The Grecian Daughter Part 5

_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 a.s.sist 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 h.o.a.ry 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 Encompa.s.s 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 G.o.ds 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._

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

_A Rampart near the Harbour._

_Enter DIONYSIUS._

_Dio._ Base deserters!

Curse on their Punic faith! did they once dare To grapple with the Greek? Ere yet the main Was ting'd with blood, they turn'd their ships averse.

May storms and tempests follow in their rear, And dash their fleet upon the Lybian sh.o.r.e!

_Enter CALIPPUS._

_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.

_Dio._ Ruin impends; and yet, if fall it must, I bear a mind to meet it undismay'd, Unconquer'd ev'n by Fate.