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,