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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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