Part 7 (1/2)

_Erix._ Look down, propitious pow'rs! behold that virtue, And heal the pangs that desolate her soul.

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Phil._ Mourn, mourn, ye virgins; rend your scatter'd garments: Some dread calamity hangs o'er our heads.

In vain the tyrant would appease with sacrifice Th' impending wrath of ill-requited Heav'n.

Ill omens hover o'er us: at the altar The victim dropp'd, ere the divining seer Had gor'd his knife. The brazen statues tremble, And from the marble, drops of blood distil.

_Erix._ Now, ye just G.o.ds, if vengeance you prepare, Now find the guilty head.

_Enter EUPHRASIA, from the Tomb._

_Eup._ Virgins, I thank you--Oh! more lightly now My heart expands; the pious act is done, And I have paid my tribute to a parent.

Ah! wherefore does the tyrant bend his way?

_Phil._ He flies the altar; leaves th' unfinish'd rites.

No G.o.d there smiles propitious on his cause.

Fate lifts the awful balance; weighs his life, The lives of numbers, in the trembling scale.

_Eup._ Despair and horror mark his haggard looks.

Do you retire, Retire, Philotas; let me here remain, And give the moments of suspended fate To pious wors.h.i.+p and to filial love.

_Phil._ Alas! I fear to yield: awhile I'll leave thee, And at the temple's entrance wait thy coming. [_Exit._

_Eup._ Now, then, Euphrasia, now thou may'st indulge The purest ecstacy of soul. Come forth, Thou man of woe, thou man of every virtue.

_Enter EVANDER, from the Monument._

_Eva._ 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?

_Eup._ How fares my father now?

_Eva._ Thy aid, Euphrasia, Has giv'n new life. Thou from this vital stream Deriv'st thy being; with unheard-of duty Thou hast repaid it to thy native source.

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

_Eva._ Joy and wonder rise In mix'd emotions!--Though departing hence, After the storms of a tempestuous life, Tho' I was entering the wish'd-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 full, My old fond heart runs o'er; it aches with joy.

_Eup._ Alas! too much you over-rate your daughter; Nature and duty call'd me--Oh! my father, How didst thou bear thy long, long suff'rings? How Endure their barb'rous rage?

_Eva._ My foes but did To this old frame, what Nature's hand must do.

In the worst hour of pain, a voice still whisper'd me, ”Rouse thee, Evander; self-acquitting conscience ”Declares thee blameless, and the G.o.ds behold thee.”

I was but going hence by mere decay, To that futurity which Plato taught.

Thither, oh! thither was Evander going, But thou recall'st me; thou!

_Eup._ Timoleon too Invites thee back to life.

_Eva._ And does he still Urge on the siege?

_Eup._ His active genius comes To scourge a guilty race. The Punic fleet, Half lost, is swallow'd by the roaring sea.

The shatter'd refuse seek the Lybian sh.o.r.e, To bear the news of their defeat to Carthage.

_Eva._ These are thy wonders, Heaven! Abroad thy spirit Moves o'er the deep, and mighty fleets are vanish'd.