The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Grecian DaughterThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The Grecian DaughterAuthor: Arthur MurphyCommentator: Mrs. InchbaldRelease date: October 16, 2009 [eBook #30271]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GRECIAN DAUGHTER ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The Grecian DaughterAuthor: Arthur MurphyCommentator: Mrs. InchbaldRelease date: October 16, 2009 [eBook #30271]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Title: The Grecian Daughter
Author: Arthur MurphyCommentator: Mrs. Inchbald
Author: Arthur Murphy
Commentator: Mrs. Inchbald
Release date: October 16, 2009 [eBook #30271]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GRECIAN DAUGHTER ***
GRECIAN DAUGHTER
PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERSFROM THE PROMPT BOOK.
WITH REMARKSBY MRS. INCHBALD.
LONDON:PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,PATERNOSTER ROW.WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER,BEDFORD BURY, LONDON.
This tragedy has been so rapturously applauded on the stage, and so severely criticised in the closet, that it is a task of peculiar difficulty to speak either of its beauties or its defects, with any degree of certainty. To conciliate both the auditor and the reader, both the favourable and the unfavourable critic, the "Grecian Daughter" demands a set of Remarks for each side of the question—and the good-natured side shall have precedence.
This play had, on its first appearance, the most brilliant success, and still holds a place in the list of dramas performed during every season. There is a splendour of decoration, a glow of martial action, events of such deep interest, and, above all, a moral of such excellent tendency, which concludes the performance, that its attraction can readily be accounted for, without the slightest imputation upon the judgment of the public.
Perhaps, of all the events recorded in history, that filial piety, on which the fable of this play is founded, may be classed among the most affecting—yet it was one the most hazardous for a dramatist to adopt; for nothing less than complete skill could have given to this singular occurrence effectual force, joined to becoming delicacy. In this arduous effort Mr. Murphy has evinced the most exact judgment, and the nicest execution.
If this tragedy has not the smooth flowing verse of Otway, Thomson, or Rowe, it possesses, in energy and fire, charms more theatrical; nor does the heroic so wholly engross every scene, but that it yields, at times, to melting pathos.
Another praise due to this production is, that wonderful events take place by the most natural agency. Incidents arise progressively from each other, till the last great incident of all, fills every mind with enthusiasm in the cause of virtue and justice—in the joy of an empire made free by the overthrow of its tyrant.
It is hardly possible to read this tragedy of the "Grecian Daughter," without laughing as well as crying. Some passages excite tears, whilst certain high-sounding sentences, with meaning insignificant, are irresistibly risible.
The popular story, from which the fable of this tragedy is produced, and the surprising event in the last scene—where a woman performs that which a whole army has in vain attempted—together with the powerful acting of Mrs. Barry in the part of Euphrasia, rendered this play greatly attractive when it was first performed; and as those causes of attraction still remain, or rather, an improvement is introduced by Mrs. Siddons's appearance in the Grecian Daughter, the play is still of use to the theatre.
The men's characters have been all sacrificed by the author to the valour of the woman—he has made his female do the deed of a man, and his best man perform the act of a child.
Though Evander ranks as the first male character in this play, no actor likes to appear in the part. He would rather be inferior, and less infirm.
As Mr. Murphy had much theatrical experience as well as taste, it is astonishing that the personage most talked of, most praised, and by far the most perfect character in the whole drama, should never make his appearance!
Timoleon is a great warrior and a good man; and it seems wonderful how the audience, on the first night of the play, would quit the theatre without seeing him. Yet it was but modesty and respect in the author, not to bring so magnanimous a hero on the scene, to speak bad poetry.
The great tragic dramatist, Otway, wrote miserable comedies: Let it be no disgrace to Murphy that he has written an indifferent tragedy. By the merit of his comic scenes, his tragic ones are perhaps judged, and in the comparison lose half their value.
EnterMelanthonandPhilotas.Mel.Yet, yet a moment; hear, Philotas, hear me.Phil.No more; it must not be.Mel.Obdurate man;Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distress'd,A good, a virtuous, venerable king,The father of his people, from a throneWhich long with ev'ry virtue he adorn'd,Torn by a ruffian, by a tyrant's hand,Groans in captivity? In his own palaceLives a sequester'd prisoner? Oh! Philotas,If thou hast not renounc'd humanity;Let me behold my sovereign; once againAdmit me to his presence; let me seeMy royal master.Phil.Urge thy suit no further;Thy words are fruitless; Dionysius' ordersForbid access; he is our sov'reign now;'Tis his to give the law, mine to obey.Mel.Thou canst not mean it: his to give the law!Detested spoiler!—his! a vile usurper!Have we forgot the elder Dionysius,Surnam'd the Tyrant? To Sicilia's throneThe monster waded through whole seas of blood.Sore groan'd the land beneath his iron rod,Till rous'd at length Evander came from Greece,Like Freedom's Genius came, and sent the tyrant,Stript of the crown, and to his humble rankOnce more reduc'd, to roam, for vile subsistence,A wandering sophist through the realms of Greece.Phil.Whate'er his right, to him in SyracuseAll bend the knee; his the supreme dominion,And death and torment wait his sovereign nod.Mel.But soon that pow'r shall cease: behold his wallsNow close encircled by the Grecian bands;Timoleon leads them on; indignant CorinthSends her avenger forth, array'd in terror,To hurl ambition from a throne usurp'd,And bid all Sicily resume her rights.Phil.Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon; now,Grown dim with age, thy eye pervades no moreThe deep-laid schemes which Dionysius plans.Know then, a fleet from Carthage even nowStems the rough billow; and, ere yonder sun,That now declining seeks the western wave,Shall to the shades of night resign the world,Thou'lt see the Punic sails in yonder bay,Whose waters wash the walls of Syracuse.Mel.Art thou a stranger to Timoleon's name?Intent to plan, and circumspect to seeAll possible events, he rushes onResistless in his course! Your boasted masterScarce stands at bay; each hour the strong blockadeHems him in closer, and ere long thou'lt viewOppression's iron rod to fragments shiver'd!The good Evander then——Phil.Alas, EvanderWill ne'er behold the golden time you look for!Mel.How! not behold it! Say, Philotas, speak;Has the fell tyrant,—have his felon murderers——Phil.As yet, my friend, Evander lives.Mel.And yetThy dark half-hinted purpose—lead me to him;If thou hast murder'd him——Phil.By Heav'n, he lives.Mel.Then bless me with one tender interview.Thrice has the sun gone down, since last, these eyesHave seen the good old king; say, why is this?Wherefore debarr'd his presence? Thee, Philotas,The troops obey, that guard the royal pris'ner;Each avenue to thee is open; thouCanst grant admittance; let me, let me see him.Phil.Entreat no more; the soul of DionysiusIs ever wakeful; rent with all the pangsThat wait on conscious guilt.Mel.But when dun night——Phil.Alas! it cannot be: but mark my words.Let Greece urge on her general assault.Despatch some friend, who may o'erleap the walls,And tell Timoleon, the good old EvanderHas liv'd three days, by Dionysius' order,Lock'd up from ev'ry sustenance of nature,And life, now wearied out, almost expires.Mel.If any spark of virtue dwell within thee,Lead me, Philotas, lead me to his prison.Phil.The tyrant's jealous care hath mov'd him thence.Mel.Ha! mov'd him, say'st thou?Phil.At the midnight hour,Silent convey'd him up the steep ascent,To where the elder Dionysius form'd,On the sharp summit of the pointed rock,Which overhangs the deep, a dungeon drear:Cell within cell, a labyrinth of horror,Deep cavern'd in the cliff, where many a wretch,Unseen by mortal eye, has groan'd in anguish,And died obscure, unpitied, and unknown.Mel.Clandestine murderer! Yes, there's the sceneOf horrid massacre. Full oft I've walk'd,When all things lay in sleep and darkness hush'd.Yes, oft I've walk'd the lonely sullen beach,And heard the mournful sound of many a corsePlung'd from the rock into the wave beneath,That murmurs on the shore. And means he thusTo end a monarch's life? Oh! grant my pray'r;My timely succour may protect his days;The guard is yours——Phil.Forbear; thou plead'st in vain;And though I feel soft pity throbbing here;Though each emotion prompts the gen'rous deed,I must not yield; it were assur'd destruction!Farewell, despatch a message to the Greeks;I'll to my station; now thou know'st the worst.[Exit.Mel.Oh, lost Evander! Lost Euphrasia too!How will her gentle nature bear the shockOf a dear father, thus in ling'ring pangsA prey to famine, like the veriest wretchWhom the hard hand of misery hath grip'd!In vain she'll rave, with impotence of sorrow;Perhaps, provoke her fate: Greece arms in vain,All's lost; Evander dies!EnterCalippus.Cal.Where is the King?Our troops, that sallied to attack the foe,Retire disordered; to the eastern gateThe Greeks pursue: Timoleon rides in blood!Arm, arm, and meet their fury!Mel.To the citadelDirect thy footsteps; Dionysius thereMarshals a chosen band.Cal.Do thou call forthThy hardy veterans; haste, or all is lost![Exit.[Warlike Music.Mel.Now, ye just gods, now look propitious down;Now give the Grecian sabre tenfold edge,And save a virtuous king![Warlike Music.EnterEuphrasia.Eup.War on, ye heroes,Ye great assertors of a monarch's cause!Let the wild tempest rage. Melanthon, ha!Did'st thou not hear the vast tremendous roar?Down tumbling from its base the eastern tow'r,Burst on the tyrant's ranks, and on the plainLies an extended ruin.Mel.Still new horrorsIncrease each hour, and gather round our heads.Eup.The glorious tumult lifts my tow'ring soul.Once more, Melanthon, once again, my fatherShall mount Sicilia's throne.Mel.Alas! that hourWould come with joy to ev'ry honest heart,Would shed divinest blessings from its wing;But no such hour in all the round of time,I fear, the fates averse will e'er lead on.Eup.And still, Melanthon, still does pale despairDepress thy spirit? Lo! Timoleon comesArm'd with the pow'r of Greece; the brave, the just,God-like Timoleon! ardent to redress,He guides the war, and gains upon his prey.A little interval shall set the victorWithin our gates triumphant.Mel.Still my fearsForbode for thee. 'Would thou hadst left this place,When hence your husband, the brave Phocion, fled,Fled with your infant son!Eup.In duty fixed,Here I remain'd, while my brave, gen'rous Phocion,Fled with my child, and from his mother's armsBore my sweet little one. Full well thou know'stThe pangs I suffer'd in that trying moment.Did I not weep? Did I not rave and shriek,And by the roots tear my dishevell'd hair?Did I not follow to the sea-beat shore,Resolv'd with him, and with my blooming boy,To trust the winds and waves?Mel.Deem not, Euphrasia,I e'er can doubt thy constancy and love.Eup.Melanthon, how I loved, the gods, who sawEach secret image that my fancy form'd,The gods can witness how I lov'd my Phocion,And yet I went not with him. Could I do it?Could I desert my father? Could I leaveThe venerable man, who gave me being,A victim here in Syracuse, nor stayTo watch his fate, to visit his affliction,To cheer his prison hours, and with the tearOf filial virtue bid ev'n bondage smile?Mel.The pious act, whate'er the fates intend,Shall merit heartfelt praise.Eup.Yes, Phocion, go,Go with my child, torn from this matron breast,This breast that still should yield its nurture to him,Fly with my infant to some happier shore,If he be safe, Euphrasia dies content.Till that sad close of all, the task be mineTo tend a father with delighted care,To smooth the pillow of declining age,See him sink gradual into mere decay,On the last verge of life watch ev'ry look,Explore each fond unutterable wish,Catch his last breath, and close his eyes in peace.Mel.I would not add to my afflictions; yetMy heart misgives; Evander's fatal period——Eup.Still is far off; the gods have sent relief,And once again I shall behold him king.Mel.Alas! those glitt'ring hopes but lend a rayTo gild the clouds, that hover o'er your head,Soon to rain sorrow down, and plunge you deeperIn black despair.Eup.The spirit-stirring virtue,That glows within me, ne'er shall know despair.No, I will trust the gods. Desponding man!Hast thou not heard with what resistless ardourTimoleon drives the tumult of the war?Hast thou not heard him thund'ring at our gates?The tyrant's pent up in his last retreat;Anon thou'lt see his battlements in dust,His walls, his ramparts, and his tow'rs in ruin;Destruction pouring in on ev'ry side,Pride and oppression at their utmost need,And nought to save him in his hopeless hour.[A flourish of Trumpets.Mel.Ha! the fell tyrant comes.—Beguile his rage,And o'er your sorrows cast a dawn of gladness.EnterDionysius,Calippus,Officers, &c.Dio.The vain presumptuous Greek! His hopes of conquest,Like a gay dream, are vanish'd into air.Proudly elate, and flush'd with easy triumphO'er vulgar warriors, to the gates of SyracuseHe urg'd the war, till Dionysius' armLet slaughter loose, and taught his dastard trainTo seek their safety by inglorious flight.Eup.O, Dionysius, if distracting fearsAlarm this throbbing bosom, you will pardonA frail and tender sex. Should ruthless warRoam through our streets, and riot here in blood,Where shall the lost Euphrasia find a shelter?In vain she'll kneel, and clasp the sacred altar.O let me then, in mercy let me seekThe gloomy mansion, where my father dwells;I die content, if in his arms I perish.Dio.Thou lovely trembler, hush thy fears to rest.The Greek recoils; like the impetuous surgeThat dashes on the rock, there breaks, and foams,And backward rolls into the sea again.All shall be well in Syracuse: a fleetAppears in view, and brings the chosen sonsOf Carthage. From the hill that fronts the main,I saw their canvass swelling with the wind,While on the purple wave the western sunGlanc'd the remains of day.Eup.Yet till the furyOf war subside, the wild, the horrid intervalIn safety let me sooth to dear delightIn a lov'd father's presence: from his sight,For three long days, with specious feign'd excuseYour guards debarr'd me. Oh! while yet he lives,Indulge a daughter's love; worn out with ageSoon must he seal his eyes in endless night,And with his converse charm my ear no more.Dio.Why thus anticipate misfortune? StillEvander mocks the injuries of time.Calippus, thou survey the city round;Station the centinels, that no surpriseInvade the unguarded works, while drowsy nightWeighs down the soldier's eye. Afflicted fair,Thy couch invites thee. When the tumult's o'er,Thou'lt see Evander with redoubled joy.Though now unequal to the cares of empireHis age sequester him, yet honours highShall gild the ev'ning of his various day.Eup.For this benignity accept my thanks.They gush in tears, and my heart pours its tribute.Dio.Perdiccas, ere the morn's revolving lightUnveil the face of things, do thou despatchA well-oar'd galley to Hamilcar's fleet;At the north point of yonder promontory,Let some selected officer instruct himTo moor his ships, and issue on the land.Then may Timoleon tremble: vengeance thenShall overwhelm his camp, pursue his bands,With fatal havoc, to the ocean's margin,And cast their limbs to glut the vulture's famine,In mingled heaps upon the naked shore.[ExitDionysius.Eup.What do I hear? Melanthon, can it be?If Carthage comes, if her perfidious sonsList in his cause, the dawn of freedom's gone.Mel.Woe, bitt'rest woe, impends; thou wouldst not think——Eup.How? speak! unfold.Mel.My tongue denies its office.Eup.How is my father? Say, Melanthon——Mel.He,I fear to shock thee with the tale of horror!Perhaps he dies this moment.—Since TimoleonFirst form'd his lines round this beleagur'd city,No nutriment has touch'd Evander's lips.In the deep caverns of the rock imprison'dHe pines in bitterest want.Eup.Well, my heart,Well do your vital drops forget to flow.Mel.Despair, alas! is all the sad resourceOur fate allows us now.Eup.Yet, why despair?Is that the tribute to a father due?Blood is his due, Melanthon; yes, the blood,The vile, black blood, that fills the tyrant's veins,Would graceful look upon my dagger's point.Come, vengeance, come, shake off the feeble sex,Sinew my arm, and guide it to his heart.And thou, O filial piety, that rul'stMy woman's breast, turn to vindictive rage;Assume the port of justice; show mankindTyrannic guilt hath never dar'd in Syracuse,Beyond the reach of virtue.Mel.Moderate your zeal,Nor let him hear these transports of the soul,These wild upbraidings.Eup.Shall Euphrasia's voiceBe hush'd to silence, when a father dies?Shall not the monster hear his deeds accurst?Shall he not tremble, when a daughter comes,Wild with her griefs, and terible with wrongs;Fierce in despair, all nature in her causeAlarm'd and rous'd with horror?Melanthon come; my wrongs will lend me force;The weakness of my sex is gone; this armFeels tenfold strength; this arm shall do a deedFor Heav'n and earth, for men and gods to wonder at!This arm shall vindicate a father's cause.
EnterMelanthonandPhilotas.
Mel.Yet, yet a moment; hear, Philotas, hear me.
Phil.No more; it must not be.
Mel.Obdurate man;Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distress'd,A good, a virtuous, venerable king,The father of his people, from a throneWhich long with ev'ry virtue he adorn'd,Torn by a ruffian, by a tyrant's hand,Groans in captivity? In his own palaceLives a sequester'd prisoner? Oh! Philotas,If thou hast not renounc'd humanity;Let me behold my sovereign; once againAdmit me to his presence; let me seeMy royal master.
Phil.Urge thy suit no further;Thy words are fruitless; Dionysius' ordersForbid access; he is our sov'reign now;'Tis his to give the law, mine to obey.
Mel.Thou canst not mean it: his to give the law!Detested spoiler!—his! a vile usurper!Have we forgot the elder Dionysius,Surnam'd the Tyrant? To Sicilia's throneThe monster waded through whole seas of blood.Sore groan'd the land beneath his iron rod,Till rous'd at length Evander came from Greece,Like Freedom's Genius came, and sent the tyrant,Stript of the crown, and to his humble rankOnce more reduc'd, to roam, for vile subsistence,A wandering sophist through the realms of Greece.
Phil.Whate'er his right, to him in SyracuseAll bend the knee; his the supreme dominion,And death and torment wait his sovereign nod.
Mel.But soon that pow'r shall cease: behold his wallsNow close encircled by the Grecian bands;Timoleon leads them on; indignant CorinthSends her avenger forth, array'd in terror,To hurl ambition from a throne usurp'd,And bid all Sicily resume her rights.
Phil.Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon; now,Grown dim with age, thy eye pervades no moreThe deep-laid schemes which Dionysius plans.Know then, a fleet from Carthage even nowStems the rough billow; and, ere yonder sun,That now declining seeks the western wave,Shall to the shades of night resign the world,Thou'lt see the Punic sails in yonder bay,Whose waters wash the walls of Syracuse.
Mel.Art thou a stranger to Timoleon's name?Intent to plan, and circumspect to seeAll possible events, he rushes onResistless in his course! Your boasted masterScarce stands at bay; each hour the strong blockadeHems him in closer, and ere long thou'lt viewOppression's iron rod to fragments shiver'd!The good Evander then——
Phil.Alas, EvanderWill ne'er behold the golden time you look for!
Mel.How! not behold it! Say, Philotas, speak;Has the fell tyrant,—have his felon murderers——
Phil.As yet, my friend, Evander lives.
Mel.And yetThy dark half-hinted purpose—lead me to him;If thou hast murder'd him——
Phil.By Heav'n, he lives.
Mel.Then bless me with one tender interview.Thrice has the sun gone down, since last, these eyesHave seen the good old king; say, why is this?Wherefore debarr'd his presence? Thee, Philotas,The troops obey, that guard the royal pris'ner;Each avenue to thee is open; thouCanst grant admittance; let me, let me see him.
Phil.Entreat no more; the soul of DionysiusIs ever wakeful; rent with all the pangsThat wait on conscious guilt.
Mel.But when dun night——
Phil.Alas! it cannot be: but mark my words.Let Greece urge on her general assault.Despatch some friend, who may o'erleap the walls,And tell Timoleon, the good old EvanderHas liv'd three days, by Dionysius' order,Lock'd up from ev'ry sustenance of nature,And life, now wearied out, almost expires.
Mel.If any spark of virtue dwell within thee,Lead me, Philotas, lead me to his prison.
Phil.The tyrant's jealous care hath mov'd him thence.
Mel.Ha! mov'd him, say'st thou?
Phil.At the midnight hour,Silent convey'd him up the steep ascent,To where the elder Dionysius form'd,On the sharp summit of the pointed rock,Which overhangs the deep, a dungeon drear:Cell within cell, a labyrinth of horror,Deep cavern'd in the cliff, where many a wretch,Unseen by mortal eye, has groan'd in anguish,And died obscure, unpitied, and unknown.
Mel.Clandestine murderer! Yes, there's the sceneOf horrid massacre. Full oft I've walk'd,When all things lay in sleep and darkness hush'd.Yes, oft I've walk'd the lonely sullen beach,And heard the mournful sound of many a corsePlung'd from the rock into the wave beneath,That murmurs on the shore. And means he thusTo end a monarch's life? Oh! grant my pray'r;My timely succour may protect his days;The guard is yours——
Phil.Forbear; thou plead'st in vain;And though I feel soft pity throbbing here;Though each emotion prompts the gen'rous deed,I must not yield; it were assur'd destruction!Farewell, despatch a message to the Greeks;I'll to my station; now thou know'st the worst.[Exit.
Mel.Oh, lost Evander! Lost Euphrasia too!How will her gentle nature bear the shockOf a dear father, thus in ling'ring pangsA prey to famine, like the veriest wretchWhom the hard hand of misery hath grip'd!In vain she'll rave, with impotence of sorrow;Perhaps, provoke her fate: Greece arms in vain,All's lost; Evander dies!
EnterCalippus.
Cal.Where is the King?Our troops, that sallied to attack the foe,Retire disordered; to the eastern gateThe Greeks pursue: Timoleon rides in blood!Arm, arm, and meet their fury!
Mel.To the citadelDirect thy footsteps; Dionysius thereMarshals a chosen band.
Cal.Do thou call forthThy hardy veterans; haste, or all is lost![Exit.
[Warlike Music.
Mel.Now, ye just gods, now look propitious down;Now give the Grecian sabre tenfold edge,And save a virtuous king![Warlike Music.
EnterEuphrasia.
Eup.War on, ye heroes,Ye great assertors of a monarch's cause!Let the wild tempest rage. Melanthon, ha!Did'st thou not hear the vast tremendous roar?Down tumbling from its base the eastern tow'r,Burst on the tyrant's ranks, and on the plainLies an extended ruin.
Mel.Still new horrorsIncrease each hour, and gather round our heads.
Eup.The glorious tumult lifts my tow'ring soul.Once more, Melanthon, once again, my fatherShall mount Sicilia's throne.
Mel.Alas! that hourWould come with joy to ev'ry honest heart,Would shed divinest blessings from its wing;But no such hour in all the round of time,I fear, the fates averse will e'er lead on.
Eup.And still, Melanthon, still does pale despairDepress thy spirit? Lo! Timoleon comesArm'd with the pow'r of Greece; the brave, the just,God-like Timoleon! ardent to redress,He guides the war, and gains upon his prey.A little interval shall set the victorWithin our gates triumphant.
Mel.Still my fearsForbode for thee. 'Would thou hadst left this place,When hence your husband, the brave Phocion, fled,Fled with your infant son!
Eup.In duty fixed,Here I remain'd, while my brave, gen'rous Phocion,Fled with my child, and from his mother's armsBore my sweet little one. Full well thou know'stThe pangs I suffer'd in that trying moment.Did I not weep? Did I not rave and shriek,And by the roots tear my dishevell'd hair?Did I not follow to the sea-beat shore,Resolv'd with him, and with my blooming boy,To trust the winds and waves?
Mel.Deem not, Euphrasia,I e'er can doubt thy constancy and love.
Eup.Melanthon, how I loved, the gods, who sawEach secret image that my fancy form'd,The gods can witness how I lov'd my Phocion,And yet I went not with him. Could I do it?Could I desert my father? Could I leaveThe venerable man, who gave me being,A victim here in Syracuse, nor stayTo watch his fate, to visit his affliction,To cheer his prison hours, and with the tearOf filial virtue bid ev'n bondage smile?
Mel.The pious act, whate'er the fates intend,Shall merit heartfelt praise.
Eup.Yes, Phocion, go,Go with my child, torn from this matron breast,This breast that still should yield its nurture to him,Fly with my infant to some happier shore,If he be safe, Euphrasia dies content.Till that sad close of all, the task be mineTo tend a father with delighted care,To smooth the pillow of declining age,See him sink gradual into mere decay,On the last verge of life watch ev'ry look,Explore each fond unutterable wish,Catch his last breath, and close his eyes in peace.
Mel.I would not add to my afflictions; yetMy heart misgives; Evander's fatal period——
Eup.Still is far off; the gods have sent relief,And once again I shall behold him king.
Mel.Alas! those glitt'ring hopes but lend a rayTo gild the clouds, that hover o'er your head,Soon to rain sorrow down, and plunge you deeperIn black despair.
Eup.The spirit-stirring virtue,That glows within me, ne'er shall know despair.No, I will trust the gods. Desponding man!Hast thou not heard with what resistless ardourTimoleon drives the tumult of the war?Hast thou not heard him thund'ring at our gates?The tyrant's pent up in his last retreat;Anon thou'lt see his battlements in dust,His walls, his ramparts, and his tow'rs in ruin;Destruction pouring in on ev'ry side,Pride and oppression at their utmost need,And nought to save him in his hopeless hour.[A flourish of Trumpets.
Mel.Ha! the fell tyrant comes.—Beguile his rage,And o'er your sorrows cast a dawn of gladness.
EnterDionysius,Calippus,Officers, &c.
Dio.The vain presumptuous Greek! His hopes of conquest,Like a gay dream, are vanish'd into air.Proudly elate, and flush'd with easy triumphO'er vulgar warriors, to the gates of SyracuseHe urg'd the war, till Dionysius' armLet slaughter loose, and taught his dastard trainTo seek their safety by inglorious flight.
Eup.O, Dionysius, if distracting fearsAlarm this throbbing bosom, you will pardonA frail and tender sex. Should ruthless warRoam through our streets, and riot here in blood,Where shall the lost Euphrasia find a shelter?In vain she'll kneel, and clasp the sacred altar.O let me then, in mercy let me seekThe gloomy mansion, where my father dwells;I die content, if in his arms I perish.
Dio.Thou lovely trembler, hush thy fears to rest.The Greek recoils; like the impetuous surgeThat dashes on the rock, there breaks, and foams,And backward rolls into the sea again.All shall be well in Syracuse: a fleetAppears in view, and brings the chosen sonsOf Carthage. From the hill that fronts the main,I saw their canvass swelling with the wind,While on the purple wave the western sunGlanc'd the remains of day.
Eup.Yet till the furyOf war subside, the wild, the horrid intervalIn safety let me sooth to dear delightIn a lov'd father's presence: from his sight,For three long days, with specious feign'd excuseYour guards debarr'd me. Oh! while yet he lives,Indulge a daughter's love; worn out with ageSoon must he seal his eyes in endless night,And with his converse charm my ear no more.
Dio.Why thus anticipate misfortune? StillEvander mocks the injuries of time.Calippus, thou survey the city round;Station the centinels, that no surpriseInvade the unguarded works, while drowsy nightWeighs down the soldier's eye. Afflicted fair,Thy couch invites thee. When the tumult's o'er,Thou'lt see Evander with redoubled joy.Though now unequal to the cares of empireHis age sequester him, yet honours highShall gild the ev'ning of his various day.
Eup.For this benignity accept my thanks.They gush in tears, and my heart pours its tribute.
Dio.Perdiccas, ere the morn's revolving lightUnveil the face of things, do thou despatchA well-oar'd galley to Hamilcar's fleet;At the north point of yonder promontory,Let some selected officer instruct himTo moor his ships, and issue on the land.Then may Timoleon tremble: vengeance thenShall overwhelm his camp, pursue his bands,With fatal havoc, to the ocean's margin,And cast their limbs to glut the vulture's famine,In mingled heaps upon the naked shore.[ExitDionysius.
Eup.What do I hear? Melanthon, can it be?If Carthage comes, if her perfidious sonsList in his cause, the dawn of freedom's gone.
Mel.Woe, bitt'rest woe, impends; thou wouldst not think——
Eup.How? speak! unfold.
Mel.My tongue denies its office.
Eup.How is my father? Say, Melanthon——
Mel.He,I fear to shock thee with the tale of horror!Perhaps he dies this moment.—Since TimoleonFirst form'd his lines round this beleagur'd city,No nutriment has touch'd Evander's lips.In the deep caverns of the rock imprison'dHe pines in bitterest want.
Eup.Well, my heart,Well do your vital drops forget to flow.
Mel.Despair, alas! is all the sad resourceOur fate allows us now.
Eup.Yet, why despair?Is that the tribute to a father due?Blood is his due, Melanthon; yes, the blood,The vile, black blood, that fills the tyrant's veins,Would graceful look upon my dagger's point.Come, vengeance, come, shake off the feeble sex,Sinew my arm, and guide it to his heart.And thou, O filial piety, that rul'stMy woman's breast, turn to vindictive rage;Assume the port of justice; show mankindTyrannic guilt hath never dar'd in Syracuse,Beyond the reach of virtue.
Mel.Moderate your zeal,Nor let him hear these transports of the soul,These wild upbraidings.
Eup.Shall Euphrasia's voiceBe hush'd to silence, when a father dies?Shall not the monster hear his deeds accurst?Shall he not tremble, when a daughter comes,Wild with her griefs, and terible with wrongs;Fierce in despair, all nature in her causeAlarm'd and rous'd with horror?Melanthon come; my wrongs will lend me force;The weakness of my sex is gone; this armFeels tenfold strength; this arm shall do a deedFor Heav'n and earth, for men and gods to wonder at!This arm shall vindicate a father's cause.
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 beachNo murmuring billow breaks; the Grecian tentsLie 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 thatThe groan of anguish from Evander's cell,Piercing the midnight gloom?—It is the soundOf bustling prows, that cleave the briny deep.Perhaps at this dead hour Hamilcar's fleetRides in the bay.EnterPhilotas, from the Cavern.Phil.What, ho! brave Arcas! ho!Arcas.Why thus desert thy couch?Phil.Methought the soundOf distant uproar chas'd affrighted sleep.Arcas.At intervals the oar's resounding strokeComes echoing from the main. Save that report,A death-like silence through the wide expanseBroods o'er the dreary coast.Phil.Do thou retire,And seek repose; the duty of thy watchIs now perform'd; I take thy post.Arcas.How faresYour royal pris'ner?Phil.Arcas, shall I ownA secret weakness? My heart inward meltsTo 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 forthUnerring signals. With disastrous glare,The moon's full orb rose crimson'd o'er with blood;And lo! athwart the gloom a falling starTrails a long tract of fire!—What daring stepSounds 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 meanThose plaintive notes?Eup.[Within.] Here is no ambush'd Greek,No warrior to surprise thee on the watch.An humble suppliant comes—Alas, my strengthExhausted 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—EnterEuphrasia.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 relieveMy 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 youRest 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 everThe touch of nature throbb'd within your breast,Admit me to Evander. In these cavesI know he pines in want; let me conveySome 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 lotHard as Evander's; if by felon handsChain'd to the earth, with slow-consuming pangsHe felt sharp want, and with an asking eyeImplor'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 assistanceEvander 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 shedThe 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 giveThese 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 nourishmentThou wouldst convey, my partners of the watchWill 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 actTimoleon shall reward; the bounteous gods,And thy own virtue shall reward the deed.[Goes into the Cave.Phil.Prevailing, powerful virtue!—Thou subdu'stThe stubborn heart, and mould'st it to thy purpose.'Would I could save them!—But tho' not for meThe glorious pow'r to shelter innocence,Yet for a moment to assuage its woes,Is the best sympathy, the purest joyNature intended for the heart of man,When thus she gave the social gen'rous tear.[Exit.
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 beachNo murmuring billow breaks; the Grecian tentsLie 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 thatThe groan of anguish from Evander's cell,Piercing the midnight gloom?—It is the soundOf bustling prows, that cleave the briny deep.Perhaps at this dead hour Hamilcar's fleetRides in the bay.
EnterPhilotas, from the Cavern.
Phil.What, ho! brave Arcas! ho!
Arcas.Why thus desert thy couch?
Phil.Methought the soundOf distant uproar chas'd affrighted sleep.
Arcas.At intervals the oar's resounding strokeComes echoing from the main. Save that report,A death-like silence through the wide expanseBroods o'er the dreary coast.
Phil.Do thou retire,And seek repose; the duty of thy watchIs now perform'd; I take thy post.
Arcas.How faresYour royal pris'ner?
Phil.Arcas, shall I ownA secret weakness? My heart inward meltsTo 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.
Phil.Some dread event is lab'ring into birth.At close of day the sullen sky held forthUnerring signals. With disastrous glare,The moon's full orb rose crimson'd o'er with blood;And lo! athwart the gloom a falling starTrails a long tract of fire!—What daring stepSounds 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 meanThose plaintive notes?
Eup.[Within.] Here is no ambush'd Greek,No warrior to surprise thee on the watch.An humble suppliant comes—Alas, my strengthExhausted 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—
EnterEuphrasia.
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 relieveMy 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 youRest 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 everThe touch of nature throbb'd within your breast,Admit me to Evander. In these cavesI know he pines in want; let me conveySome 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 lotHard as Evander's; if by felon handsChain'd to the earth, with slow-consuming pangsHe felt sharp want, and with an asking eyeImplor'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 assistanceEvander 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 shedThe 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 giveThese 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 nourishmentThou wouldst convey, my partners of the watchWill 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 actTimoleon shall reward; the bounteous gods,And thy own virtue shall reward the deed.[Goes into the Cave.
Phil.Prevailing, powerful virtue!—Thou subdu'stThe stubborn heart, and mould'st it to thy purpose.'Would I could save them!—But tho' not for meThe glorious pow'r to shelter innocence,Yet for a moment to assuage its woes,Is the best sympathy, the purest joyNature intended for the heart of man,When thus she gave the social gen'rous tear.[Exit.
The Inside of the Cavern.EnterArcasandEuphrasia.Arcas.No; on my life, I dare not.Eup.But a small,A wretched pittance; one poor cordial dropTo renovate exhausted drooping age,I ask no more.Arcas.Not the smallest storeOf scanty nourishment must pass these walls.Our lives were forfeit else: a moment's parleyIs 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 sustainThe 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 breezeComes gently o'er my senses—lead me forward:And is there left one charitable handTo 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 knowThat voice: art thou—alas! my eyes are dim!Each object swims before me—No, in truthI 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 closeA father's eyes! Giv'n to my last embrace!Gods! do I hold her once again? Your merciesAre without number.[Falls on the Couch.This excess of blissO'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 momentsYou 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 transportBears 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 hereExpos'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 waterMight 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 thusLet him expire in these weak, feeble arms?EnterPhilotas.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.EnterArcas.Arcas.The grey of morn breaks thro' yon eastern clouds.'Twere time this interview should end: the hourNow warns Euphrasia hence: what man could dare,I have indulg'd—Philotas!—ha! the cellLeft void!—Evander gone!—What may this mean?Philotas, speak.EnterPhilotas.Phil.Oh! vile, detested lot,Here to obey the savage tyrant's will,And murder virtue that can thus beholdIts executioner, and smile upon him.That piteous sight!Arcas.She must withdraw, Philotas;Delay undoes us both. The restless mainGlows with the blush of day.The time requiresWithout 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 conveysIn clearer sound the uproar of the main.The fates prepare new havoc; on th' eventDepends the fate of empire. Wherefore thusDelays Euphrasia? Ha! what means, Philotas,That sudden haste, that pale, disorder'd look?EnterPhilotas.Phil.O! I can hold no more; at such a sightEv'n the hard heart of tyranny would meltTo infant softness. Arcas, go, beholdThe pious fraud of charity and love;Behold that unexampled goodness; seeTh' expedient sharp necessity has taught her;Thy heart will burn, will melt, will yearn to viewA child like her.Arcas.Ha!—say what mysteryWakes these emotions?Phil.Wonder-working virtue!The father foster'd at his daughter's breast!O! filial piety!—The milk design'dFor her own offspring, on the parent's lipAllays the parching fever.Arcas.That deviceHas she then form'd, eluding all our care,To minister relief?Phil.On the bare earthEvander lies; and as his languid pow'rsImbibe 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 smilesOf pure delight, of exquisite sensation,A silent tear steals down; the tear of virtue,That sweetens grief to rapture. All her lawsInverted quite, great nature triumphs still.Arcas.The tale unmans my soul.Phil.Ye tyrants, hear it,And learn, that, while your cruelty preparesUnheard-of torture, virtue can keep paceWith your worst efforts, and can try new modesTo bid men grow enamour'd of her charms.Arcas.Philotas, for Euphrasia, in her cause,I now can hazard all. Let us preserveHer father for her.Phil.Oh! her lovely daringTranscends 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.[ExitArcas.Phil.I thank thee, Arcas; we will act like menWho feel for other's woes—She leads him forth,And tremblingly supports his drooping age.[Goes to assist him.EnterEuphrasiaandEvander.Eva.Euphrasia, oh! my child! returning lifeGlows 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 himTo 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; yetMethought 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 patternOf filial piety to after times.Yes, princess, lead him forth; I'll point the path,Whose soft declivity will guide your stepsTo the deep vale, which these o'erhanging rocksEncompass round. You may convey him thenceTo 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.[ExitPhilotas.Eva.Whither, oh! whither shall Evander go?I'm at the goal of life; if in the raceHonour 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 godsAfford 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 childShall 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!EnterPhilotas.Phil.All things are apt; the drowsy sentinelLies hush'd in sleep; I'll marshall thee the wayDown 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 embraceTo 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 flightFor 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.
The Inside of the Cavern.
EnterArcasandEuphrasia.
Arcas.No; on my life, I dare not.
Eup.But a small,A wretched pittance; one poor cordial dropTo renovate exhausted drooping age,I ask no more.
Arcas.Not the smallest storeOf scanty nourishment must pass these walls.Our lives were forfeit else: a moment's parleyIs 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 sustainThe 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.
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 breezeComes gently o'er my senses—lead me forward:And is there left one charitable handTo 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 knowThat voice: art thou—alas! my eyes are dim!Each object swims before me—No, in truthI 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 closeA father's eyes! Giv'n to my last embrace!Gods! do I hold her once again? Your merciesAre without number.[Falls on the Couch.This excess of blissO'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 momentsYou 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 transportBears 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 hereExpos'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 waterMight 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 thusLet him expire in these weak, feeble arms?
EnterPhilotas.
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.
EnterArcas.
Arcas.The grey of morn breaks thro' yon eastern clouds.'Twere time this interview should end: the hourNow warns Euphrasia hence: what man could dare,I have indulg'd—Philotas!—ha! the cellLeft void!—Evander gone!—What may this mean?Philotas, speak.
EnterPhilotas.
Phil.Oh! vile, detested lot,Here to obey the savage tyrant's will,And murder virtue that can thus beholdIts executioner, and smile upon him.That piteous sight!
Arcas.She must withdraw, Philotas;Delay undoes us both. The restless mainGlows with the blush of day.The time requiresWithout or further pause, or vain excuse,That she depart this moment.
Phil.Arcas, yes;My voice shall warn her of th' approaching danger.
Arcas.'Would she had ne'er adventur'd to our guard!I dread th' event; and hark!—the wind conveysIn clearer sound the uproar of the main.The fates prepare new havoc; on th' eventDepends the fate of empire. Wherefore thusDelays Euphrasia? Ha! what means, Philotas,That sudden haste, that pale, disorder'd look?
EnterPhilotas.
Phil.O! I can hold no more; at such a sightEv'n the hard heart of tyranny would meltTo infant softness. Arcas, go, beholdThe pious fraud of charity and love;Behold that unexampled goodness; seeTh' expedient sharp necessity has taught her;Thy heart will burn, will melt, will yearn to viewA child like her.
Arcas.Ha!—say what mysteryWakes these emotions?
Phil.Wonder-working virtue!The father foster'd at his daughter's breast!O! filial piety!—The milk design'dFor her own offspring, on the parent's lipAllays the parching fever.
Arcas.That deviceHas she then form'd, eluding all our care,To minister relief?
Phil.On the bare earthEvander lies; and as his languid pow'rsImbibe 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 smilesOf pure delight, of exquisite sensation,A silent tear steals down; the tear of virtue,That sweetens grief to rapture. All her lawsInverted quite, great nature triumphs still.
Arcas.The tale unmans my soul.
Phil.Ye tyrants, hear it,And learn, that, while your cruelty preparesUnheard-of torture, virtue can keep paceWith your worst efforts, and can try new modesTo bid men grow enamour'd of her charms.
Arcas.Philotas, for Euphrasia, in her cause,I now can hazard all. Let us preserveHer father for her.
Phil.Oh! her lovely daringTranscends 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.[ExitArcas.
Phil.I thank thee, Arcas; we will act like menWho feel for other's woes—She leads him forth,And tremblingly supports his drooping age.[Goes to assist him.EnterEuphrasiaandEvander.
Eva.Euphrasia, oh! my child! returning lifeGlows 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 himTo 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; yetMethought 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 patternOf filial piety to after times.Yes, princess, lead him forth; I'll point the path,Whose soft declivity will guide your stepsTo the deep vale, which these o'erhanging rocksEncompass round. You may convey him thenceTo 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.[ExitPhilotas.
Eva.Whither, oh! whither shall Evander go?I'm at the goal of life; if in the raceHonour 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 godsAfford 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 childShall 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!
EnterPhilotas.
Phil.All things are apt; the drowsy sentinelLies hush'd in sleep; I'll marshall thee the wayDown 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 embraceTo 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 flightFor 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.