My Dear Savannah Home

H. J. Wehman, Song Publisher, 50 Chatham St., N. Y.

My Dear Savannah Home.

Whar de balmy air is sighing,
And de roses catch de dew,
And de mocking bird am singing in de trees—
Dar’s a charming lubly city,
And I’ll eber it hold it true—
I was bro’t up mong its butterflies and bees.
In de pastures and de fields,
I lived de whole day long,
But from all of dem I’se been obliged to roam,
And when I think of happy times,
De merry dance and song,
I long to see my dear Savannah home.

All de sweet magnolia blossoms
Dat was blooming in de lanes,
And de garden dat was loaded with perfume,
All am dearer to dis darkey
Dan de long and lebel plains,
And dar I always had enough ob room.
When de shining moon at night
Was looking from de skies,
And we pushed de flat-boat from de ribber side,
And down de rippling waters whar
De Fort Pulaski lies,
Our jolly dancing parties used to glide.

But dose happy days are ober now,
De boys hab gone away,
And de collude gals are scattered o’er de land;
Oh! De times ain’t as dey used to be
When massa had his say,
And each plantation had its nigger band.
Near dat little cabin home,
De place whar I was born,
Dar’s a quiet, lubly spot, I’d like to see,
’Tis whar dey laid my mudder down,
One pleasant Summer morn,
While songsters asng a sad and plaintive glee.

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