Chapter III: Act THE SECOND: Scene I

_A wild romantic Scene amidst overhanging Rocks; a Cavern on one side._

_ARCAS, with a Spear in his Hand._

_Arcas._ 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._

_Phil._ What, ho! brave Arcas! ho!

_Arcas._ Why thus desert thy couch?

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

_Arcas._ 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 perform'd; I take thy post.

_Arcas._ 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!

_Arcas._ 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 purpose: Who and what art thou?

_Eup._ [_Within._] Mine no hostile step; I bring no value to alarm thy fears: It is a friend approaches.

_Phil._ Ha! what mean Those plaintive notes?

_Eup._ [_Within._] Here is no ambush'd Greek, No warrior to surprise thee on the watch. An humble suppliant comes--Alas, my strength Exhausted quite forsakes this weary frame.

_Phil._ What voice thus piercing thro' the gloom of night-- What art thou? what thy errand? quickly say, Wherefore alarm'st thou thus our peaceful watch?

_Eup._ [_Within._] Let no mistrust affright thee--

_Enter EUPHRASIA._

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.

_Phil._ 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.

_Eup._ 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?

_Eup._ Give me my father; here you hold him fetter'd; Oh! give him to me----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.

_Phil._ Alas, Euphrasia! 'would I dare comply!

_Eup._ 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 deny'd it, Wouldst thou not burst thro' adamantine gates, Thro' 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.

_Eup._ Ha!--thou hast murder'd him; he is no more; I understand thee;--butchers, you have shed The precious drops of life.

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

_Eup._ And dost thou then, inhuman as 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. Here will I dwell, and rave, and shriek, and give These scatter'd locks to all the passing winds; Call on Evander lost;-- And cruel gods, and cruel stars invoking, Stand on the cliff in madness and despair.

_Phil._ By Heav'n, My heart in pity bleeds. No other fear assails this warlike breast. I pity your misfortunes; yes, by Heav'n, My heart bleeds for you.--Gods! you've touch'd my soul! The gen'rous impulse is not giv'n in vain. I feel thee, Nature, and I dare obey. Oh! thou hast conquer'd.--Go, Euphrasia, go, Behold thy father.

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

_Phil._ Yet, mark my words; if aught of nourishment Thou wouldst convey, my partners of the watch Will ne'er consent.

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

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

_Eup._ 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._

_Phil._ Prevailing, powerful 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 II.

_The Inside of the Cavern._

_Enter ARCAS and EUPHRASIA._

_Arcas._ No; on my life, I dare not.

_Eup._ 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.

_Eva._ [_Within the Cell._] Oh, struggling nature! let thy conflict end. Oh! give me, give me rest.

_Eup._ 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.

_Eup._ 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._

_Eup._ 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?

_Arcas._ Take your last farewell. His vigour seems not yet exhausted quite. You must be brief, or ruin will ensue. [_Exit._

_Eva._ [_Raising himself._] Oh! when shall I get free? --These ling'ring pangs--

_Eup._ Behold, ye pow'rs, that spectacle of woe!

_Eva._ Despatch 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.

_Eup._ Heart-piercing sight! Let me support you, sir.

_Eva._ 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 succour to a wretch like me?

_Eup._ Well may'st thou ask it. O! my breaking heart! The hand of death is on him.

_Eva._ 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.

_Eup._ Dost thou not know me, sir?

_Eva._ 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.

_Eup._ Not your own Euphrasia?

_Eva._ Art thou my daughter?

_Eup._ Oh! my honour'd sire!

_Eva._ 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'erpow'rs; 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; But oh! your goodness overcomes me quite! You read my heart; you see what passes there.

_Eup._ Alas, he faints! the gushing tide of transport Bears down each feeble sense: restore him, Heaven!

_Eva._ 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.

_Eup._ I will, my father.

_Eva._ Where,-- I fear to ask it, where is virtuous Phocion?

_Eup._ Fled from the tyrant's pow'r.

_Eva._ And left thee here Expos'd and helpless?

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

_Eva._ My young Evander! Your boy is safe, Euphrasia?--Oh! my heart! Alas! quite gone; worn out with misery; Oh! weak, decay'd old man!

_Eup._ Inhuman wretches! Will none relieve his want? A drop of water Might save his life; and even that's deny'd him.

_Eva._ These strong emotions--Oh! that eager air-- It is too much--assist me; bear me hence; And lay me down in peace.

_Eup._ 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._

_Phil._ Those wild, those piercing shrieks will give th'alarm.

_Eup._ 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 cleave together. [_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._

_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!

_Arcas._ She must withdraw, Philotas; Delay undoes us both. The restless main Glows with the blush of day. The time requires Without or further pause, or vain excuse, That she depart this moment.

_Phil._ 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 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?

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Phil._ 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?

_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.

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

_Phil._ On the bare earth Evander lies; and as his languid pow'rs Imbibe with eager thirst the kind refreshment, And his looks speak 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.

_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 enamour'd of her charms.

_Arcas._ 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 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 ARCAS._

_Phil._ I thank thee, Arcas; we will act like men Who feel for other's woes--She leads him forth, And tremblingly supports his drooping age.

[_Goes to assist him._

_Enter EUPHRASIA and EVANDER._

_Eva._ Euphrasia, oh! my child! returning life Glows here about my heart. Conduct me forward; At the last gasp preserved! Ha! dawning light! Let me behold; in faith I see thee now; I do indeed: the father sees his child.

_Eup._ I have reliev'd him--Oh! the joy's too great; 'Tis speechless rapture!

_Eva._ Blessings, blessings on thee!

_Eup._ 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?

_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.

_Eva._ What said Philotas! Do I fondly dream? Indeed my senses are imperfect; yet Methought I heard him! did he say release me?

_Phil._ Thou art my king, and now no more my pris'ner; Go with your daughter, with that wond'rous pattern Of filial piety 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, or perish in their cause.

[_Exit PHILOTAS._

_Eva._ 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 wreath, To crown my brow, there would I fain make halt, And not inglorious lay me down to rest.

_Eup._ And will you then refuse, when thus the gods Afford a refuge to thee?

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

_Eup._ 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.

_Eva._ Timoleon!

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

_Eva._ Timoleon come to vindicate my rights! Oh! thou shalt reign in Sicily! my child Shall grace her father's throne. Indulgent Heaven! 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._

_Phil._ All things are apt; the drowsy sentinel Lies hush'd in sleep; I'll marshall thee the way Down the steep rock.

_Eup._ Oh! let us quickly hence.

_Eva._ 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 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.

_Eup._ And will you, then, on self destruction bent, Reject my prayer, nor trust your fate with me.

_Eva._ 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. [_Exeunt._