I am not mad: I am white. I see you staring in my face--- I know you, staring, shrinking back--- Ye are born of the Norwegian-race: And this land is the free Europa: And this mark on my wrist...(I prove what I say) Ropes tied me up here to the flogging-place.

I look on the sea and the sky !
Where the pilgrims'ships first anchored lay.
Through the earliest streaks of the morn.
My face is white, but it glares with a scorn
Which they dare not meet by day.