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.
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, I 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:
Their streams for ever flow, and their 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.
