Part 2 (1/2)

_Dio._ Thou lovely trembler, hush thy fears to rest.

The Greek recoils; like the impetuous surge That dashes on the rock, there breaks, and foams, And backward rolls into the sea again.

All shall be well in Syracuse: a fleet Appears in view, and brings the chosen sons Of Carthage. From the hill that fronts the main, I saw their canva.s.s swelling with the wind, While on the purple wave the western sun Glanc'd the remains of day.

_Eup._ Yet till the fury Of war subside, the wild, the horrid interval In safety let me sooth to dear delight In a lov'd father's presence: from his sight, For three long days, with specious feign'd excuse Your guards debarr'd me. Oh! while yet he lives, Indulge a daughter's love; worn out with age Soon must he seal his eyes in endless night, And with his converse charm my ear no more.

_Dio._ Why thus antic.i.p.ate misfortune? Still Evander mocks the injuries of time.

Calippus, thou survey the city round; Station the centinels, that no surprise Invade the unguarded works, while drowsy night Weighs 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 empire His age sequester him, yet honours high Shall 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 light Unveil the face of things, do thou despatch A well-oar'd galley to Hamilcar's fleet; At the north point of yonder promontory, Let some selected officer instruct him To moor his s.h.i.+ps, and issue on the land.

Then may Timoleon tremble: vengeance then Shall 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 sh.o.r.e.

[_Exit DIONYSIUS._

_Eup._ What do I hear? Melanthon, can it be?

If Carthage comes, if her perfidious sons List 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 Timoleon First 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'd He pines in bitterest want.

_Eup._ Well, my heart, Well do your vital drops forget to flow.

_Mel._ Despair, alas! is all the sad resource Our 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 s.e.x, Sinew my arm, and guide it to his heart.

And thou, O filial piety, that rul'st My woman's breast, turn to vindictive rage; a.s.sume the port of justice; show mankind Tyrannic 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 voice Be hush'd to silence, when a father dies?