Oh! smile on me, my little lamb! My love for thee has well been tried : Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away! And there, my babe; we'll live for aye. THE IDIOT BOY. 'Tis eight o'clock,-a clear March night, The moon is up-the sky is blue, The owlet in the moonlight air, He shouts from nobody knows where ; He lengthens out his lonely shout, Halloo! halloo! a long halloo ! -Why bustle thus about your door, And why on horseback have you set Beneath the moon that shines so bright, Till she is tired, let Betty Foy There's scarce a soul that's out of bed; The world will say 'tis very idle, have done, But when she hears what you |