Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/183

131 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,

Sits upright on a feeding horse?

Unto his horse, that's feeding free,

He seems, I think, the rein to give;

Of moon or stars he takes no heed;

Of such we in romances read,

—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 water-fall she hears,

And cannot find her idiot boy.