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373. Song—The Slave's Lament

by
 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:

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