Adieu to the land of my birth—
Proud land of the slave and the free!
What charms have thy bosom on earth
For men of complexion like me?

In this boasted land of the free
I've suffered contumely and scorn;
And cannot relate what I see
Is reserved for millions unborn.

If places on earth can be found
Untainted by slavery's breath,
I'll find them, or search the world round
Till my sorrows are ended in death.

Thy liberty is but a name—
A byword—a jargon, in fine!
Thy freemen of colour—oh shame!—
Are glad to escape from thy clime!

Adieu to thy stripes and thy stars,
That vauntingly float o'er the main!
Adieu to thy Lynch-laws and jars,
Thy fetters, thy charter, and chain!

I go to the Isles of the Sea,
Where men are not judged by their hue!
Where all are protected and free—
My native land, therefore, adieu!