William Wordsworth

September 1, 1802

WE had a female Passenger who came From Calais with us, spotless in array,-- A white-robed Negro, like a lady gay, Yet downcast as a woman fearing blame; Meek, destitute, as seemed, of hope or aim She sate, from notice turning not away, But on all proffered intercourse did lay A weight of languid speech, or to the same No sign of answer made by word or face: Yet still her eyes retained their tropic fire, That, burning independent of the mind, Joined with the lustre of her rich attire To mock the Outcast.--O ye Heavens, be kind! And feel, thou Earth, for this afflicted Race!

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