Last week, I shared the image of the journal with the leaf in it, and since then, I’ve had a chance to look through the journal, which is a treasure trove of the young James D. Iglehart’s writings, some original, and others not. Iglehart attended St. John’s College in Annapolis in 1872-73, and later became a physician and a member of MedChi.
One of the items he wrote was a sweet ode to a donkey. I found that it was originally by the Rev. Mr. Bray, on the Death of his favorite Donkey. However, Iglehart left out a verse or two and they’re not exactly as written, or in the order they were published in “The Pearl”, Volume 7. Click to read the original version.
The Pearl is a collection of erotic tales, rhymes, songs and parodies in magazine form that were published in London between 1879 to 1880, when they were forced to shut down by the authorities for publishing rude and obscene literature. Interestingly, this poem predates The Pearl.
It’s a bit hard to read, so I am transcribing it.
To My Donkey
Oh well do I remember yet
How very proud I used to get,
When like a little king I set,
Upon my ass.
When seated upon his nice warm back
My little tiny whip I’d crack
And with my little hand I’d smack
My ass.
And when through dirty lanes we’d trod
And get himself all over mud
I’d get some water in a tub,
And wash my ass.
And someone did so mean a trick
At first he hit him with a stick
And with his heavy boot did kick
His ass.
And once upon his back I sat,
And tried across a stream to get,
The rising tide came up and wet
My ass.
When once a race we tried to run,
And onward dashed through thick and thin,
We had a fall which scraped the skin,
All off my ass.
The hounds I followed hard one day,
To keep in sight was merely play,
But briars of fen crossed my way,
And scratched my ass.
To love him was a perfect bliss,
And never a single chance I’d miss,
To stop in childhood’s joy and kiss,
My little ass.
With him my choicest food I’d share,
And nurture him with fondest care,
And dally with the soft long hair,
Upon my ass.
But oh! His sad fate I bewail,
And one day he backed against a rail,
And a sharp pointed nail,
Stuck in my ass.
My grief for him was most sincere,
None could my aching bosom cheer,
And now kind friends come shed a tear,
Upon my ass.
I never know what I will find and where it will lead me!
How funny that the writer's last name was Bray. Was that part of the humor?
ReplyDeleteAfter I published this, I had the same thought! It would never have done to have a Reverend contributing to a saucy magazine under his own name!
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