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

Melan. Alas! that hour

Would come with joy to every honest heart,
Would shed divinest blessings from its wing;
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, Armed 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.

Melan. Still my fears

Fled with my child, and from his mother's arms
Bore my sweet little one. Full well thou know'st
The pangs I suffered in that trying moment.
Did I not weep? Did I not rave and shriek,
And by the roots tear my dishevelled hair?
Did I not follow to the sea-beat shore,
Resolved with him, and with my blooming boy,
To trust the winds and waves?

Melan. Deem not, Euphrasia,

I e'er can doubt thy constancy and love.

Each secret image that my fancy formed,
The gods can witness how I loved my Phocion,
And yet I went not with him. Could I do it?
Could I desert my father? Could I leave
The venerable man, who gave me being,
A victim here in Syracuse, nor stay
To watch his fate, to visit his affliction,
To cheer his prison hours, and, with the tear
Of filial virtue, bid even bondage smile?

Melan. The pious act, whate'er the fates in tend,

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 fafe, 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.
Melan. I would not add to my afflictions; yet
My heart misgives; Evander's fatal period
Euph. Still is far off; the gods have sent re
lief,

And once again I shall behold him king.

Melan. Alas! those glittering hopes but lend

a ray

To gild the clouds, that hover o'er your head, Soon to rain sorrow down, and plunge you deeper In black despair.

Euph. The spirit-stirring virtue,

That glows within me, ne'er shall know despair.
No, I will trust the gods. Desponding man!
Hast thou not heard with what resistless ardour
Timoleon drives the tumult of the war?
Hast thou not heard him thundering at our
gates?

The tyrant's pent up in his last retreat;
Anon thou'lt see his battlements in dust,.
His walls, his ramparts, and his towers in ruin;
Destruction pouring in on every side;
Pride and oppression at their utmost need;
And nought to save him in his hopeless hour.
[A flourish of trumpets.
Melan. Ha! the fell tyrant comes-Beguile
his rage,

And o'er your sorrows cast a dawn of gladness.

Enter DIONYSIUS, CALIPPUS, Officers, &c.
Dion. The vain, presumptuous Greek! his
hopes of conquest,

Like a gay dream, are vanished into air.
Proudly elate, and flushed with easy triumph
O'er vulgar warriors, to the gates of Syracuse
He urged the war, till Dionysius' arm

saw

To seek their safety by inglorious flight.

Euph. O Dionysius, if distracting fears Alarm this throbbing bosom, you will pardon A frail and tender sex. Should ruthless war Roam through our streets, and riot here in blood, Where shall the lost Euphrasia find a shelter? In vain she'll kneel, and clasp the sacred altar. O let me, then, in mercy, let me seek The gloomy mansion, where my father dwells; I die content, if in his arms I perish.

Dion. Thou lovely trembler, hush thy fears

to rest.

The Greek recoils; like the impetuous surge
That dashes on the rock, there breaks, and foams,
And backward rolls into the sea again.
All shall be well in Syracuse: a fleet
Appears in view, and brings the chosen sons
Of Carthage. From the hill that fronts the main,
I saw their canvass swelling with the wind,
While on the purple wave the western sun
Glanced the remains of day.

Euph. Yet till the fury

Of war subside, the wild, the horrid interval,
In safety let me soothe to dear delight
In a loved father's presence: from his sight,
For three long days, with specious feigned excuse
Your guards debarred 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 ear no more.
Dion. Why thus anticipate misfortune? Still
Evander mocks the injuries of time.
Calippus, thou survey the city round;
Station the centinels, that no surprise
Invade the unguarded works, while drowsy night
Weighs down the soldier's eye. 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 evening of his various day.

Euph. For this benignity, accept my thanks. They gush in tears, and my heart pours its tri

bute.

Dion. Perdiccas, ere the morn's revolving
light

Unveil the face of things, do thou dispatch
A well-oared 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 havock, to the ocean's margin,
And cast their limbs to glut the vulture's famine,
In mangled heaps, upon the naked shore.

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

Euph. How?-Speak! unfold!

Melan. My tongue denies its office.

Euph. How is my father? Say, Melanthon→→→ Melan. He,

I fear to shock thee with the tale of horror! Perhaps he dies this moment. Since Timoleon First formed his lines round this beleaguered

city,

No nutriment has touched Evander's lips.
In the deep caverns of the rock imprisoned,
He pines in bitterest want.

Euph. To that abode

Of woe and horror, that last stage of life,
Has the fell tyrant moved him?
Melan. There sequestered,
Alas! he soon must perish.
Euph. Well, my heart,

Well do your vital drops forget to flow!
Melan. Enough his sword has reeked with
public slaughter;

Now, dark insidious deeds must thin mankind. Euph. Oh! night, that oft hast heard my piercing shrieks

Disturb thy awful silence; oft has heard
Each stroke these hands, in frantic sorrow, gave,
From this sad breast resounding; now no more
I mean to vent complaints; I mean not now
With busy memory to retrace the wrongs
The tyrant heaped on our devoted race.

I hear it all; with calmest patience bear it:
Resigned and wretched, desperate and lost.
Melan. Despair, alas! is all the sad resource
Our fate allows us now.

Eaph. Yet, why despair?

Is that the tribute to a father due?
Blood is his due, Melanthon; yes, the blood,
The vile, black blood, that fills the tyrant's veins,
Would graceful look upon my dagger's point.
Come, Vengeance, come! shake off this feeble sex,
Sinew my arm, and guide it to his heart.
And thou, O filial piety! that rul'st

My woman's breast, turn to vindictive rage;
Assume the port of justice; shew mankind
Tyrannic guilt had never dared in Syracuse,
Beyond the reach of virtue.

Melan. Yet beware;
Controul this frenzy that bears down your rea-

son.

Surrounded by his guards, the tyrant mocks
Your utmost fury; moderate your zeal,
Nor let him hear these transports of the soul,
These wild upbraidings.

Euph. Shall Euphrasia's voice

Be hushed to silence, when a father dies?
Shall not the monster hear his deeds accurst?
Shall he not tremble, when a daughter comes,
Wild with her griefs, and terrible with wrongs,
Fierce in despair, all nature, in her cause,
Alarmed and roused with horror? Yes, Melan-
thon!

The man of blood shall hear me; yes! my voice
Shall mount aloft upon the whirlwind's wing,

der at!

[Exeunt.

SCENE I-A wild romantic scene amidst overhanging rocks; a cavern on one side.

ARCAS. [With a spear in his hand.] 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 murmuring billow breaks; the Grecian tents Lie sunk in sleep; no gleaming fires are seen; All Syracuse is hushed: 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 chased affrighted sleep.

Arc. At intervals the oar's resounding stroke Comes echoing from the main. Save that report, 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 performed; I take thy post.
Arc. How fares

Your royal prisoner?

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 labouring into birth. At close of day the sullen sky held forth Unerring signals. With disastrous glare

wretch,

The veriest wretch that ever groaned in anguish,
Comes here to grovel on the earth before thee,
To tell her sad, sad tale, implore thy aid-
For sure the power is thine, thou canst relieve
My bleeding heart, and soften all my woes.
Phil. Ha! sure those accents-

[Takes the light from her. 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;

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 pur-

pose:

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,

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

assistance

Evander wants not; it is fruitless all;
Thy tears, thy wild entreaties, are in vain.

Euph. Ha!-thou hast murdered him; he is

no more ;

I understand thee;---butchers, you have shed The precious drops of life; yet, e'en in death, Let me behold him; let a daughter close, With duteous hand, a father's beamless eyes; Print her last kisses on his honoured hand, And lay him decent in he shroud of death!

Phil. Alas! this frantic grief can nought avail. Retire, and seek the couch of balmy sleep, In this dread hour, this season of repose.

Euph. And dost thou, then, inhuman that
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 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,

VOL. I.

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 to 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

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!

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.

Who'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.
breaking heart!

The hand of death is on him.

Evan. Still a little,

A little onward to the air conduct me;

Oh, my

'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?

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

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.

Ecan. [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.