June 9 to 13, 1889
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 poked 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!
‘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:
One friend they called upon—her name
Was Mrs. Hassall—then
Into a College Room they came,
Some savage Monster’s Den!
‘And, when that Monster dined, I guess
He tore her limb from limb?’
Well, no: in fact, I must confess
That Maggie dined with him!
To Worcester Garden next they strolled—
Admired its quiet lake:
Then to St. John’s, a College old,
Their devious way they take.
In idle mood they sauntered round
Its lawns so green and flat:
And in that Garden Maggie found
A lovely Pussey-Cat!
A quarter of an hour they spent
In wandering to and fro:
And everywhere that Maggie went,
That Cat was sure to go—
Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!
‘Miaow! Miaow!
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,
Who gave them cakes 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!’
To Pembroke College next they go,
Where little Maggie meets
The Master’s wife and daughter: so
Once more into the streets.
They met a Bishop 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.
Next to New College, where they saw
Two players hurl about
A hoop, but by what rule or law
They could not quite make out.
‘Ringo’ the Game is called, although
‘Les Graces’ was once its name,
When it was—as its name will show—
A much more graceful Game.
The Misses Symonds next they sought,
Who begged the child to take
A book they long ago had bought—
A gift for friendship’s sake!
Away, next morning, Maggie went
From Oxford-town: but yet
The happy hours she there had spent
She could not soon forget.
The train is gone: it rumbles on:
The engine-whistle screams:
But Maggie’s 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 lawns, and flowers,
And College-towers,
And Tom’s great Bell—
Farewell, farewell!
For Maggie may be
Bootles’ Baby!’
Lewis Carroll