On this great subject Mrs. Browning found her husband in full sympathy with her. Browning himself declared in a letter to an American, September 11, 1861: I have lost the explanation of American affairs, but I assure you of my belief in the justice and my confidence in the triumph of the great cause. For the righteousness of the principle I want no information. God prosper it and its defenders.[14] Two poems by Mrs. Browning at least have to do directly with the Negro and American affairs. One was _A Curse for a Nation_ contributed to the _Poems before Congress_ volume. The poet begins somewhat self-consciously: I heard an angel speak last night, And he said "Write! Write a Nation's curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea." She protests her unwillingness to execute such a commission, for, she says, I am bound by gratitude By love and blood, To brothers of mine across the sea, Who stretch out kindly hands to me. The angel, however, beats down this unwillingness and the curse follows, the second stanza reading: Because yourselves are standing straight In the state Of Freedom's foremost acolyte, Yet keep calm footing all the time On writhing bond-slaves,--for this crime This is the curse. Write. At best, however, _A Curse for a Nation_ can hardly help impressing one as a little forced. In rather higher poetic vein is the other poem, _The Runaway Slave at Pilgrim's Point_. This was contributed to _The Liberty Bell_, a publication issued by the Boston Anti-Slavery Bazar in 1848. Mrs. Browning feared that the poem might be "too ferocious for the Americans to publish." The composition is undoubtedly a strong one. It undertakes to give the story of a young Negro woman who was bound in slavery, whose lover was crushed before her face, who was forced to submit to personal violation, who killed her child that so much reminded her of her white master's face, and who at last at Pilgrim's Point defied her pursuers. With unusual earnestness the poet has entered sympathetically into the subject. The following stanzas are typical: But _we_ who are dark, we are dark Ah God, we have no stars! About our souls in care and cark Our blackness shuts like prison-bars; The poor souls crouch so far behind That never a comfort can they find By reaching through the prison-bars. * * * * * Why, in that single glance I had Of my child's face, ... I tell you all, I saw a look that made me mad The _master's_ look, that used to fall On my soul like his lash ... or worse And so, to save it from my curse, I twisted it round in my shawl. * * * * *