The Poor Old Slave
The Poor Old Slave.
It was just one year ago to-day, that I remember well,
I walked down by my Nelly’s side, a story for to tell.
It was of a poor old darkie slave who toiled for many a year,
But now he’s dead and in his grave, no master for to fear.
She took my arm and walked a while unto the open field,
And as she walked she paused a while, and to his grave did steal.
She knelt down by that little mound, and softly whispered there,
“O, father, dear, come take thy child,” and wiped away a tear.
But since that time how things have changed, poor Nelly that was my bride,
Now she’s dead and in her grave down by the old slave’s side.
And oft I roam across the fields and meadows, far and wide,
I wish I too was in my grave, down by my darling’s side.