Ah! the poor little blackamoor, see there he goes, <br />And the blood gushes out from his half frozen toes, <br />And his legs are so thin you may see the very bones, <br />As he goes shiver, shiver, on the sharp cutting stones. <br /> <br />He was once a negro boy, and a merry boy was he, <br />Playing outlandish plays, by the tall palm tree; <br />Or bathing in the river, like a brisk water rat, <br />And at night sleeping sound, on a little bit of mat. <br /> <br /> <br />But there came some wicked people, and they stole him far away, <br />And then good bye to palm-tree tall, and merry merry play; <br />For they took him from his house and home, and ev'ry body dear, <br />And now, poor little negro boy, he's come a begging here. <br /> <br /> <br />And fie upon the wicked folks who did this cruel thing! <br />I wish some mighty nobleman would go and tell the king; <br />For to steal him from his house and home must be a crying sin, <br />Though he was a little negro boy, and had a sooty skin.<br /><br />Ann Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-little-negro/
