Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/257

197 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 waterfall she hears,

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

Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.