Chapter 3

_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._

ACT THE THIRD.