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Poem by Robert Burns


The Slaves Lament


IT was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral,
  For the lands of Virginia O;
Torn from that lovely shore, I must never see it more,
  And alas I am weary, weary O!

All on that charming coast is no bitter snow or frost,
  Like the lands of Virginia 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 O;
And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear,
  And alas I am weary, weary O!



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Theres News, Lasses
  2. Scroggam
  3. To a Young Lady, Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with Books which the Bard Presented her
  4. The Toast
  5. To Alex Cunningham, Writer


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