Near the old Plantation,
At the close of day,
Stood the weary Mother and her child.
List’ning to the sounds
Along the valley’s way,
While their hearts with hope were throbing wild!
Glory! glory! How the Freedmen sang!
Glory! glory! How the old woods rang!
’Twas the loyal army
Sweeping to the sea,
Flinging out the banner of the Free!
When the blazing campfires
Gleam’d amid the wood,
And the boys were halting for the night.
In her wond’rous beauty
Little Rosa stood
Trembling and alone, before their sight.
Fly, my precious darling,
To the Union camp;
I will keep the hounds and hunters here.
Go right through the forest
Through ’tis dark and damp,
God will keep you, dear one, never fear.
Then the brave old gunner
Took her in his arms,
Thinking of his own dear ones at home.
And through all the marches,
And their rude alarms
Safely brought the little Octoroon.