They'll both be here-'tis almost ten — Both will be here before eleven.' Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans; The clock gives warning for eleven; 'Tis on the stroke-'He must be near,' Quoth Betty, 'and will soon be here, As sure as there's a moon in heaven.' The clock is on the stroke of twelve, And Johnny is not yet in sight: — The Moon's in heaven, as Betty sees, But Betty is not quite at ease; And Susan has a dreadful night. And Betty, half an hour ago, On Johnny vile reflections cast: 'A little idle sauntering Thing!' With other names, an endless string; But now that time is gone and past. And Betty's drooping at the heart, That happy time all past and gone, 'How can it be he is so late? The Doctor, he has made him wait; Susan! they'll both be here anon.' And Susan's growing worse and worse, And Betty's in a sad _quandary_; And then there's nobody to say If she must go, or she must stay! — She's in a sad _quandary_. The clock is on the stroke of one; But neither Doctor nor his Guide Appears along the moonlight road; There's neither horse nor man abroad, And Betty's still at Susan's side. And Susan now begins to fear Of sad mischances not a few, That Johnny may perhaps be drowned; Or lost, perhaps, and never found; Which they must both for ever rue. She prefaced half a hint of this With, 'God forbid it should be true!' At the first word that Susan said Cried Betty, rising from the bed, 'Susan, I'd gladly stay with you. 'I must be gone, I must away: Consider, Johnny's but half-wise; Susan, we must take care of him, If he is hurt in life or limb' — 'Oh God forbid!' poor Susan cries. 'What can I do?' says Betty, going, 'What can I do to ease your pain? Good Susan tell me, and I'll stay; I fear you're in a dreadful way, But I shall soon be back again.' 'Nay, Betty, go! good Betty, go! There's nothing that can ease my pain.' Then off she hies; but with a prayer That God poor Susan's life would spare, Till she comes back again. So, through the moonlight lane she goes, And far into the moonlight dale; And how she ran, and how she walked, And all that to herself she talked, Would surely be a tedious tale. In high and low, above, below, In great and small, in round and square, In tree and tower was Johnny seen, In bush and brake, in black and green; Twas Johnny, Johnny, every where. And while she crossed the bridge, there came A thought with which her heart is sore — Johnny perhaps his horse forsook, To hunt the moon within the brook,
