Robert Burns

The Slave’s 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!