Where he knelt and pardon sought, · to relieve his troubled mind.
He cried, “God’s grace be with thee still, · O Lady mother dear!
O mother, you would sorrow, · if you looked upon me here;
For my neck is bound with chains, · and I live in grief and fear,
Like a traitor by my brethren sold, · like a captive to the spear.
“They have sold me! they have sold me! · though I never did them harm;
They have torn me from my father, · from his strong and living arm,
By art and cunning they enticed me, · and by falsehood’s guilty charm,
And I go a base-bought captive, · full of sorrow and alarm.”
But now the negro looked about, · and knew that he was gone,