Euph. Deign to listen to me.

Phil. Euphrasia!

Euph. Yes; the lost, undone Euphrasia; Supreme in wretchedness; to the inmost sense, Here in the quickest fibre of the heart, Wounded, transfixed, and tortured to distraction. Phil. Why, princess, thus anticipate the dawn? Still sleep and silence wrap the weary world; The stars in mid career usurp the pole ;

The Grecian bands, the winds, the waves are hushed;

All things are mute around us; all but you
Rest in oblivious slumber from their cares.

Euph. Yes, all; all rest: the very murderer sleeps ;

Guilt is at rest; I, only, wake to misery.

Phil. How did'st thou gain the summit of the rock?

Euph. Give me my father; here you hold him fettered;

Oh! give him to me!-in the fond pursuit
All pain and peril vanish; love and duty
Inspired the thought; despair itself gave courage;
I climbed the hard ascent; with painful toil
Surmounted craggy cliffs, and pointed rocks—
What will not misery attempt?-If ever
The touch of nature throbbed within your breast,
Admit me to Evander; in these caves
I know he pines in want; let me convey
Some charitable succour to a father!

Phil. Alas! Euphrasia, would I durst comply!
Euph. It will be virtue in thee. Thou, like

Nay, stay; thou shalt not fly; Philotas, stay;
You have a father too; think, were his lot
Hard as Evander's, if by felon hands
Chained to the earth, with slow consuming pangs
He felt sharp want, and with an asking eye,
Implored relief, yet cruel men denied it,
Wouldst thou not burst through adamantine gates,
Through walls and rocks, to save him? Think,
Philotas,

Of thy own aged sire, and pity mine.
Think of the agonies a daughter feels,
When thus a parent wants the common food,
The bounteous hand of nature meant for all!
Phil. 'Twere best withdraw thee, princess; thy

Advise a wretch, like me, to know repose?
This is my last abode: these caves, these rocks,
Shall ring for ever with Euphrasia's wrongs;
All Sicily shall hear me; yonder deep
Shall echo back an injured daughter's cause;
Here will I dwell, and rave, and shriek, and give
These scattered locks to all the passing winds;
Call on Evander lost; and, pouring curses,
And cruel gods, and cruel stars invoking,
Stand on the cliff in madness and despair!
Phil. Yet calm this violence! reflect, Eu-
phrasia,

With what severe enforcement Dionysius
Exacts obedience to his dread command.
If here thou'rt found-

Euph. Here is Euphrasia's mansion,

[Falls upon the ground. Her fixed eternal home; inhuman savages, Here stretch me with a father's murdered corse! Then heap your rocks, your mountains on my

head!

It will be kindness in you; I shall rest
Entombed within a parent's arms.
Phil. By heaven,
My heart in pity bleeds.

Euph. Talk'st thou of pity?

Yield to the generous instinct; grant my prayer; Let my eyes view him, gaze their last upon him, And shew you have some sense of human woe!

Phil. Her vehemence of grief o'erpowers me quite.

My honest heart condemns the barbarous deed, And if I dare

Euph. And, if you dare! Is that The voice of manhood! Honest, if you dare! 'Tis the slave's virtue! 'tis the utmost limit Of the base coward's honour. Not a wretch, There's not a villain, not a tool of power, But, silence interest, extinguish fear, And he will prove benevolent to man. The generous heart does more: will dare do all That honour prompts. How dost thou dare to murder?

Respect the gods, and know no other fear.

Phil. No other fear assails this warlike breast. I pity your misfortunes; yes, by Heaven, My heart bleeds for you. Gods! you've touch ed my soul! The generous impulse is not given in vain. I feel thee, Nature, and I dare obey. Oh! thou hast conquered. Go, Euphrasia, go, Behold thy father.

Euph. Raise me, raise me up;

I'll bathe thy hand with tears, thou generous man!

Phil. Yet mark my words; if aught of nourishment

Thou wouldst convey, my partners of the watch Will ne'er consent.

Euph. I will observe your orders: On any terms, oh! let me, let me see him! Phil. Yon lamp will guide thee through the

caverned way.

Euph. My heart runs o'er in thanks; the pi

ous act

SCENE II.-The Inside of the Cavern.

Enter ARCAS and EUPHRASIA.

Arc. No; on my life I dare not.
Euph. But a small,

A wretched pittance; one poor cordial drop,
To renovate exhausted drooping age.
I ask no more.

Arc. Not the smallest store

Of scanty nourishment must pass these walls.
Our lives were forfeit else: a moment's parley
Is all I grant; in yonder cave he lies.
Evan. [Within the cell.] Oh struggling na-
ture! let thy conflict end.

Oh! give me, give me rest.

Euph. My father's voice!

It pierces here! it cleaves my very heart.
I shall expire, and never see him more.

Arc. Repose thee, princess, here; [Draws a couch.] here rest thy limbs,

Till the returning blood shall lend thee firmness. Euph. The caves, the rocks, re-echo to his groans!

And is there no relief?

Arc. All I can grant

You shall command. I will unbar the dungeon, Unloose the chain that binds him to the rock, And leave your interview without restraint.

[Opens a cell in the back scene. Euph. Hold, hold, my heart! Oh! how shall I sustain

The agonizing scene? [Rises.] I must behold him;

Nature, that drives me on, will lend me force. Is that my father?

Arc. Take your last farewell.

His vigour seems not yet exhausted quite. You must be brief, or ruin will ensue. [Exit. Evan. [Raising himself.] Oh! when shall I get free? These lingering pangsEuph. Behold, ye powers, that spectacle of woe!

Evan. Dispatch me, pitying gods, and save my child!

I burn, I burn; alas! no place of rest!

[Rises and comes out. A little air; once more a breath of air; Alas! I faint-I die.

Euph. Heart-piercing sight!

Let me support you, sir.

Evan. Oh! lend your arm.

Whoe'er thou art, I thank thee: that kind breeze Comes gently o'er my senses; lead me forward; And is there left one charitable hand

To reach its succours to a wretch like me? Euph. Well may'st thou ask it. Oh, my breaking heart!

The hand of death is on him.
Evan. Still a little,

A little onward to the air conduct me.

'Tis well; I thank thee; thou art kind and good, And much I wonder at this generous pity.

Euph. Dost thou not know me, sir?

Evan. Methinks I know

That voice: art thou-alas! my eyes are dim!
Each object swims before me: No, in truth
I do not know thee.

Euph. Not your own Euphrasia?
Evan. Art thou my daughter!
Euph. Oh, my honoured sire!

Evan. My daughter, my Euphrasia? come to

close

A father's eyes! Given to my last embrace!
Gods! do I hold her once again? Your mercies
Are without number. [Falls on the couch.
This excess of bliss
O'erpowers; it kills; Euphrasia-could I hope it?
I die content. Art thou, indeed, my daughter?
Thou art; my hand is moistened with thy tears;
I pray you do not weep; thou art my child:
I thank you, gods! in my last dying moments
You have not left me. I would pour my praise;
But, oh, your goodness overcomes me quite!
You read my heart; you see what passes there.
Euph. Alas, he faints; the gushing tide of

transport

Bears down each feeble sense: restore him, Heaven!

Evan. All, my Euphrasia, all will soon be well,
Pass but a moment, and this busy globe,
Its thrones, its empires, and its bustling millions,
Will seem a speck in the great void of space.
Yet while I stay, thou darling of my age!-
-Nay, dry those tears.
Euph. I will, my father.
Evan. Where,-

I fear to ask it—where is virtuous Phocion?
Euph. Fled from the tyrant's power.
Evan. And left thee here

Exposed and helpless?

Euph. He is all truth and honour: He fled to save my child.

Evan. My young Evander!

Your boy is safe, Euphrasia? Oh, my heart!
Alas! quite gone; worn out with misery;
Oh, weak, decayed old man!

Euph. Inhuman wretches!

Will none relieve his want! A drop of water Might save his life, and even that's denied him! Evan. These strong emotions-Oh! that eager

air

It is too much-assist me; bear me hence, And lay me down in peace.

Euph. His eyes are fixed!

And those pale quivering lips! He clasps my hand:

What, no assistance! monsters, will you thus Let him expire in these weak feeble arms?

Enter PHILOTAS.

Phil. Those wild, those piercing shrieks will give the alarm!

Euph. Support him; bear him hence; 'tis all I ask.

Evan. [As he is carried off] O death! where art thou? Death, thou dread of guilt! Thou wish of innocence, affliction's friend, Tired nature calls thee; come, in mercy come, And lay me pillowed in eternal rest.

My child-where art thou? give me-reach thy hand

Why dost thou weep? My eyes are dry-alas! Quite parched, my lips quite parched, they cleave together.

Euph. Now judge, ye powers, in the whole round of time,

Phil. Oh! vile, detested lot,
Here to obey the savage tyrant's will,
And murder virtue, that can thus behold
Its executioner, and smile upon him.
That piteous sight!

Arc. She must withdraw, Philotas;
Delay undoes us both. The restless main
Glows with the blush of day. Timoleon's fleet,
That passed the night in busy preparation,
Makes from the shore. On the high craggy
point

Of yonder jutting eminence, I marked

Their haughty streamers curling to the wind.
He seeks Hamilcar's fleet. The briny deep
Shall soon be dyed with blood. The fierce alarm
Will rouse our slumbering troops. The time re-
quires,

Without or further pause, or vain excuse,
That she depart this moment.

Phil. Arcas, yes;

My voice shall warn her of the approaching dan

That sudden haste, that pale disordered look? Enter PHILOTAS.

Phil. Oh! I can hold no more; at such a
sight

Even the hard heart of tyranny would melt
To infant softness. Arcas, go, behold
The pious fraud of charity and love;
Behold that unexampled goodness;
See the expedient sharp necessity has taught her;
Thy heart will burn, will melt, will yearn to view
A child like her.

Arc. Ha! Say what mystery
Wakes these emotions?

Phil. Wonder-working virtue! The father fostered at his daughter's breast! O, filial piety! the milk designed For her own offspring, on the parent's lip Allays the parching fever.

Arc. That device

Has she then formed, eluding all our care,
To minister relief!

Phil. On the bare earth
Evander lies; and as his languid powers
Imbibe with eager thirst the kind refreshment,
And his looks speak unutterable thanks,
Euphrasia views him with the tenderest glance,
Even as a mother doating on her child:
And, ever and anon, amidst the smiles
Of pure delight, of exquisite sensation,
A silent tear steals down; the tear of virtue,
That sweetens grief to rapture. All her laws
Inverted quite, great nature triumphs still.

Arc. The tale unmans my soul. Phil. Ye tyrants, hear it! And learn, that while your cruelty prepares Unheard-of torture, virtue can keep pace With your worst efforts, and can try new modes, To bid men grow enamoured of her charms.

Arc. Philotas, for Euphrasia, in her cause, I now can hazard all. Let us preserve Her father for her.

Phil. Oh! her lovely daring Transcends all praise. By Heaven he shall not

die!

Evander, if thou mock'st me not, shall live
Once more to see the justice of the gods.
But wilt thou still protect my royal master
Wilt thou admit me to his wished-for presence?
Phil. Let it suffice that no assassin's aim
Can now assault him: I must hence, Melanthon;
I now must mingle with the tyrant's train,
And, with a semblance of obsequious duty,
Delude suspicion's eye: My friend, farewell.

[Exit. Melan. If he deceive me not with specious hopes,

I shall behold the sovereign, in whose service
These temples felt the iron casque of war,
And these white hairs have silvered o'er my head.

Enter EUPHRASIA.

Euph. See there; behold them; lo! the fierce

encounter!

He rushes on; the ocean flames around

Unconquered even by fate.

Cal. Through every street
Despair and terror fly. A panic spreads
From man to man, and superstition sees
Jove armed with thunder, and the gods against us.
Dion. With sacred rites their wrath must be
appeased.

Let instant victims at the altar bleed;
Let incense roll its fragrant clouds to heaven,
And pious virgins, and the matron train,
In slow procession to the temple bear
The image of their gods.

Euph. Ha!--Does the tyrant

Dare, with unhallowed step, with crimes and guilt,

Approach the sacred fane ?--Alas! my father,
Where now thy sanctuary? What place shall hide
Thy persecuted virtue ?
[Aside.

Dion. Thou, Euphrasia,

Lead forth the pious band. This very moment Issue our orders.

Euph. With consenting heart,

Euphrasia goes to waft her prayers to Heaven.

[Exit.

Rebellow to the roar.

Melan. The gods are with us,

And victory is ours.

Euph. High on the stern

The Grecian leaders stand: they stem the surge; Launched from their arm the missive lightnings flv,

And the Barbaric fleet is wrapt in fire.

And lo! yon bark, down in the roaring gulf; And there, more, more are perishing-Behold! They plunge, for ever lost.

Melan. So perish all,

Who from yon continent unfurl their sails,
To shake the freedom of this sea-girt isle!
Euph. Did I not say, Melanthon, did I not
Presage the glories of Timoleon's triumph!
Where now are Afric's sons? The vanquished
tyrant

Shall look aghast; his heart shall shrink appalled,
And dread his malefactions! Worse than famine,
Despair shall fasten on him!

Enter DIONYSIus, &c.

Dion. Base deserters!

Curse on their Punic faith! Did they once dare To grapple with the Greek! Ere yet the main Was tinged with blood, they turned their ships

averse.

May storms and tempests follow in the rear,
And dash their fleet upon the Lybian shore!
Enter CALIPPUS.

Cal. My liege, Timoleon, where the harbour
opens,

Has stormed the forts, and even now his fleet Pursues its course, and steers athwart the bay. Dion. Ruin impends; and yet, if fall it must, I bear a mind to meet it, ndismayed,

Away, my friends, prepare the sacred rites.

[Exeunt CALIPPUS, &c. Philotas, thou draw near: how fares your prisoner? Has he yet breathed his last?

Phil. Life ebbs apace;

To-morrow's sun sees him a breathless corse. Dion. Curse on his lingering pangs! Sicilia's

crown

No more shall deck his brow; and if the sand Still loiter in the glass, thy hand, my friend, May shake it thence.

Phil. It shall, dread sir; that task Leave to thy faithful servant.

Dion. Oh! Philotas,

Thou little know'st the cares, the pangs of empire.
The ermined pride, the purple, that adorns
A conqueror's breast, but serves, my friend, to
hide

A heart that's torn, that's mangled with remorse.
Each object round me wakens horrid doubts;
The flattering train, the centinel that guards me,
The slave that waits, all give some new alarm,
And from the means of safety dangers rise.
Even victory itself plants anguish here,
And round my laurels the fell serpent twines.
Phil. Would Dionysius abdicate his crown,
And sue for terms of peace?

Dion. Detested thought!

No, though ambition teem with countless ills,
It still has charms of power to fire the soul.
Though horrors multiply around my head,
I will oppose them all. The pomp of sacrifice,
But now ordained, is mockery to Heaven.
'Tis vain, 'tis fruitless; then let daring guilt
Be my inspirer, and consummate all.
Where are those Greeks, the captives of my
sword,

Whose desperate valour rushed within our walls,