The Slave’s Lament
It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral,For the lands of Virginia,—ginia, O:Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more;And alas! I am weary, weary O:Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more;And alas! I am weary, weary O.
All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost,Like the lands of Virginia,—ginia, O:There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow,And alas! I am weary, weary O:There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow,And alas! I am weary, weary O:
The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear,In the lands of Virginia,—ginia, O;And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear,And alas! I am weary, weary O:And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear,And alas! I am weary, weary O: