MY PRETTY QUADROON.
Oh, my pretty, my pretty quadroon,
My flowers have faded too soon.
My heart, like the strings of my banjo,
Will break for my pretty quadroon.-
I never thought I was a slave,
But that was found out too soon.
I'll gather one handsome wild rose,
And call it my pretty quadroon.
My troubles will now soon be o'er,
And I find rest in the tomb,
My spirit will then soar above,
And watch o'er my pretty quadroon.