Fought near our person, and the pointed lance Aimed at my breast?

Phil. In chains they wait their doom.

Dion. Give me to see them; bring the slaves before me.

Phil. What, ho! Melanthon! this way lead your prisoners.

Enter MELANTHON, with PHOCION, disguised

as a Greek Officer, and Soldiers. Dion. Assassins, and not warriors! do ye come, When the wide rage of battle claims your sword, Thus do you come against a single life To wage the war? Did not our buckler ring With all your darts, in one collected volley, Showered on my head? Did not your swords at

once

Point at my breast, and thirst for regal blood? Greek Off. We sought thy life. I am by birth a Greek.

An open foe, in arms, I meant to slay
The foe of human kind. With rival ardour
We took the field; one voice, one mind, one
heart;

All leagued, all covenanted: in yon camp
Spirits there are who aim, like us, at glory.
Whene'er you sally forth, whene'er the Greeks
Shall scale your walls, prepare thee to encounter
A like assault. By me the youth of Greece
Thus notify the war they mean to wage.
Dion. Thus, then, I warn them of my great

revenge.

Whoe'er in battle shall become our prisoner,
In torment meets his doom.

Greek Offi. Then wilt thou see,
How vile the body to a mind that pants
For genuine glory. Twice three hundred Greeks
Have sworn, like us, to hunt thee through the
ranks;

Ours the first lot; we've failed; on yonder plain
Appear in arms, the faithful band will meet thee.
Dion, Vile slave, no more! Melanthon, drag
them hence

To die in misery. Impaled alive,
The winds shall parch them on the craggy cliff.
Selected from the rest, let one depart
A messenger to Greece, to tell the fate
Her chosen sons, her first adventurers met.

[Erit.

Melan. Unhappy men! how shall my care protect

Your forfeit lives? Philotas, thou conduct them To the deep dungeon's gloom. In that recess, "Midst the wild tumult of eventful war,

We may ward off the blow. My friends, farewell:

That officer will guide your steps.

[All follow PHILOTAS, except PHOCION. Pho. Disguised

Thus in a soldier's garb, he knows me not.
Melanthon!

Melan. Ha!-Those accents!-Phocion here?
Pho. Yes, Phocion here! Speak, quickly tell

me, sav,

How fares Euphrasia?

VOL. II.

Melan. Ha! beware-Philotas, Conduct those prisoners hence; this soldier here Shall bear the tidings to Timoleon's camp.

Pho. Oh! satisfy my doubts; how fares Euphrasia?

Melan. Euphrasia lives, and fills the anxious

moments

With every virtue. Wherefore venture hither? Why with rash valour penetrate our gates?

Pho. Could I refrain? Oh! could I tamely

wait

The event of lingering war? With patience count
The lazy-pacing hours, while here in Syracuse
The tyrant keeps all that my heart holds dear?
For her dear sake, all dangers sink before me;
For her I burst the barriers of the gate,
Where the deep caverned rocks afford a passage.
A hundred chosen Greeks pursued my steps;
We forced an entrance; the devoted guard
Fell victims to our rage; but, in that moment,
Down from the walls superior numbers came.
The tyrant led them on. We rushed upon him,
If we could reach his heart, to end the war.
But Heaven thought otherwise. Melanthon, say-
I fear to ask it-lives Evander still?

Melan. Alas! he lives, imprisoned in the rock. Thou must withdraw thee hence; regain once

more

Timoleon's camp; alarm his slumbering rage; Assail the walls; thou, with thy phalanx, seek The subterranneous path; that way at night The Greeks may enter, and let in destruction To the great work of vengeance.

Pho. Would'st thou have me Basely retreat, while my Euphrasia trembles Here on the ridge of peril? She, perhaps, May fall unknown, unpitied, undistinguished, Amidst the general carnage. Shall I leave her To add that beauty to the purple heap? No; I will seek her in these walls accurst, Even in the tyrant's palace; save that life, My only source of joy; that life, whose loss Would make all Greece complotter in a murder, And dainn a righteous cause.

Melan. Yet hear the voice

Of sober age. Should Dionysius' spies
Detect thee here, ruin involves us all:
'Twere best retire, and seek Timoleon's tents;
Tell him, dismay and terror fill the city;
Even now in Syracuse the tyrant's will
Ordains with pomp oblations to the gods.
His deadly hand still hot with recent blood,
The monster dares approach the sacred altar:
Thy voice may rouse Timoleon to the assault,
And bid him storm the works.

Pho. By heaven I will;

My breath shall wake his rage; this very night, When sleep sits heavy on the slumbering city, Then Greece unsheathes her sword, and great

scattered garments;

Some dread calamity hangs o'er our heads.
In vain the tyrant would appease with sacrifice
The impending wrath of ill-requited Heaven.
Ill omens hover o'er us: at the altar
The victim dropt, ere the divining seer
Had gored his knife. The brazen statues trem-
ble,

And from the marble drops of blood distil.
Erix. Now, ye just gods, if vengeance you
prepare,
Now find the guilty head!

Phil. Amidst the throng,

A matron labours with the inspiring god;
She stares, she raves, and, with no mortal sound,
Proclaims around- Where, Phoebus, am I

borne?

I see their glittering spears; I see them charge; Bellona wades in blood; hat mangled body,

gore,

I know it well; Oh! close the dreadful scene! Relieve me, Phoebus! I have seen too much.' Erir. Alas! I tremble for Evander's fate. Avert the omen, gods, and guard his life!

Enter EUPHRASIA from the Tomb. Euph. Virgins, I thank you-Oh! more light ly now

My heart expands; the pious act is done,
And I have paid my tribute to a parent.
Ah! wherefore does the tyrant bend this way?
Phil. He flies the altar; leaves the unfinished

rites.

No God there smiles propitious on his cause. Fate lifts the awful balance; weighs his life, The lives of numbers, in the trembling scale.

Euph. Despair and horror mark his haggard
looks,

His wild, disordered step-He rushes forth;
Some new alarm demands him! Even now
He issues at yon portal! Lo! see there,
The suppliant crowd disperses; wild with fear,
Distraction in each look, the wretched throng
Pours through the brazen gates-Do you retire,
Retire, Philotas; let me here remain,
And give the moments of suspended fate
To pious worship and to filial love.

Phil. Alas! I fear to yield: awhile I'll leave
thee,

And at the temple's entrance wait thy coming.

(Erit.

Euph. Now, then, Euphrasia, now thou may's

indulge

The purest ecstacy of soul. Come forth, Thou man of woe, thou man of every virtue!

Enter EVANDER from the Monument. Evan. And does the grave thus cast me up

again,

With a fond father's love to view thee? Thus
To mingle rapture in a daughter's arms?
Euph. How fares my father now?
Evan. Thy aid, Euphrasia,
Has given new life. Thou, from this vital stream
Deriv'st thy being; with unheard-of duty
Thou hast repaid it to thy native source.

Euph. Sprung from Evander, if a little portion Of all his goodness dwell within my heart, Thou wilt not wonder.

Evan. Joy and wonder rise In mixed emotions! Though departing hence, After the storms of a tempestuous life, Though I was entering the wished-for port, Where all is peace, all bliss, and endless joy, Yet here contented I can linger still, To view thy goodness, and applaud thy deeds, Thou author of my life! Did ever parent Thus call his child before? My heart's too fo My old fond heart runs o'er; it aches with jos. Euph. Alas, too much you over-rate your

daughter; Nature and duty called me-Oh! my father,

How

Rouse thee, Evander; self-acquitting conscience Declares thee blameless, and the gods behold thee.

I was but going hence, by mere decay,
To that futurity which Plato taught,
Where the immortal spirit views the planets
Roll round the mighty year, and, wrapt in bliss,
Adores the ideas of the eternal mind.
Thither, oh! thither was Evander going,
But thou recall'st me; thou!

Euph. Timoleon too
Invites thee back to life.

Evan. And does he still

Urge on the siege?

Euph. His active genius comes

To scourge a guilty race. The Punic fleet,
Half lost, is swallowed by the roaring sea.
The shattered refuse seek the Libyan shore,
To bear the news of their defeat to Carthage.
Ecan. These are thy wonders, Heaven! Abroad
thy spirit

Moves o'er the deep, and mighty fleets are vanished.

Euph. Ha!-hark !-what noise is that? It comes this way;

Some busy footstep beats the hallowed pavement. Oh! Sir, retire-Ye powers !-Philotas!—ha!

Evan. But ere he pays

The forfeit of his crimes, what streams of blood
Shall flow in torrents round! Methinks I might
Prevent this waste of nature-I'll go forth,
And to my people shew their rightful king.

Euph. Banish that thought: forbear; the rash
attempt

Were fatal to our hopes; oppressed, dismayed, The people look aghast, and, wan with fear, None will espouse your cause.

Evan. Yes, all will dare

To act like men;-their king, I gave myself
To a whole people. I made no reserve;

Pledged to the public cause; devoted to it:
That was my compact: is the subject's less?
If they are all debased, and willing slaves,
The young but breathing to grow grey in bondage,
And the old sinking to ignoble graves,
Of such a race no matter who is king.
And yet I will not think it; no! my people
Are brave and generous; I will trust their va

lour.

Euph. Yet stay; yet be advised.
Phil. As yet, my liege,

No plan is fixed, and no concerted measure.
The fates are busy: wait the vast event.
Trust to my truth and honour. Witness, gods,
Here, in the temple of Olympian Jove,
Philotas swears-

Evan. Forbear: the man like thee,
Who feels the best emotions of the heart,
Truth, reason, justice, honour's fine excitements,
Acts by those laws, and wants no other sanction.
Euph. Again the alarm approaches; sure des-

truction

To thee, to all, will follow :-hark! a sound Comes hollow murmuring through the vaulted aisle.

It gains upon the ear. Withdraw, my father! All's lost if thou art seen.

Phil. And, lo! Calippus

Darts with the lightning's speed across the aisle. Evan. Thou at the senate-house convene my

friends.

SCENE I.

Enter MELANTHON and PHILOTAS.
Mel. Away! no more; pernicious, vile dis-
sembler !

Phil. Wherefore this frantic rage?
Melan. Thou canst not varnish,
With thy perfidious arts, a crime like this.

I climbed the rugged cliff; but, oh! thou traitor,
Where is Evander! Through each dungeon's

gloom

I sought the good old king; the guilt is thine; May vengeance wait thee for it!'

Phil. Still, Melanthon,

Let prudence guide thee.

Melan. Thou hast plunged thee down Far as the lowest depth of hell-born crimes; Thou hast out-gone all registers of guilt; Beyond all fable hast thou sinned, Philotas. Phil. By Heaven thou wrong'st me: didst thou know, old man

Melan. Could not his reverend age, could not his virtue,

His woes unnumbered, soften thee to pity?
Thou hast destroyed my king.

Phil. Yet wilt thou hear me?

Your king still lives.

Melun. Thou vile deceiver !-Lives! But where! Away; no more. I charge thee, leave me.

Phil. We have removed him to a sure asylum. Melan. Removed!-Thou traitor! what dark privacy

Why move him thence? The vile assassin's stab Has closed his days-calm, unrelenting villain! I know it all.

Phil. By every power above,

Evander lives; in safety lives. Last night, When in his dark embrace sleep wrapt the world, Euphrasia came, a spectacle of woe;

Dared to approach our guard, and with her tears, With vehemence of grief, she touched my heart. I gave her father to her.

Melan. How, Philotas!

If thou dost not deceive me

Phil. No, by Heaven!

By every power above-But hark! those notes
Speak Dionysius near; anon, my friend,
I'll tell thee each particular; thy king,
Mean while, is safe-but lo! the tyrant comes;
With guilt like his I must equivocate,
And teach even truth and honour to dissemble.

Enter DIONYSIUS, CALIPPUS, &c.

Dion. Away each vain alarm; the sun goes down,

Nor yet Timoleon issues from his fleet.

There let him linger on the wave-worn beach; Here, the vain Greck shall find another Troy,

A more than Hector here. Though Carthage fly,
Ourself, still Dionysius here remains.
And means the Greek to treat of terms of peace!
By Heaven, this panting bosom hoped to meet
His boasted phalanx on the embattled plain.
And doth he now, on peaceful councils bent,
Dispatch his herald?-Let the slave approach.
Enter the Herald.

Dion. Now, speak thy purpose; what doth
Greece impart?

Her. Timoleon, sir, whose great renown in

arms

Is equalled only by the softer virtues
Of mild humanity, that sway his heart,
Sends me, his delegate, to offer terms,
On which even foes may well accord; on which
The fiercest nature, though it spurn at justice,
May sympathise with his.

Dion. Unfold thy mystery;
Thou shalt be heard.

Her. The generous leader sees, With pity sees, the wild destructive havock Of ruthless war; he hath surveyed around The heaps of slain that cover yonder field, And, touched with generous sense of human woe, Weeps o'er his victories.

Dion. Your leader weeps! Then, let the author of those ills thou speak'st of, Let the ambitious factor of destruction, Timely retreat, and close the scene of blood. Why doth affrighted peace behold his standard Upreared in Sicily? and wherefore here The iron ranks of war, from which the shepherd Retires appalled, and leaves the blasted hopes Of half the year, while closer to her breast The mother clasps her infant?

Her. 'Tis not mine

To plead Timoleon's cause; not mine the office To justify the strong, the righteous motives, That urge him to the war; the only scope My deputation aims at, is, to fix

An interval of peace, a pause of horror, That they, whose bodies on the naked shore Lie weltering in their blood, from either host May meet the last sad rites to nature due, And decent lie in honourable graves.

Dion. Go tell your leader, his pretexts are vain. Let him with those that live, embark for Greece, And leave our peacetul plains; the mangled limbs Of those he murdered, from my tender care Shall meet due obsequies.

Her. The hero, sir,

Wages no war with those, who bravely die.
'Tis for the dead I supplicate; for them
We sue for peace: and to the living, too,
Timoleon would extend it; but the groans
Of a whole people have unsheathed his sword.
A single day will pay the funeral rites.
To-morrow's sun may see both armies meet

I grant thy suit: soon as to-morrow's dawn
Illumes the world, the rage of wasting war
In vain shall thirst for blood: but mark my words;
If the next orient sun behold you here,
That hour shall see me, terrible in a 'ms,
Deluge yon plain, and let destruction loose.
Thou know'st my last resolve, and now, farewell.
Some careful officer conduct him forth.

[Erit Herald. By Heaven, the Greek hath offered to my sword An easy prey; a sacrifice to glut

My great revenge. Calippus, let each soldier,
This night, resign his wearied limbs to rest,
That ere the dawn, with renovated strength,
On the unguarded, unsuspecting foe,
Disarmed, and bent on superstitious rites,
From every quarter we may rush undaunted,
Give the invaders to the deathful steel,
And, by one carnage, bury all in ruin.
My valiant friends, haste to your several posts,
And let this night a calm unruffled spirit
Lie hushed in sleep: away, my friends, disperse !
Philotas, waits Euphrasia, as we ordered?
Phil. She's here at hand.

Dion. Admit her to our presence.
Rage and despair, a thousand warring passions,
All rise, by turns, and piecemeal rend iny heart.
Yet every means, all measures must be tried,
To sweep the Grecian spoiler from the land,
And fix the crown, unshaken, on my brow.