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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: Poems and Songs of Robert Burns