Part III

TIME, that unravels every doubt,
Time, that allays the keenest smart,
That wondrous mysteries unfolds,
To vex, or please the human heart,

At this blest prime of EDWARD's youth,
Wrought forth a singular event,
A sweet return for EDWARD's worth,
As by his better angel sent;

For now unwieldy grown in wealth,
Fair ANNA's parents strongly yearn
To barter their Barbadian lands,
And to their native clime return.

The lands are sold at mighty price,
And now for England they prepare,
With ORRA in their train, to lend
The infant family her care.

Four daughters now her mistress own'd,
Whom ORRA's fond attention rear'd;
But none to ORRA's tender heart
Like lovely ANNA was endear'd.

Arriv'd in safety, they select
A dwelling fit for upstart pride;
Hence, in contiguous mansions plac'd,
EDWARD and ORRA now reside.

When bliss to worthy hearts is dealt,
Some call it Fortune's casual dow'r;
Forgive the Muse, if she ascribes
Such bliss to a superior Pow'r.

EDWARD, at sound of ORRA's name,
Yearns to engage in converse sweet,
When soon, comparing past events,
Their hearts with mutual rapture beat.

Their infant moments they recount,
Their separation on the main,
And EDWARD pours a show'r of tears
On his dear play-mate found again.

No wonder such an early bent
Should to maturer passion rise,
They felt alike the kindling flame,
And read it in each other's eyes.

They plighted love; they plighted troth;
He vow'd to live for her alone,
And, soon as fit occasion serv'd,
Connubial rites should make them one.

But 'midst these secret hours of bliss
A sudden grief smote EDWARD's heart;
His Lord a rapid fever seiz'd,
That baffled medicinal art.

Retir'd to taste his villa's sweets,
A blast of noxious ev'ning wind
Convey'd a poison to his veins,
And wrought insanity of mind.

Swift to the villa EDWARD flew,
He left awhile his ORRA dear,
Strong gratitude impell'd his heart
To make his Lord his only care.

And she with patient smile approv'd,
And yielded to the sacred claim,
Which bounty lays on gen'rous minds,
For ORRA's bosom felt the same.

O! could it be, that in the hours
To pious offices assign'd,
When EDWARD, with unceasing care,
And with a sore-afflicted mind,

Watch'd ev'ry breath his master drew,
Felt ev'ry groan that smote his ear,
And for returning sense and health
Made ev'ry thought a fervent pray'r?

In such a season could it be,
That ANNA's cruel parents strove,
By sordid treach'ry, to divide
Poor ORRA from her EDWARD's love?

It was—O! passion sprung from hell,
Unmitigable thirst of gold!
To what base deeds dost thou impell
The bosom that's by thee controll'd!

Thus ruminated ANNA's Sire:—
"Should EDWARD take this ORRA's hand,
"Conduct her to the altar's foot,
"And once be join'd in nuptial band,

"No remedy were left for me—
"A Christian made, my slave is lost;
"A Christian's wife, with him she goes,
"And with her all the gold she cost.

"It shall not be—this very hour
"A vessel in the river rides,
"Bound straight for Carolina's bay,
"And only waits for fav'ring tides;

"Her husband, I.—To-morrow's sun
"Shall be the last of ORRA's stay,
"For, at the approaching midnight hour
"Shall she be sudden borne away.

A man, perchance, to gain devote,
For ORRA's fate might little grieve,
But that his wife should yield assent,
What gentle female will believe?

Tho' pearly drops from ORRA's eyes
Adown her jetty bosom fell,
While in convulsive sobs she cry'd
"O! let me bid him one farewel!"

Yet all was vain—not ORRA's pray'rs,
Her years of faithful service spent,
Nor lovely ANNA's fond request,
Could make the mother's heart relent;

No, rot th' assembled childrens' tears,
Whom ORRA's tender care had rear'd,
Could draw one drop of pity down;
'Gainst all her callous breast was sear'd.

The word was pass'd—the morrow's sun
Was doom'd the last of ORRA's stay,
And at th' ensuing midnight hour
Was faithful ORRA torne away.