POOR OLD SLAVE
(Words and Melody by G. W. H. Griffin) - 1851
'Tis just one year ago today,
That I remember well,
I sat down by poor Nelly's side
And a story she did tell.
'Twas 'bout a poor unhappy slave,
That lived for many a year;
But now he's dead, and in his grave,
No master does he fear.
The poor old slave has gone to rest,
We know that he is free.
Disturb him not but let him rest,
'Way down in Tennessee.
She took my arm, we walk'd along,
Into an open field,
And there she passed to breathe awhile,
Then to his grave did steal.
She sat down by that little mound,
And softly whisper'd there;
Come to me, father, 'tis thy child,
Then gently dropp'd a tear.
But since that time how things have changed,
Poor Nelly that was my bride,
Is laid beneath the cold grave sod,
With her father by her side.
I planted there upon her grave,
The weeping willow tree;
I bathed its roots with many a tear,
That it might shelter me.