THE BONDMAN.
Air—Troubadour.
Feebly the bondman toiled,
Sadly he wept—
Then to his wretched cot
Mournfully crept;
How doth his free-born soul
Pine ’neath his chain!
Slavery! Slavery!
Dark is thy reign.
Roused from repose,
Wearily toiling
Till after its close—
Praying for freedom,
He spends his last breath:
Liberty! Liberty!
Give me or death.
When, when, O Lord! will right
Triumph o’er wrong?
Tyrants oppress the weak,
O Lord! how long?
Hark! hark! a peal resounds
From shore to shore—
Tyranny! Tyranny!
Thy reign is o’er.
E’en now the morning
Gleams from the East—
Despots are feeling
Their triumph is past—
Strong hearts are answering
To freedom’s loud call—
Liberty! Liberty!
Full and for all.