Part 11 (1/2)

Once more approach and hear me; 'tis not now A time to waste in the vain war of words.

A crisis big with horror is at hand.

I meant to spare the stream of blood, that soon Shall deluge yonder plains. My fair proposals Thy haughty spirit has with scorn rejected.

And now, by Heav'n, here, in thy very sight, Evander breathes his last.

_Eup._ If yet there's wanting A crime to fill the measure of thy guilt, Add that black murder to the dreadful list;-- With that complete the horrors of thy reign.

_Dio._ Woman, beware: Philotas is at hand, And to our presence leads Evander. All Thy dark complottings, and thy treach'rous arts, Have prov'd abortive.

_Eup._ Ha!--What new event?

And is Philotas false?--Has he betray'd him?

[_Aside._

_Dio._ What, ho! Philotas!

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Eup._ How my heart sinks within me!

_Dio._ Where's your pris'ner?

_Phil._ Evander is no more.

_Dio._ Ha!--Death has robb'd me Of half my great revenge.

_Phil._ Worn out with anguish, I saw life ebb apace. With studied art We gave each cordial drop, alas, in vain; He heav'd a sigh, invok'd his daughter's name, Smil'd, and expir'd.

_Dio._ Bring me his h.o.a.ry head!

_Phil._ You'll pardon, sir, my over-hasty zeal.

I gave the body to the foaming surge, Down the steep rock despis'd.

_Dio._ Now rave and shriek, And rend your scatter'd hair. No more Evander Shall sway Sicilia's sceptre.

Now then, thou feel'st my vengeance.

_Eup._ Glory in it; Exult and triumph. Thy worst shaft is sped.

Yet still th'unconquer'd mind with scorn can view thee; With the calm suns.h.i.+ne of the breast can see, Thy pow'r unequal to subdue the soul, Which virtue form'd, and which the G.o.ds protect.

_Dio._ Philotas, bear her hence; she shall not live; This moment, bear her hence!--you know the rest:-- Go, see our will obey'd; that done, with all A warrior's speed, attend me at the citadel;-- There meet the heroes, whom this night shall lead To freedom, victory,--to glorious havoc, And the destruction of the Grecian name. [_Exit._

_Eup._ Accept my thanks, Philotas;--generous man!

These tears attest th'emotions of my heart.

But, oh! should Greece defer----

_Phil._ Dispel thy fears; Phocion will bring relief; or should the tyrant a.s.sault their camp, he'll meet a marshall'd foe.

Let me conduct thee to the silent tomb.

_Eup._ Ah! there Evander, naked and disarm'd, Defenceless quite, may meet some ruffian stroke.