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 s.h.i.+ps 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.