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: