373. Song—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:

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