Euph. The glorious tumult lifts my tow'ring soul.

Once more, Melanthon, once again, my father Shall mount Sicilia's throne.

Mel. Alas! that hour

Would come with joy to every honest heart;
But no such hour in all the round of time,
I fear, the fates averse will e'er lead on.
Euph. And still, Melanthon, still does pale
despair

Depress thy spirit? Lo! Timoleon comes, Arm'd with the power of Greece; the brave, the just,

God-like Timoleon! ardent to redress,
He guides the war, and gains upon his prey.
A little interval shall set the victor
Within our gates triumphant.

Mel. Still my fears

Forebode for thee. Would thou hadst left this place,

When hence your husband, the brave Phocion, Fled with your infant son! [fled,

Euph. In duty fix'd, Here I remain'd, while my brave gen'rous Phocion [arms Fled with my child, and from his mother's Bore my sweet little one. Full well thou know'st

The pangs I suffer'd in that trying moment. Did I not weep? Did I not rave and shriek, And by the roots tear my dishevell'd hair? Did I not follow to the sea-beat shore, Resolv'd, with him and with my blooming boy, To trust the winds and waves?

Mel. The pious act, whate'er the fates intend, Shall merit heart-felt praise.

Euph. Yes, Phocion, go,

Go with my child, torn from this matron breast, This breast that still should yield its nurture to him,

Fly with my infant to some happier shore.
If he be safe, Euphrasia dies content.
Till that sad close of all, the task be mine
To tend a father with delighted care,
To smooth the pillow of declining age,
See him sink gradual into mere decay,
On the last verge of life watch every look,
Explore each fond unutterable wish,
Catch his last breath, and close his eyes in
peace.

Mel. I would not add to thy afflictions; yet My heart misgives; Evander's fatal periodEuph. Still is far off: the gods have sent relief,

And once again I shall behold him king. Mel. Alas! those glitt'ring hopes but lend a

cuse

Your guards debarr'd me. Oh! while yet he lives,

Indulge a daughter's love; worn out with age, Soon must he seal his eyes in endless night, And with his converse charm my ears no more. Dion. Afflicted fair,

Thy couch invites thee. When the tumult's o'er,

Thou'lt see Evander with redoubled joy.
Though now unequal to the cares of empire
His age sequester him, yet honours high
Shall gild the ev'ning of his various day.-
Perdiccas, ere the morn's revolving light
Unveil the face of things, do thou despatch
A well-oar'd galley to Hamilcar's fleet;
At the north point of yonder promontory
Let some selected officer instruct him
To moor his ships, and issue on the land.
Then may Timoleon tremble: vengeance then
Shall overwhelm his camp, pursue his bands
With fatal havoc to the ocean's margin,
And cast their limbs to glut the vulture's famine,
In mangled heaps upon the naked shore.

[Exit.

Euph. What do I hear? Melanthon, can it If Carthage comes, if her perfidious sons [be? List in his cause, the dawn of freedom's gone. Mel. Woe, bitt'rest woe, impends; thou would'st not think

Euph. How?-Speak! unfold.
Mel. My tongue denies its office.

Euph. How is my father? Say, Melanthon
Mel. He,

I fear to shock thee with the tale of horror! Perhaps he dies this moment. Since Timoleon First form'd his lines round this beleaguer'd

Well, do your vital drops forget to flow?
Mel. Despair, alas! is all the sad resource
Our fate allows us now.

Euph. Yet why despair?

Is that the tribute to a father due?

ACT II.

SCENE I.—A wild romantic scene amidst overhanging Rocks; a Cavern on one side. Enter ARCAS, with a Spear in his hand.

Are. The gloom of night sits heavy on the world;

And o'er the solemn scene such stillness reigns,
As 'twere a pause of nature; on the beach
No murm'ring billow breaks; the Grecian

tents

Lie sunk in sleep; no gleaming fires are seen;
All Syracuse is hush'd: no stir abroad,
Save ever and anon the dashing oar,
That beats the sullen wave. And, hark!—.
Was that

The groan of anguish from Evander's cell,
Piercing the midnight gloom?-It is the sound
Of bustling prows, that cleave the briny deep.
Perhaps at this dead hour Hamilcar's fleet
Rides in the bay.

Enter PHILOTAS, from the Cavern.
Phil. What, ho! brave Arcas! ho!
Arc. Why thus desert thy couch?
Phil. Methought the sound

Of distant uproar chas'd affrighted sleep.
Are. At intervals the oar's resounding stroke
Comes echoing from the main. Save that re-
port,

A death-like silence through the wide expanse
Broods o'er the dreary coast.

Phil. Do thou retire,

And seek repose; the duty of thy watch
Is now perform'd; I take thy post.
Arc. How fares

Your royal pris'ner?

Phil. Arcas, shall I own

A secret weakness? My heart inward melts To see that suffering virtue. On the earth, The cold, damp earth, the royal victim lies; And, while pale famine drinks his vital spirit, He welcomes death, and smiles himself to rest. Oh! would I could relieve him! Thou withdraw;

Thy wearied nature claims repose; and now The watch is mine.

Arc. May no alarm disturb thee. [Exit. Phil. Some dread event is lab'ring into birth. At close of day the sullen sky held forth Unerring signals. With disastrous glare The moon's full orb rose crimson'd o'er with blood;

And, lo! athwart the gloom a falling star Trails a long tract of fire!-What daring step Sounds on the flinty rock? Stand there; what, ho!

Speak, ere thou dar'st advance. Unfold thy Who and what art thou? [purpose: need'st not [fear,

Euph. [Behind the scenes.] Thou It is a friend approaches. Phil. Ha! what mean

Re-enter PHILOTAS, with EUPHRASIA. Euphrasia!

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
hush'd;

All things are mute around us; all but you

Rest in oblivious slumber from their cares. Euph. Yes, all; all rest: the very murd'rer sleeps;

Guilt is at rest: I only wake to misery. Phil. How didst thou gain the summit of the rock?

Euph. Give me my father; here you hold him fetter'd;

Oh! give him to me;-if ever [breast, The touch of nature throbb'd within your 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 dare comply.

Euph. It will be virtue in thee. Thou, like me, [parentWert born in Greece:-Oh! by our common 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 [pangs Chain'd to the earth, with slow consuming He felt sharp want, and with an asking eye Implor'd relief, yet cruel men deny'd it, Would'st thou not burst through adamantine gates, [Philotas, Through walls and rocks, to save him? Think, 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 assistance

Evander wants not; it is fruitless all;
Thy tears, thy wild entreaties, are in vain.
Euph. Ha!-thou hast murder'd him; he is

thou art,

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 injur'd daughter's cause;
Here will I dwell, and rave, and shriek, and
give

These scatter'd 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; reffect, 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. Her fix'd eternal home; inhuman savages, Here stretch me with a father's murder'd corse.

E

Unheard-of torture, virtue can keep pace With your worst efforts, and can try new modes To bid men grow enamour'd of her charms.

Exp. His eyes are fix'd; [hand: And those pale quiv'ring lips! He clasps my 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 th' alarm.

Euph. Support him; bear him hence; 'tis ali 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, Tir'd nature calls thee; come, in mercy come, And lay me pillow'd in eternal rest. [hand; My child, where art thou? give me; reach thy Why dost thou weep? My eyes are dry

Alas!

My voice shall warn her of th' approaching danger.

[Exit.

Arc. Would she had ne'er adventur'd to our guard.

[veys I dread th' event; and hark!-the wind conIn clearer sound the uproar of the main. The fates prepare new havoc; on th' event Depends the fate of empire. Wherefore thus Delays Euphrasia ?-Ha! what means, Philotas,

That sudden haste, that pale, disorder'd look? Re-enter PHILOTAS.

Phil. O! I can hold no more; at such a sight E'en 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 Th' 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 foster'd at his daughter's breast!
O, filial piety!-The milk design'd

For her own offspring, on the parent's lip
Allays the parching fever. 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

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. I'll go

Arc. And yet we must be wary. forth,

And first explore each avenue around, Lest the fix'd sentinel obstruct your purpose. (Exit.

Phil. I thank thee, Arcas; we will act like

men

[forth,

Who feel for others' woes-She leads him And tremblingly supports his drooping age.

Re-enter EUPHRASIA and EVANDER. Evan. Euphrasia, oh, my child! returning life [ward; Glows here about my heart. Conduct me forAt the last gasp preserv'd! Ha! dawning light! Let me behold; in faith, I see thee now; I do indeed: the father sees his child. Euph. I have reliev'd him-Oh, the joy's too great;

"Tis speechless rapture!

Evan. Blessings, blessings on thee!
Euph. My father still shall live.
Philotas,

Could I abandon that white, hoary head,
That venerable form ?-Abandon him
To perish here in misery and famine?

Alas!

Phil. Thy tears, thou miracle of goodness! Have triumph'd o'er me. Take him, take your father;

Convey him hence; I do release him to you. Evan. What said Philotas? Do I fondly dream?

Indeed, my senses are imperfect; yet [me?
Methought I heard him! Did he say, release
Phil. Thou art my king, and now no more
my pris'ner:
[pattern
Go with your daughter, with that wondrous
Of filial piety to after times.
[path,
Yes, princess, lead him forth; I'll point the
Whose soft declivity will guide your steps
To the deep vale, which these o'erhanging
[thence
Encompass round. You may convey him
To some safe shelter. Yet a moment's pause;
I must conceal your flight from ev'ry eye.
Yes, I will save, or perish in their cause.

rocks

[Exit.

[go?

Evan. Whither, oh! whither shall Evander I'm at the goal of life; if in the race Honour has follow'd with no ling'ring step, But there sits smiling with her laurell'd wreath To crown my brow, there would I fain make halt,

And not inglorious lay me down to rest.
Euph. And will you then refuse, when thus
the gods

Afford a refuge to thee?
Evan. Oh! my child,
There is no refuge for me.
Euph. Pardon, Sir:

Euphrasia's care has form'd a safe retreat; There may'st thou dwell; it will not long be wanted.

Soon shall Timoleon, with resistless force,
Burst yon devoted walls.
Evan, Timoleon!

corpse.

To me had heaven decreed a longer date,
It ne'er had suffer'd a fell monster's reign,
Nor let me see the carnage of my people.
Farewell, Euphrasia; in one lov'd embrace
To these remains pay the last obsequies,
And leave me here to sink to silent dust.
Euph. And will you then, on self-destruc-
tion bent,
[me?
Reject my prayer, nor trust your fate with
Evan. Trust thee! Euphrasia? Trust in thee,
my child?

Though life's a burden I could well lay down,
Yet I will prize it, since bestow'd by thee.
Oh! thou art good; thy virtue soars a flight
For the wide world to wonder at; in thee,
Hear it all nature, future ages hear it,
The father finds a parent in his child.

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

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

Has storm'd the forts, and even now his fleet Pursues its course, and steers athwart the bay. Through ev'ry street

Despair and terror fly. A panic spreads From man to man, and superstition sees [us. Jove arm'd with thunder, and the gods against Dion. With sacred rites their wrath must be appeas'd.

Let instant victims at the altar bleed;

Let incense roll its fragrant clouds to heaven,
And pious matrons, and the virgin train,
In slow procession to the temple bear
The image of their gods.

The solemn sacrifice, the virgin throng,
Will gain the popular belief, and kindle
In the fierce soldiery religious rage.
Away, my friends, prepare the sacred rites.
[Exit CAL.

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,

hide

[pire. Thou little know'st the cares, the pangs, of emThe ermin'd pride, the purple that adorns A conqueror's breast, but serves, my friend, to [morse: A heart that's torn, that's mangled with reEven 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 ordain'd, is mockery to heaven.
"Tis vain, 'tis fruitless; then let daring guilt
Be iny inspirer, and consummate all.
Where are those Greeks, the captives of my
sword,
[walls,
Whose desp'rate valour rush'd within our
Fought near our person, and the pointed lance
Aim'd at my breast?

Phil. In chains they wait their doom.
Dion. Give me to see 'em; bring the slaves

Dion. Assassins, and not warriors! do ye come, [sword, When the wide range of battle claims your Thus do you come against a single life To wage the war? did not our buckler ring With all your darts in one collected volley Shower'd on my head? did not your swords Point at my breast, and thirst for regal blood? Greek Offi. We sought thy life, I am by birth a Greek.

at once

An open foe in arms, I meant to slay
The foe of humankind. With rival ardour
We took the field: one voice, one mind, one

heart;

All leagu'd, all covenanted: in yon camp Spirits there are who aim, like us, at glory. Whene'er you sally forth, whene'er the Greeks Shall scale your walls, prepare thee to encounter

A like assault. By me the youth of Greece Thus notify the war they mean to wage.

Dion. Thus then I warn them of my great