In sorrow and woe.

That poor mourning mother, of reason bereft,
Soon ended her sorrows and sank cold in death;
Thus died that slave mother, poor heart broken mother,
In sorrow and woe.

O, list ye kind mothers to the cries of the slave;
The parents and children implore you to save;
Go! rescue the mothers, the sisters and brothers,
From sorrow and woe.



THE CHASE.

AIR--Sweet Afton.


Quick, fly to the covert, thou hunted of men!
For the bloodhounds are baying o'er mountain and glen;
The riders are mounted, the loose rein is given,
And curses of wrath are ascending to heaven.
O, speed to thy footsteps! for ruin and death,
Like the hurricane's rage, gather thick round thy path;
And the deep muttered curses grow loud and more loud,
As horse after horse swells the thundering crowd.

Speed, speed, to thy footsteps! thy track has been found;
Now, _sport_ for the _rider_, and _blood_ for the _hound!_