Mary Celestia Parler
Sung by Mrs. Maxine Hite Prairie Grove, Arkansas April 17, 1959
Reel 317, Item 4
"This song was sung by my mother, and by my husband's mother. This version is my husband's mother's version—Mrs. Otis Hite, Senior, and she said it was sting by her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Scott Ripley, when she was a girl."
Young men, young men, come learn of me My sad and mournful history,
And may you ne'er forgetful be,
In all your days what I tell to thee.
Before I reached my fifteenth year,
My father and my mother dear
Were both laid in their silent grave,
By He Who them their being gave.
No more had I a father's care,
No more did I their blessings share,
No more was I a mother's joy,
I was a poor helpless orphan boy.
Then Providence, that orphan's friend, A kind release to me did send,
And snatched me from impenury (sic), This poor little orphan McAfee.
And underneath my uncle's roof,
For want and danger far aloof;
Nine years was I most kindly reared, And oft their kind advice I heard.
But I was thoughtless, young, and gay, And from my home I ran away,
And to my sorrows as of life,
I took unto myself a wife.
She was as kind and true to me As any woman need to be;
(Cont'd)McAfee's Confession Reel 317, Item 4 Continued
And now alive would be, no doubt,
Had I never met Miss Effie Stout.
'Twas on a sultry summer night,
When all was still, when the stars shone bright,
My wife was lying on her bed,
When I approached to her and said:
Here wife, dear wife, is medicine,
I bought and brought this day for you;
To cure you of those vi'lent fits;
Pray take it now, pray take it do.
She gave to me a tender look,
And in her mouth the poison took;
Down on her bed, down by our babe,
In her last long sleep my wife she laid.
Then fearing that she was not dead,
My hands upon her throat I laid,
And there such a deep impression made Her soul soon from her body fled.
My heart was then filled full of woe;
Here, there, now, where can I go?
How can I quit this mournful place?
This world again how can I face?
I'd freely give up all my store,
Had I ten thousand pounds or more,
If I could bring again to life My dear, my darling murdered wife.
Her body's laid beneath the sod,
Her soul, I trust, is with its God;
And soon into eternity My guilty soul shall also be.
My friends, I bid you all adieu,
No more on earth will I see you;
But on heaven's bright and flowery plain I hope to meet you all again.
Click tabs to swap between content that is broken into logical sections.