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

When bursting from the treach’rous bands of sleep,
Rouz’d by the murmurs of the dashing deep,
I woke to bondage and ignoble pains,
And all the horrors of a life in chains.
Ye Gods of Afric! in that dreadful hour
Where were your thunders and avenging pow’r!
Did not my pray’rs, my groans, my tears invoke
Your slumb’ring justice to direct the stroke?
No Power descended to assist the brave,
No lightnings flash’d and I became a slave.
From lord to lord my wretched carcase sold,
In Christian traffic, for their sordid gold.