 | The Grecian Daughter |  |
7
ACT I.
Enter Melanthon, and Philotas.Melan.
Yet, yet a moment; hear, Philotas, hear me.
Philo.
No more; it must not be.
Melan.
Obdurate man!
Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distress'd,
A good, a virtuous, venerable king,
The father of his people, from a throne
Which long with ev'ry virtue he adorn'd,
Torn by a ruffian, by a tyrant's hand,
Groans in captivity? In his own palace
Lives a sequester'd prisoner?—Oh! Philotas,
If thou ha'st not renounc'd humanity;
Let me behold my sov'reign; once again
Admit me to his presence, let me see
My royal master.
Philo.
Urge thy suit no further;
Thy words are fruitless; Dionysius' orders
Forbid access; he is our sov'reign now;
'Tis his to give the law, mine to obey.
Melan.
Thou can'st not mean it—his to give the law?
Detested spoiler!—his!—a vile usurper!
Have we forgot the elder Dionysius,
Surnam'd the Tyrant? To Sicilia's throne
The monster waded thro' whole seas of blood.
8
Till rous'd at length Evander came from Greece,
Like Freedom's Genius came, and sent the tyrant
Stript of the crown, and to his humble rank
Once more reduc'd, to roam, for vile subsistence,
A wandering sophist, thro' the realms of Greece.
Philo.
Melanthon, yes; full clearly I remember
The splendid day, when all rejoicing Sicily
Hail'd her deliverer.
Melan.
Shall the tyrant's son
Deduce a title from the father's guilt?
Philotas, thou wert once the friend of goodness;
Thou art a Greek; fair Corinth gave thee birth;
I mark'd thy growing youth; I need not tell,
With what an equal sway Evander reign'd,
How just, how upright, generous and good!
From ev'ry region bards and sages came;
Whate'er of science ancient Egypt stor'd,
All that the East had treasur'd; all that Greece
Of moral wisdom taught, and Plato's voice
Was heard in Sicily. Shall Dionysius
Extingush ev'ery virtue in the land,
Bow to his yoke the necks of freeborn men,
And here perpetuate a tyrant's reign?
Philo.
Whate'er his right, to him in Syracuse
All bend the knee; his the supreme dominion,
And death and torment wait his sovereign nod.
Mel.
But soon that Pow'r shall cease; behold his walls
Now close encircled by the Grecian bands;
Timoleon leads them on; indignant Corinth
Sends her avenger forth, array'd in terror,
To hurl ambition from a throne usurp'd,
And bid all Sicily resume her rights.
Philo.
Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon; now
Grown dim with age, the eye pervades no more
The deep laid schemes which Dionysius plans.
Know then, a fleet from Carthage even now
Stems the rough billow, and, e'er yonder sun,
That now declining seeks the Western wave,
Shall to the shades of night resign the world,
Thou'lt see the Punic sails in yonder bay,
Whose waters wash the walls of Syracuse.
9
Art thou a stranger to Timoleon's name?
Intent to plan, and circumspect to see
All possible events, he rushes on
Resistless in his course! Your boasted master
Scarce stands at bay; each hour the strong blockade
Hems him in closer, and e'er long thou'lt view
Oppression's iron rod to fragment's shiver'd!
The good Evander then—
Philo.
Alas, Evander!—
Will ne'er behold the golden time you look for.
Melan.
How! not behold it! Say, Philotas, speak;
Has the fell tyrant, have his felon murderers—
Philo.
As yet, my friend, Evander lives.
Melan.
And yet
Thy dark half-hinted purpose—Lead me to him—
If thou hast murder'd him—
Philo.
By Heav'n he lives.
Melan.
Then bless me with one tender interview.
Thrice has the sun gone down, since last these eyes
Have seen the good old king; say, why is this?
Wherefore debarr'd his presence? Thee, Philotas,
The troops obey that guard the royal pris'ner;
Each avenue to thee is open; thou
Can'st grant admitance; let me, let me see him.
Philo.
Entreat no more; the soul of Dionysius
Is ever wakeful; rent with all the pangs
That wait on conscious guilt.
Melan.
But when dun night—
Philo.
Alas! it cannot be—But mark my words.
Let Greece urge on her general assault.
Dispatch some friend, who may o'erleap the walls,
And tell Timoleon, the good old Evander
Has liv'd three days, by Dionysius' order,
Lock'd up from ev'ry sustenance of nature,
And life, now wearied out, almost expires.
Melan.
If any spark of virtue dwell within thee,
Lead me, Philotas, lead me to his prison.
Philo.
The tyrant's jealous care hath mov'd him thence.
Melan.
Ha! mov'd him, say'st thou?
Philo.
At the midnight hour,
Silent convey'd him up the steep ascent,
To where the elder Dionysius form'd,
10
Which overhangs the deep, a dungeon drear:
Cell within cell, a labyrinth of horror,
Deep cavern'd in the cliff, where many a wretch,
Unseen by mortal eye, has groan'd in anguish,
And died obscure, unpitied, and unknown.
Melan.
Clandestine murderer! Yes, there's the scene
Of horrid massacre. Full oft I've walked,
When all things lay in sleep and darkness hush'd,
Yes, oft I've walk'd the lonely sullen beach,
And heard the mournful sound of many a corse
Plung'd from the rock into the wave beneath,
That murmur'd on the shore. And means he thus
To end a monarch's life? Oh! grant my pray'r;
My timely succour may protract his days;
The guard is yours—
Philo.
Forbear; thou plead'st in vain;
I must not yield; it were assur'd destruction;
Farewell, dispatch a message to the Greeks;
I'll to my station; now thou know'st the worst.
[Exit.
Melanthon.
Oh! lost Evander! Lost Euphrasia too!
How will her gentle nature bear the shock
Of a dear father, thus in lingring pangs
A prey to famine, like the veriest wretch
Whom the hard hand of misery hath grip'd
In vain she'll rave with impotence of sorrow;
Perhaps provoke her fate;—Greece arms in vain;
All's lost; Evander dies.—
Enter Callippus.
Calip.
Where is the king?
Our troops, that sallied to attack the foe,
Retire disordered; to the eastern gate
The Greeks pursue; Timoleon rides in blood;
Arm, arm, and meet their fury.
Melan.
To the citadel
Direct thy footsteps; Dionysius there
Marshalls a chosen band.
11
Do thou call forth
Thy hardy Vetrans; haste, or all is lost.
[Exit.
[Warlike music.
Melanthon.
Now, ye just Gods, now look propitious down;
Now give the Grecian sabre tenfold edge,
And save a virtuous king.
[Warlike music.
Enter Euphrasia.
Euphra.
War on ye heroes,
Ye great asserters of a monarch's cause!
Let the wild tempest rise. Melanthon, ha!
Did'st thou not hear the vast tremendous roar?
Down tumbling from it's base the eastern tow'r.
Burst on the tyrant's ranks, and on the plain
Lies an extended ruin.
Melan.
Still new horrors
Increase each hour, and gather round our heads.
Euphra.
The glorious tumult lifts my tow'ring soul.
Once more, Melanthon, once again, my father
Shall mount Sicilia's throne.
Melan.
Alas! that hour
Would come with joy to ev'ry honest heart,
Would shed divinest blessings from it's wing;
But no such hour in all the round of time,
I fear, the fates averse will e'er lead on.
Euphra.
And still, Melanthon, still does pale despair
Depress thy spirit? Lo! Timoleon comes
Arm'd with the pow'r 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
Forebode for thee. Would thou had'st left this place,
When hence your husband, the brave Phocion fled,
Fled with your infant son.
Euphra.
In duty fix'd,
Here I remain'd, while my brave gen'rous Phocion
Fled with my child, and from his mother's arms
Bore my sweet little one.—Full well thou know'st
12
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?
Melan.
Deem not, Euphrasia,
I e'er can doubt thy constancy and love.
Euphra.
Melanthon, how I loved, the Gods who saw
Each secret image that my fancy form'd,
The Gods can witness how I lov'd 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 ev'n bondage smile?
Melan.
The pious act, whate'er the fates intend,
Shall merit heartfelt praise.
Euphra.
Yes, Phocion, go,
Go with my child, torn from this matron breast,
This breast that still should yield it's 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 ev'ry look,
Explore each fond unutterable wish,
Catch his last breath, and close his eyes in peace.
Melan.
I would not add to thy afflictions; yet
My heart misgives;—Evander's fatal period—
Euphra.
Still is far off; the Gods have sent relief,
And once again I shall behold him king.
Mel.
Alas! this dream of hope at length may waken
To deep despair.
Euphra.
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
13
Hast thou not heard him thund'ring 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 tow'rs in ruin;
Destruction pouring in on ev'ry 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 vanish'd into air.
Proudly elate, and flush'd with easy triumph
O'er vulgar warriors, to the gates of Syracuse
He urg'd the war, till Dionysius' arm
Let slaughter loose, and taught his dastard train
To seek their safety by inglorious flight.
Euphra.
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 they 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 harbour,
I saw their canvas swelling with the wind,
While on the purple wave the western sun
Glanc'd the remains of day.
Euphra.
Yet till the fury
Of war subside, the wild, the horrid interval
14
In a lov'd father's presence; from his sight,
For three long days, with specious feign'd excuse.
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 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 drouzy 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 ev'ning of his various day.
Euphra.
For this benignity accept my thanks.
They gush in tears, and my heart pours it's tribute.
Dion.
Perdiccas, e'er the morn's revolving light
Unveil the face of things, do thou dispatch
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 Dionysius.
Euphrasia, Milanthon.
Euphra.
What do I hear? Melanthon, can it be?
If Charthage comes, if her perfidious sons
List in his cause, the dawn of freedom's gone.
Mel.
Woe, bitt'rest woe impends; thou would'st not think—
Euphra.
How!—speak!—unfold—
Melan.
My tongue denies it's office.
Euphra.
How is my father? Say, Melanthon—
15
He,—
Perhaps he dies this moment.—Since Timoleon
First form'd his lines round this beleaguer'd city,
No nutriment has touched Evander's lips.
In the deep caverns of the rock imprison'd
He pines in bitt'rest want.
Euphra.
To that abode
Of woe and horror, that last stage of life,
Has the fell tyrant mov'd him?
Melan.
There sequester'd,
Alas! he soon must perish.
Euphra.
Well, my heart,
Well do your vital drops forget to flow.
Melan.
Enough his sword has reek'd with public slaughter;
Now dark insiduous deeds must thin mankind.
Euphra.
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 mem'ry to retrace the wrongs
His hand hath heap'd on our devoted race.
I bear it all; with calmest patience bear it:
Resign'd and wretched, desperate and lost.
Melan.
Despair, alas! is all the sad resource
Our fate allows us now.
Euphra.
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 hath never dar'd in Syracuse,
Beyond the reach of virtue.
Melan.
Yet beware;
Controul this frenzy that bears down your reason.
16
Your utmost fury; moderate your zeal,
Nor let him hear these transports of the soul,
These wild upbraidings.
Euphra.
Shall Euphrasia's voice
Be hush'd 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
Alarm'd and rouz'd to vengeance?—Yes, Melanthon,
The man of blood shall hear me; yes, my voice
Shall mount aloft upon the whirlwind's wing.
Pierce yon blue vault, and bring the thund'rer down,
Melanthon come; my wrongs will lend me force;
The weakness of my sex is gone; this arm
Feels tenfold strength; this arm shall do a deed
For Heav'n and earth, for men and gods to wonder at:
This arm shall vindicate a father's cause.
End of First Act.
| The Grecian Daughter | |