Rejoice for the dead, with the shout and the song!
He has borne all his pain, he has suffered his wrong,
He has burst from his chain, and his labour is o'er,
He will start at the lash of the driver no more!
Full many a heavy slow year has passed by,
Since they tore him away from his palm-hut to die;
But now he has gone where his suffering ends,
And merry to-night will he be with his friends!
How his wife will rejoice, in whose bosom he lay!
And his children, who ran round him every day!
The baby Quenana, who sat on his knee,
What a tall and a sweet, blooming girl she will be!
You remember the night when the moon was sofair,
And we gathered around for our summer sport there;
When the war-cry was raised, we were filled with dismay,
And the robbers of men bore us off for their prey.
O Guinea! the thought of thy forests how dear!
Thy toucan and tinamon often we hear;
Well!--a little more labour, and we too shall be
In the dance with our friends round the wide-spreading tree!