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,