Thou marvel of duty,
Dear Annie, dear Annie of the Vale!"
Then all was hushed to listen to the melody again:—
"The world we inherit
Is charmed by thy spirit,
As radiant as the mild, warm summer ray!
The watch dog is snarling,
For fear, Annie darling,
His beautiful young friend I'd steal away!"
And the chorus broke in as before. A pause—and like a variation in the song of the nightingale, rose the pathetic air of the "Poor Old Slave";—