(June 9th to 13th)
When Maggie once to Oxford came,
On tour as “Bootles’ Baby,”
She said, “I’ll see this place of fame,
However dull the day be.”
So with her friend she visited
The sights that it was rich in:
And first of all she popped her head
Inside the Christ Church kitchen.
The Cooks around that little child
Stood waiting in a ring:
And every time that Maggie smiled
Those Cooks began to sing--
Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom![25]
“Roast, boil and bake,
For Maggie’s sake:
Bring cutlets fine
For _her_ to dine,
Meringues so sweet
For her to eat--
For Maggie may be
Bootles’ Baby!”
Then hand in hand in pleasant talk
They wandered and admired
The Hall, Cathedral and Broad Walk,
Till Maggie’s feet were tired:
To Worcester Garden next they strolled,
Admired its quiet lake:
Then to St. John, a college old,
Their devious way they take.
In idle mood they sauntered round
Its lawn so green and flat,
And in that garden Maggie found
A lovely Pussy-Cat!
A quarter of an hour they spent
In wandering to and fro:
And everywhere that Maggie went,
The Cat was sure to go--
Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!
“Maiow! Maiow!
Come, make your bow,
Take off your hats,
Ye Pussy-Cats!
And purr and purr,
To welcome _her_,
For Maggie may be
Bootles’ Baby!”
So back to Christ Church, not too late
For them to go and see
A Christ Church undergraduate,[26]
Who gave them cake and tea.
Next day she entered with her guide
The garden called “Botanic,”
And there a fierce Wild Boar she spied,
Enough to cause a panic:
But Maggie didn’t mind, not she,
She would have faced, alone,
That fierce wild boar, because, you see,
The thing was made of stone.
On Magdalen walls they saw a face
That filled her with delight,
A giant face, that made grimace
And grinned with all its might.
A little friend, industrious,
Pulled upwards all the while
The corner of its mouth, and thus
He helped that face to smile!
“How nice,” thought Maggie, “it would be
If _I_ could have a friend
To do that very thing for _me_
And make my mouth turn up with glee,
By pulling at one end.”
In Magdalen Park the deer are wild
With joy, that Maggie brings
Some bread a friend had given the child,
To feed the pretty things.
They flock round Maggie without fear:
They breakfast and they lunch,
They dine, they sup, those happy deer--
Still, as they munch and munch
Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!
“Yes, Deer are we,
And dear is she!
We love this child
So sweet and mild:
We all rejoice
At Maggie’s voice:
We all are fed
With Maggie’s bread ...
For Maggie may be
Bootles’ Baby!”
They met a Bishop[27] on their way ...
A Bishop large as life,
With loving smile that seemed to say
“Will Maggie be my wife?”
Maggie thought _not_, because, you see,
She was so _very_ young,
And he was old as old could be ...
So Maggie held her tongue.
“My Lord, she’s Bootles’ Baby, we
Are going up and down,”
Her friend explained, “that she may see
The sights of Oxford Town.”
“Now say what kind of place it is,”
The Bishop gaily cried.
“The best place in the Provinces!”
That little maid replied.
Away, next morning, Maggie went
From Oxford town: but yet
The happy hours she had there spent
She could not soon forget.
The train is gone, it rumbles on:
The engine-whistle screams;
But Maggie deep in rosy sleep ...
And softly in her dreams,
Whispers the Battle-cry of Freedom.
“Oxford, good-bye!”
She seems to sigh.
“You dear old City,
With gardens pretty,
And lanes and flowers,
And college-towers,
And Tom’s great Bell ...
Farewell--farewell:
For Maggie may be
Bootles’ Baby!”
[24] These verses, never intended for publication, were written to
amuse the child actress, little Maggie Bowman, when she visited Oxford
to play the title-rôle in the stage version of John Strange Winter’s
popular novel, “Bootles’ Baby.”
[25] In a letter to the editor, the charming lady to whom these
pleasing verses were sent says: “This line is introduced because he
told me a story of some soldiers who could never remember the words of
their marching song, except for the last line, so they used to sing the
words of ‘Mary had a little lamb,’ finishing with ‘The lamb was sure to
go--Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom’!”
[26] A nephew of Lewis Carroll.
[27] The then Bishop of Oxford.