SWEET MAGGIE McGEE

’Twas an elegant party he gave us, And all of the officers went; And I was that proud to be present For three of his daughters had sent

A dignified note to me honour, Which happened to be an invite; “Dear Phelim, Plaze come to our party At eight o’clock Saturday night;

“And it will be ‘officers strictly,’ Yourself we are waiting to see; Now don’t disappoint us, dear Phelim, Yours truly, The Sisters McGee.”

You see, we were ordered to Europe, For Ostend, Dunkirk or Calais, And all must be ready by Sunday To sail from Killala Bay.

And that was the reason a plenty For revels and parties galore; But the grandest of all, to my notion, Was this of “The One Day Before.”

An elegant party, a grand one,— The next day, “Away to the war.”— Take a light to your pipe while I’m talking, I’ll tell it ye, Mickey O’More.—

Now Billy McGee had three daughters, As pretty as they could well be, Young ladies, Miss Bridget and Mary, And sweet little Maggie McGee.

I’d called on the girls pretty often, And loved by the light of the moon, To wander with Bridget or Mary, Whichever one wanted to spoon.

Of course, that left out little Maggie, Because she was only sixteen;— A wild little trick, and a spitfire— Her ayqual ye never have seen.

“Aw Phelim, ye’re after forgetting The girl that I told you about”— “Tut, Mickey your tongue interrupts me— You grunt like a pig in his snout.”

The first one I met at the party Was Bridget, and looking that swate, My head was bamboozled entirely, Sure was I, that girl was my fate.

We had the first dance, and together Were thinking how soon we must part;— I said to her, “Bridget, tomorrow I go, but I lave you me heart.”

“Come out in the garden,” she whispered, “Faith, how can we talk in this crowd.”— And there in the moonlight ’twas settled: I felt like a peacock,—that proud.

So when we came back, there was Mary, And Bridget said, “Give her a dance;” And away we went whirling together, It seemed I was lost in a trance.

“Ah Mary,” I said, “’Tis a strange world; I feel like it’s slipping away; It leaves me behind while we’re dancing, Tomorrow will be my last day.”

“Come out in the garden,” she whispered, “I feel I will have a big cry.” And out there my head went that foolish, To hear the poor girl weep and sigh.

“Ah Mary,” says I, “You’re heartbroken Because I am off to the war; But listen, me darlint, I’ll tell you A thing I have thought of before:

“’Tis the praist that can help us, my Mary, Your husband I am, if you’ll wait,”— “Ah Phelim,” she sighed, “You’ll forget me, The glory will make you so great.”

We argued that question ten minutes; She swore she would always be true; And when I went back to the dancing, Sure, I was engaged to her, too.

The first one we met in the parlour Was sweet little Maggie McGee; Says Mary, “O Phelim, there’s Maggie, Go dance with her, just to plaze me.”

And soon we were dancing together— I thought we were floating in air, And I seemed in a dream for the perfume That lurked in her beautiful hair.

Her eyes, looking up (just a little), I saw in their wonderful blue A light I had dreamed of in women— Soft, innocent, perfect and true.

And the music? ah yes, and the music! It breathed of a lover’s soft pain; And the sorrow that wafted around us Was turning to pleasure again.

And there went the languishing beauties In circles around and around; And all of it mingled together, Light, beauty, sweet perfume and sound.

I whispered, “Ah what is it? Dearie, It is not the earth we are on; And are you that sweet little Maggie,— Or the wraith of her—after she’s gone?”

She answered me not, but her fond eyes Suffused with a liquid of pearl; And all the wide world slipped away then, Save only that one darling girl.

My brain was on fire, I was dizzy, I was sick with excess of delight; Ah, what if that girl should forget me The moment I slipped from her sight?

I whispered, “My dear, I can’t stand it; Come out in the garden with me; I never can rest till I’ve told you What ails me, sweet Maggie McGee.”

She looked up with something of wonder, And something of knowledge I thought; A man is so stupid and clumsy; A girl by her nature is taught.

A girl at sixteen may be artless, But that is not always the case;— Sweet Maggie demurely went with me, But a dimple played rogue in her face.—

“Aw Phelim O’Toole, what’s a Mormon Compared wit’ the likes of your heart? The divil is anxious to burn you— I’m waiting to witness your start.”—

“What, Mickey O’More, has occasioned The nonsense and vapour ye give? Just wait for the end o’ me story; You’re jealous as sure as I live.”

“Ah Maggie,” said I, “’Tis a wonder, To see you so quiet and shy; And me that’s on fire like a furnace For love of you standing near by.

“And the cause of it? Sure there’s a reason, And who but your sweet self, my dear? The good Lord was mad wit’ us poor men That moment he put you down here.

“I’m off of me feet, I am foolish; The divil knows what I will say; But the angel that’s in you must hear it Before I can go on me way.

“Now Bridget is ill for a brother, And Mary feels awfully, too, But before they can get such a present They’ll first have to give away—you.

“Ah Maggie, my colleen, forgive me,— A wild man, clane out of his mind,— So proud was I, now I’m that humble Compared with you—gold, and refined.

“But when I am off to that great war, Where death works a strange Golden Rule, And you hear of that terrible carnage, Will you forget Phelim O’Toole?

“’Tis a wonderful thing, I assure you, Great courage and love are true friends; And I feel, if the good Lord will spare me, That I may (before the war ends)

“Do something that you can be proud of; I mean, if you care about me, For now I am through with my boyhood For the love of sweet Maggie McGee.

“And Maggie, see, here is a plain ring, The one that my mother once wore, And I ask you to keep it because, dear, No other girl——never before

“Have I had a thought to part with it, And sure by that sign you will know There is one girl for me, and one only, Acushla, wherever I go.”

And my arm had (by accident may be) Slipped ’round her,—ah sure it was chance; But it gave me another sensation Than the same in the whirl of the dance.

And while I was talking her eyes shone Like stars on the waves of the Moy— And as I leaned over I whispered, “My dearest, my darling, my joy.”

And our lips met (by accident may be) But the moment the kissing was done, Up Maggie flashed furious and slapped me, And fled from me like a wild fawn.

At first I was rather astonished, And angry—it made my cheek sting— But when I reflected I noticed She had not returned me that ring.

So, musing, I turned from the garden And entered the ball room once more; ’Twas late and the guests had departed, But Bridget stood by the front door.

We walked about ten feet together, And there stood Miss Mary near by, And always, her heart was that tender, I thought she was ready to cry.

Then the three of us ambled to father, With arms locked around them I wint; And the moment he saw that performance His eyes took a mischievous glint.

“Dear father,” I said, “Pretty Bridget Has told me a sister I need, And Mary assures me the same thing, ’Tis I am the brother indeed.”

Then both of the girls began laughing, Each thought I had said the right thing; And I was quite sure of that notion, By right of one girl and the ring.

Then Daddy McGee said, “You rascal, To which of the girls have you lied.” And I answered, “Belave me the best one.”— They laughed at that quite satisfied.

“So that was the end of your party;” Chimed in little Mickey O’More.— Be aisey Mike, I never told you That I had gone out be the door.

Well—annyway—Mickey you guessed it; I rambled away to the gate; For sure I suspicioned that some one Would hang around there,—on the wait.

But that little trick of wild nature Would never do what you might think;— The rest of the night, having missed her, My wearied eyes slept not a wink.

The morning came up; bright and early, The drum and fife stirred the crisp air; And after we ate a good breakfast, We packed up and started from there.

We marched down the main street in glory, For all the town waved a farewell; And here and there Johnny or Tommy Broke ranks to kiss Kitty or Nell.

And what would you think of Miss Bridget, So kind at the party last night! She passed that same Phelim O’Toole, sir, And hugged the lad just at his right.

“Ah Jimmy Malone, you rap-scallion! Whoever would think ye so sly? I thought your Miss Bridget was my girl, I see it was all in me eye.”

And what would you think of Miss Mary, So ready and soft with her weep! Ah Mickey, don’t fail to raymimber Thim kind of girls always is deep.

She passed me the same as Miss Bridget, And held a big weep in her eyes, But a lad on me left, Bill O’Brien, Rewarded her sorrowful cries.

I looked on me right, there was Bridget A-kissing of Jimmy Malone; I looked on me left, and O’Brien With Mary was wailing o’chone!

’Twas sad for me, I that neglected, Forgot by the pretty McGees! And where was a female for Phelim To weep with, or kiss if you please?

Well, after the women had plenty Of doings, that kind of a way, With a cheer for the girls and a flourish We marched out of old Ballina.

But sarrah the cheer would I join in,— And all the boys laughed at me so, I gnawed on me nails, and I growled out, “The divil knows where you will go.”

Away we had marched then, a half mile, While I was too grouchy to tell, When out from the midst of a thicket We heard the most terrible yell.

A screech and a yell, and betwixt them I heard my name, “Phelim O’Toole!” A screech then, “O Phelim!” a yell then, I felt like a blithering fool.

So dazed like I was, till my fool head Remembered the tone of that voice; And the sight of the way I went on then Would make a blind monkey rejoice.

I threw down my gun on the soft peat, I ran to the voice that called me; And there in a clump of sweet lilacs My darling, sweet Maggie McGee.

“Bad cess to you, Mickey O’More, let That tongue of yours wag in your head; No question of yours can get from me A word of what Sweet Maggie said.”