>Or in the castle he's pursuing <br>Among the ghosts his own undoing; <br>Or playing with the waterfall.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At poor old Susan then she railed, <br>While to the town she posts away; <br>'If Susan had not been so ill, <br>Alas! I should have had him still, <br>My Johnny, till my dying day.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poor Betty, in this sad distemper, <br>The Doctor's self could hardly spare: <br>Unworthy things she talked, and wild; <br>Even he, of cattle the most mild, <br>The Pony had his share. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now she's fairly in the town, <br>And to the Doctor's door she hies; <br>'Tis silence all on every side; <br>The town so long, the town so wide, <br>Is silent as the skies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now she's at the Doctor's door, <br>She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap; <br>The Doctor at the casement shows <br>His glimmering eyes that peep and doze! <br>And one hand rubs his old night-cap. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O Doctor! Doctor! where's my Johnny?' <br>'I'm here, what is't you want with me?' <br>'O Sir! you know I'm Betty Foy, <br>And I have lost my poor dear Boy, <br>You know him--him you often see; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'He's not so wise as some folks be:' <br>'The devil take his wisdom!' said <br>The Doctor, looking somewhat grim, <br>'What, Woman! should I know of him?' <br>And, grumbling, he went back to bed! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O woe is me! O woe is me! <br>Here will I die, here will I die; <br>I thought to find my lost one here, <br>But he is neither far nor near, <br>Oh! what a wretched Mother I!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She stops, she stands, she looks about; <br>Which way to turn she cannot tell. <br>Poor Betty! it would ease her pain <br>If she had heart to knock again; <br>--The clock strikes three--a dismal knell! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then up along the town she hies, <br>No wonder if her senses fail; <br>This piteous news so much it shocked her, <br>She quite forgot to send the Doctor, <br>To comfort poor old Susan Gale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now she's high upon the down, <br>And she can see a mile of road: <br>'O cruel! I'm almost threescore; <br>Such night as this was ne'er before, <br>There's not a single soul abroad.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She listens, but she cannot hear <br>The foot of horse, the voice of man; <br>The streams with softest sound are flowing, <br>The grass you almost hear it growing, <br>You hear it now, if e'er you can. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The owlets through the long blue night <br>Are shouting to each other still: <br>Fond lovers! yet not quite hob nob, <br>They lengthen out the tremulous sob, <br>That echoes far from hill to hill. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poor Betty now has lost all hope, <br>Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin, <br>A green-grown pond she just has past, <br>And from the brink she hurries fast, <br>Lest she should drown herself therein. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now she sits her down and weeps; <br>Such tears she never shed before; <br>'Oh dear, dear Pony! my sweet joy! <br>Oh carry back my Idiot Boy! 0 <br>And we will ne'er o'erload thee more.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A thought is come into her head: <br>The Pony he is mild and good, <br>And we have always used him well; <br>Perhaps he's gone along the dell, <br>And carried Johnny to the wood. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then up she springs as if on wings; <br>She thinks no more of deadly sin; <br>If Betty fifty ponds should see, <br>The last of all her thoughts would be <br>To drown herself therein. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Reader! now that I might tell <br>What Johnny and his Horse are doing <br>What they've been doing all this time, <br>Oh could I put it into rhyme, <br>A most delightful tale pursuing! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps, and no unlikely thought! <br>He with his Pony now doth roam <br>The cliffs and peaks so high that are, <br>To lay his hands upon a star, <br>And in his pocket bring it home. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps he's turned himself about, <br>His face unto his horse's tail, <br>And, still and mute, in wonder lost, <br>All silent as a horseman-ghost, <br>He travels slowly down the vale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now, perhaps, is hunting sheep, <br>A fierce and dreadful hunter he; <br>Yon valley, now so trim and green, <br>In five months' time, should he be seen, <br>A desert wilderness will be! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps, with head and heels on fire, <br>And like the very soul of evil, <br>He's galloping away, away, <br>And so will gallop on for aye, <br>The bane of all that dread the devil! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I to the Muses have been bound <br>These fourteen years, by strong indentures: <br>O gentle Muses! let me tell <br>But half of what to him befell; <br>He surely met with strange adventures. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O gentle Muses! is this kind? <br>Why will ye thus my suit repel? <br>Why of your further aid bereave me? <br>And can ye thus unfriended leave me <br>Ye Muses! whom I love so well? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who's yon, that, near the waterfall, <br>Which thunders down with headlong force, <br>Beneath the moon, yet shining fair, <br>As careless as if nothing were, <br>Sits upright on a feeding horse? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unto his horse--there feeding free, <br>He seems, I think, the rein to give; <br>Of moon or stars he takes no heed; <br>Of such we in romances read: <br>--'Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that's the very Pony, too! <br>Where is she, where is Betty Foy? <br>She hardly can sustain her fears; <br>The roaring waterfall she hears, <br>And cannot find her Idiot Boy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your Pony's worth his weight in gold: <br>Then calm your terrors, Betty Foy! <br>She's coming from among the trees, <br>And now all full in view she sees <br>Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Betty sees the Pony too: <br>Why stand you thus, good Betty Foy? <br>It is no goblin, 'tis no ghost, <br>'Tis he whom you so long have lost, <br>He whom you love, your Idiot Boy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She looks again--her arms are up-- <br>She screams--she cannot move for joy; <br>She darts, as with a torrent's force, <br>She almost has o'erturned the Horse, <br>And fast she holds her Idiot Boy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Johnny burrs, and laughs aloud; <br>Whether in cunning or in joy <br>I cannot tell; but while he laughs, <br>Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs <br>To hear again her Idiot Boy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now she's at the Pony's tail, <br>And now is at the Pony's head,-- <br>On that side now, and now on this; <br>And, almost stifled with her bliss, <br>A few sad tears does Betty shed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She kisses o'er and o'er again <br>Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy; <br>She's happy here, is happy there, <br>She is uneasy every where; <br>Her limbs are all alive with joy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She pats the Pony, where or when <br>She knows not, happy Betty Foy! <br>The little Pony glad may be, <br>But he is milder far than she, <br>You hardly can perceive his joy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh! Johnny, never mind the Doctor; <br>You've done your best, and that is all:' <br>She took the reins, when this was said, <br>And gently turned the Pony's head 0 <br>From the loud waterfall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">By this the stars were almost gone, <br>The moon was setting on the hill, <br>So pale you scarcely looked at her: <br>The little birds began to stir, <br>Though yet their tongues were still. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Pony, Betty, and her Boy, <br>Wind slowly through the woody dale; <br>And who is she, betimes abroad, <br>That hobbles up the steep rough road? <br>Who is it, but old Susan Gale? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long time lay Susan lost in thought; <br>And many dreadful fears beset her, <br>Both for her Messenger and Nurse; <br>And, as her mind grew worse and worse, <br>Her body--it grew better. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She turned, she tossed herself in bed, <br>On all sides doubts and terrors met her; <br>Point after point did she discuss; <br>And, while her mind was fighting thus, <br>Her body still grew better. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Alas! what is become of them? <br>These fears can never be endured; <br>I'll to the wood.'--The word scarce said, <br>Did Susan rise up from her bed, <br>As if by magic cured. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Away she goes up hill and down, <br>And to the wood at length is come; <br>She spies her Friends, she shouts a greeting; <br>Oh me! it is a merry meeting <br>As ever was in Christendom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The owls have hardly sung their last, <br>While our four travellers homeward wend; <br>The owls have hooted all night long, <br>And with the owls began my song, <br>And with the owls must end. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For while they all were travelling home, <br>Cried Betty, 'Tell us, Johnny, do, <br>Where all this long night you have been, <br>What you have heard, what you have seen: <br>And, Johnny, mind you tell us true.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now Johnny all night long had heard <br>The owls in tuneful concert strive; <br>No doubt too he the moon had seen; <br>For in the moonlight he had been <br>From eight o'clock till five. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus, to Betty's question, he <br>Made answer, like a traveller bold, <br>(His very words I give to you,) <br>'The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo, <br>And the sun did shine so cold!' <br>--Thus answered Johnny in his glory, <br>And that was all his travel's story,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540141" data-title="The Idiot Boy de William Wordsworth" data-description="'Tis eight o'clock,--a clear March night, 
The moon is up,--the sky is blue, 
The owlet, in the moonlight air, 
Shouts from nobody knows where; 
He lengthens out his lonely shout, 
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo! 

--Why bustle thus about your door..."></div>
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