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The Slave’s Lament

It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthrall
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 &c.
 
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 &c.
 
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 &c.
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