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!