University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

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 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.
Philo.
What ho!—brave Arcas!—ho!

Arcas.
Why thus desert thy couch?

Philo.
Methought the sound
Of distant uproar chas'd affrighted sleep.

Arcas.
At intervals the oar's resounding stroke
Comes ecchoing from the main. Save that report,
A death-like silence thro' the wide expanse
Broods o'er the dreary coast.

Philo.
Do thou retire,
And seek repose; the duty of thy watch.
Is now performed; I take thy post.

Arcas.
How fares
Your royal pris'ner?

Philo.
Arcas, shall I own
A secret weakness?—My heart inward melts
To see that suff'ring virtue. On the earth,
The cold, dank 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.

Arcas.
May no alarm disturb thee.

[Exit.
Philotas.
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?

Enter Euphrasia, with a Lanthorn in her hand.
Euphra.
Thou need'st not fear;
It is a friend approaches.

Philo.
Ha! What mean
Those plentive notes?

Euphra.
Here is no ambush'd Greek,
No warrior to surprize thee on the watch.
An humble supplicant comes—Alas! my strength
Exhausted quite forsakes this weary frame,

Philo.
What voice thus piercing thro' the gloom of night—
What art thou?—Speak, unfold thy purpose; say,
What wretch, with what intent, at this dead hour—
Wherefore alarm'st thou thus our peaceful watch?

Euphra.
Let no mistrust affright thee.—Lo! a wretch,
The veriest wretch that ever groan'd in anguish,
Comes here to grovel on the earth before thee,
To tell her sad, sad tale, implore thy aid,
For sure the pow'r is thine, thou canst relieve
My bleeding heart, and soften all my woes.

Philo.
Ha! sure those accents— (takes the light from her,)


Euphra.
Deign to listen to me.

Philo.
Euphrasia!—

Euphra.
Yes; the lost undone Euphrasia:
Supreme in wretchedness; to th'inmost sense,
Here in the quickest fibre of the heart,
Wounded, transfix'd, and tortur'd to distraction.

Philo.
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 oblivion slumber from their cares.

Euphra.
Yes, all at peace; I only wake to misery.

Philo.
How didst thou gain the summit of the rock!

Euphra.
Give me my father; here you hold him fetter'd;
Oh! give him to me;—in the fond pursuit
All pain and peril vanish; love and duty
Inspir'd the thought; despair itself gave courage;
I climb'd the hard ascent; with painful toil
Surmounted craggy cliffs, and pointed rocks;
What will not misery attempt?—If ever
The touch of nature throbb'd 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.

Philo.
Alas! Euphrasia, wou'd I dar'd comply.

Euphra.
It will be virtue in thee; thou, like me,
Wert born in Greece;—Oh! by our common parent—
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
Chain'd to the earth, with slow consuming pangs
He felt sharp want, and with an asking eye
Implor'd relief, yet cruel men denied it,
Would'st thou not burst thro' adamantine gates,
Thro' walls and rocks, to save him? Think, Philotas.
Of thy own aged fire, 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.

Phi.
'Twere best withdraw thee, princess; thy assistance
Evander wants not; it is fruitless all;
Thy tears, thy wild entreaties, are in vain.

Euphra.
Ha!—thou hast murder'd 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 honour'd hand,
And lay him decent in the shroud of death.

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

Euphra.
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 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.

Philo.
Yet calm this violence; reflect, Euphrasia,
With what severe enforcement Dionysius
Exacts obedience to his dread command.
If here thou'rt found—

Euphra.
Here is Euphrasia's mansion,
(falls on the ground.)
Her fix'd eternal home;—inhuman savages,
Here stretch me with a father's murder'd corse;
Then heap your rocks, your mountains on my head;
It will be kindness in you; I shall rest
Intomb'd within a parent's arms.

Philo.
By Heav'n,
My heart in pity bleeds.

Euphra.
Talk'st thou of pity?
Yield to the gen'rous instinct; grant my pray'r;
Let my eyes view him, gaze their last upon him,
And shew you have some sense of human woe.

Philo.
Her vehemence of grief o'erpow'rs me quite.
My honest heart condemns the barb'rous deed,
And if I dare—

Euphra.
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 pow'r,
But, silence interest, extinguish fear,
And he will prove benevolent to man.
The gen'rous heart does more; will dare to all
That honour prompts.—How dost thou dare to murder?
Respect the gods, and know no other fear.

Philo.
Oh! thou hast conquer'd.—Yes, Euphrasia, go
Behold thy father—

Euphra.
Raise me, raise me up;
I'll bathe thy hand with tears, thou gen'rous man!

Philo.
Yet mark my words; if aught of nourishment
Thou would'st convey, my partners of the watch
Will ne'er consent—

Euphra.
I will observe your orders:
On any terms, oh! let me, let me see him.

Philo.
Yon lamp will guide thee thro' the cavern'd way.

Euphra.
My heart runs o'er in thanks; the pious act
Timoleon shall reward; the bounteous gods,
And thy own virtue shall reward the deed.

[Goes into the cave.
Philotas.
Prevailing, pow'rful virtue!—Thou subdu'st
The stubborn heart, and mould'st it to thy purpose.
Would I could save them!—But tho' not for me
The glorious pow'r to shelter innocence,
Yet for a moment to assuage its woes,
Is the best sympathy, the purest joy
Nature intended for the heart of man,
When thus she gave the social gen'rous tear.

[Exit.
Scene the Inside of the Cavern.
Enter Arcas and Euphrasia.
Arcas.
No; on my life I dare not.

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

Arcas.
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.

Evander
(within the cell.)
Oh! struggling nature! let thy conflict end.
Oh! give me, give me rest.

Euphra.
My father's voice!
It pierces here; it cleaves my very heart.
I shall expire, and never see him more.

Arcas.
Repose thee, princess, here, (draws a couch.)
here rest thy limbs,
Till the returning blood shall lend thee firmness.

Euphra.
The caves, the rocks, re-echo to his groans,
And is there no relief?

Arcas.
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.)
Euphra.
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 his mansion?

Arcas.
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 ling'ring pangs—

Euphra.
Behold, ye pow'rs, 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.

Euphra.
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 it's succour to a wretch like me?

Euphra.
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 gen'rous pity.

Euphra.
Do you 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.—

Euphra.
Not your own Euphrasia?

Evan.
Art thou my daughter?

Euphra.
Oh! my honour'd Sire!

Evan.
My daughter, my Euphrasia! come to close
A father's eyes!—Giv'n 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 moisten'd 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—
You read my heart—you see what passes there.

Euphra.
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—

Euphra.
I will my father.

Evan.
Where,
I fear to ask it; where is virtuous Phocion?

Euphra.
Fled from the tyrant's pow'r.

Evan.
And left thee here
Expos'd and helpless?

Euphra.
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, decay'd old man!

Euphra.
Inhuman wretches!
Will none relieve his want?—A drop of water
Might save his life; and ev'n that's deny'd him.

Evan.
These strong emotions—Oh! that eager air—
It is too much—Assist me; bear me hence;
And lay me down in peace.

Euphra.
His eyes are fix'd!
And those pale quiv'ring lips!—He clasps my hand—
What, no assistance!—Monsters will you thus
Let him expire in these weak feeble arms?

Enter Philotas.
Philo.
Those wild, those piercing shrieks will give the alarm.

Euphra.
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,
Tir'd nature calls thee—Come, in mercy come,
And lay me pillow'd in eternal rest.
My child—where art thou? Give me—reach thy hand—
Why dost thou weep?—My eyes are dry—Alas!
Quite parch'd—my lips—quite parch'd—they cling—together.

Euphra.
Now judge, ye Pow'rs, in the whole round of time.
If e'er you view'd a scene of woe like this.

[Exeunt.
Enter Arcas.
Arcas.
The grey of morn breaks thro' yon eastern clouds.
'Twere time this interview should end; the hour
Now warns Euphrasia hence; what man could dare,
I have indulg'd—Philotas!—ha! the cell
Left void!—Evander gone!—What may this mean?
Philotas, speak.

Enter Philotas.
Philo.
Oh! vile, detested Iot
Here to obey the savage tyrant's will,
And murder virtue, that can this behold
It's executioner, and smile upon him.
That piteous sight!

Arcas.
She must withdraw Philotas;
Delay undoes us both. The restless main
Glows with the blush of day. Timoleon's fleet,
That pass'd the night in busy preparation,
Makes from the shore. On the high craggy point
Of yonder jutting eminence I mark'd
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 rouze our slumb'ring troops. The time requires
Without or further pause, or vain excuse,
That she depart this moment.

Philo.
Arcas, yes;
My voice shall warn her of th'approaching danger.

[Exit.
Arcas.
Would she had ne'er adventur'd to our guard.
I dread th'event; and hark!—the wind conveys
In clearer sound the uproar of the main.
The fates prepare new havock; on the event
Depends the fate of empire. Wherefore thus
Delays Euphrasia?—Ha! what means, Philotas,
That sudden haste, that pale disorder'd look?

Enter Philotas.
Philo.
O! I can hold no more; at such a sight
Ev'n 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.

Arcas.
Ha!—Say what mystery
Wakes these emotions?

Philo.
Wonder-working virtue!
The father foster'd at his daughter's breast!—
O! filial pity!—The milk design'd
For her own offspring, on the parent's lip
Allays the parching fever.

Arcas.
That device
Has she then form'd, eluding all our care,
To minister relief?

Philo.
On the bare earth
Evander lies; and as his languid pow'rs
Imbibe with eager thirst the kind refreshment,
And his looks speaks unutterable thanks,
Euphrasia views him with the tend'rest glance,
Ev'n 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.

Arcas.
The tale unmans my soul.

Philo.
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 enamour'd of her charms.

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

Philo.
Oh! her lovely darling
Transcends all praise. By Heav'n, he shall not die.

Arcas.
And yet we must be wary; I'll go forth,
And first explore each avenue around,
Lest the fix'd sentinel obstruct your purpose.

[Exit.
Philo.
I thank thee, Arcas; we will act like men
Who feel another's woes—She leads him forth,
And tremblingly supports his drooping age.

[Goes to assist him.
Enter Euphrasia and Evander.
Evan.
Euphrasia, oh! my child! returning life
Glows her about my heart. Conduct me forward—
At 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.

Euphra.
I have reliev'd him—Oh! the joy's too great;
'Tis speechless rapture!

Evan.
Blessings, blessings on thee!

Euphra.
My father still shall live. Alas! Philotas,
Could I abandon that white hoary head,
That venerable form?—Abandon him
To perish here in misery and famine?

Philo.
Thy tears, thou miracle of goodness!
Have triumph'd o'er me; these round gushing drops
Attest your conquest. 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
Methought I heard him! Did he say release me?

Philo.
Thou art my king, and now no more my pris'ner;
Go with your daughter, with that wond'rous pattern
Of filial pity to after times.
Yes, princess, lead him forth; I'll point the path,
Whose soft declivity will guide your steps
To the deep vale, which these o'erhanging rocks
Encompass round. You may convey him thence
To some safe shelter. Yet a moment's pause;
I must conceal your flight from ev'ry eye.
Yes, I will save 'em—Oh! returning virtue!
How big with joy one moment in thy service!
That wretched pair! I'll perish in their cause.

[Exit.
Euphrasia, Evander.
Evan.
Whither, oh! whither shall Evander go?
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 laurel'd wreath,
To crown my brow, there would I fain make halt,
And not inglorious lay me down to rest.

Euphra.
And will you then refuse, when thus the Gods
Afford a refuge to thee?

Evan.
Oh! my child,
There is no refuge for me.

Euphra.
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!

Euphra.
Yes,
The brave Timoleon, with the pow'r of Greece;
Another day shall make the city his.

Evan.
Timoleon comes to vindicate my rights!
Oh! thou shalt reign in Sicily!—My child
Shall grace her father's throne. Indulgent Heav'n!
Pour down your blessings on this best of daughters;
To her and Phocion give Evander's crown;
Let them, oh! let them both in virtue wear it,
And in due time transmit it to their boy!

Enter Philotas.
Philo.
All things art apt;—the drowsy sentinel
Lies hush'd in sleep; I'll marshal thee the way
Down the steep rock.

Euphra.
Oh! Let us quickly hence.

Evan.
The blood but loiters in these frozen veins.
Do you, whose youthful spirit glows with life,
Do you go forth, and leave this mould'ring corpse.
To me had Heav'n decree'd a longer date,
It ne'er had suffer'd a fell monster's reign,
Nor let me see the carnage of my people.
Farewel, Euphrasia; in one lov'd embrace
To these remains pay the last obsequies,
And leave me here to sink to silent dust.

Euphra.
And will you then, on self-destruction bent,
Reject my pray'r, nor trust your fate with me?

Evan.
Trust thee! Euphrasia? Trust in thee my child?
Tho' 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.