The Slave's Lament
Martin Carthy| In 1786 Robert Burns, national poet of Scotland, booked a ticket... | |
| CAOINEADH AN DAOIR Ó ba thall sa tSeineagáil, is gan saoirse agam le fáil Mé ruaigthe go Virginia,-ginia, Ó. An Afraic Thiar mo bhrón, críoch nach bhfeicfidh mé níos mó Uch monuar! Tá mé creachta, creachta Ó. Is ar a cósta mín, sioc ná sneachta bán ní bhíonn, Gach abhainn ag rith de shíor, blátha gleoite ann ar m’fhíor! Uch monuar! Tá mé creachta, creachta Ó. Gach ualach orm, gach tasc, is is eagal dom an lasc I gcríochaibh seo Virginia,-ginia, Ó Gan aon chara agam sa chúirt, is níl faic im’ shaol ach buairt Uch monuar! Tá mé creachta, creachta Ó. | It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthrall, For the isle of Jamaica O. Torn from that lovely shore, and must ne’er see no more; Oh alas! I am weary, weary O! Torn from that lovely shore, oh must never see no more; Oh alas! I am weary, weary O! All on that charming coast was no brutal whipping post, Like the isle of Jamaica O. Where streams for ever flow, and flowers ever grow, And alas! I am weary, weary O! There streams for ever flow, and children ever grow, Oh alas! I am weary, weary O! The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear, On the isle of Jamaica O. And I think of family dear, with a sorry, bitter tear, Oh alas! I am weary, weary O! And I think of family gone, with a sorry bitter scorn Oh alas! I am weary, O-o-o! It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me entrap For the isle of Jamaica O. Torn from that lovely shore, Mama Africa, Oh alas! I am weary, weary O! Torn from that lovely coast, Mama Africa, O ah ya, ya ya ya.. We were carried beyond, our own home Seh we were taken beyond, Mama Africa’s shores, We were carried beyond, our own shore We were carried beyond, Mama Africa’s shores, |
