The Farewell
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage
Gone, gone, -- sold and goneTo the rice-swamp dank and lone.Where the slave-whip ceaseless swingsWhere the noisome insect stingsWhere the fever demon strewsPoison with the falling dewsWhere the sickly sunbeams glareThrough the hot and misty air;Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone,From Virginia's hills and waters;Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and goneTo the rice-swamp dank and loneThere no mother's eye is near them,There no mother's ear can hear them;Never, when the torturing lashSeams their back with many a gashShall a mother's kindness bless themOr a mother's arms caress them.Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone,From Virginia's hills and waters;Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone,Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,From the fields at night they goFaint with toil, and racked with painTo their cheerless homes again,There no brother's voice shall greet themThere no father's welcome meet them.Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone,From Virginia's hills and waters;Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and loneFrom the tree whose shadow layOn their childhood's place of play;From the cool sprmg where they drank;Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;From the solemn house of prayer,And the holy counsels there;Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone,From Virginia's hills and waters;Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone;Toiling through the weary day,And at night the spoiler's prey.Oh, that they had earlier died,Sleeping calmly, side by side,Where the tyrant's power is o'erAnd the fetter galls no more!Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone;From Virginia's hills and watersWoe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone;By the holy love He beareth;By the bruised reed He spareth;Oh, may He, to whom aloneAll their cruel wrongs are known,Still their hope and refuge prove,With a more than mother's love.Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,To the rice-swamp dank and lone,From Virginia's hills and waters;Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
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