The British Drama: Tragedies. 2 v

SCENE I.

Enter MELANTHON and PHILOTAS.

ACT I.

Melan. YET, a moment; hear, Philotas, hear

me.

Phil. No more; it must not be.

Melan. Obdurate man!

Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distressed,
A good, a virtuous, venerable king,
The father of his people, from a throne,
Which long, with every virtue he adorned,
Torn by a ruffian, by a tyrant's hand,
Groans in captivity? In his own palace
Lives a sequestered prisoner? Oh! Philotas,
If thou hast not renounced humanity,
Let me behold my sovereign; once again
Admit me to his presence; let me see
My royal master.

Phil. Urge thy suit no further;

Thy words are fruitless; Dionysius' orders

Forbid access; he is our sovereign now; 'Tis his to give the law, inine to obey.

Melan. Thou can'st not mean it: his to givę
the law!

Detested spoiler !-his! a vile usurper!
Have we forgot the elder Dionysius,
Surnamed the Tyrant? To Sicilia's throne
The monster waded through whole seas of blood.
Sore groaned the land beneath his iron rod,
Till, roused at length, Evander came from Greece,
Like Freedom's genius came, and sent the tyrant,
Stripped of the crown, and to his humble rank
Once more reduced, to roam, for vile subsist-
ence,

A wandering sophist through the realms of

Greece.

Phil. Melanthon, yes: full clearly I remember The splendid day, when all rejoicing Sicily Hailed her deliverer.

Melan. Shall the tyrant's son

Deduce a title from the father's guilt?
Philotas, thou wert once the friend of goodness;
Thou art a Greek; fair Corinth gave thee birth;
I marked thy growing youth; I need not tell,
With what an equal sway Evander reigned,
How just, how upright, generous, and good!
From every region bards and sages came;
Whate'er of science Egypt stored,

All that the east had treasured, all that Greece
Of mortal wisdom taught, and Plato's voice,
Was heard in Sicily. Shall Dionysius
Extinguish every virtue from the land,
Bow to his yoke the necks of freeborn men,
And here perpetuate a tyrant's reign?

Phil. Whate'er his right, to him, in Syracuse,
All bend the knee; his the supreme dominion,
And death and torment wait his sovereign nod.
Melan. But soon that power shall cease: be-

hold his walls

Now close encircled by the Grecian bands;
Timoleon leads them on; indignant Corinth
Sends her avenger forth, arrayed in terror,
To hurl ambition from a throne usurped,
And bid all Sicily resume her rights.

Phil. Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon;
now,

Grown dim with age, thy eye pervades no more
The deep-laid schemes which Dionysius plans.
Know then, a fleet from Carthage even now
Stems 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.
Melan. Art thou a stranger to Timoleon's
name?

Intent to plan, and circumspect to see

All possible events, he rushes on

Resistless in his course! Your boasted master

Each avenue to thee is open; thou
Can'st grant admittance; let me, let me see him!
Phil. Entreat no more; the soul of Dionysius
Is ever wakeful; rent with all the pangs
That wait on conscious guilt.

Melan. But when dun night

Phil. Alas! it cannot be but mark my words.
Let Greece urge on her general assault.
Dispatch some friend, who may o'erleap the
walls,

And tell Timoleon, the good old Evander
Has lived three days, by Dionysius' order,
Locked up from every sustenance of nature,
And life, now wearied out, almost expires.
Melan. If any spark of virtue dwells within
thee,

Lead me, Philotas, lead me to his prison.
Phil. The tyrant's jealous care hath moved
him thence.

Melan. Ha! moved him, say'st thou?
Phil. At the midnight hour,
Silent conveyed him up the steep ascent,
To where the elder Dionysius formed,
On the sharp summit of the pointed rock,
Which overhangs the deep, a dungeon drear:
Cell within cell, a labyrinth of horror,
Deep caverned in the cliff, where many a wretch,
Unseen by mortal eye, has groaned in anguish,
And died obscure, unpitied, and unknown.

Melan. Clandestine murderer! Yes, there's

the scene

Of horrid massacre. Full oft I've walked,
When all things lay in sleep and darkness hush-
ed.

Yes oft I've walked the lonely sullen beach,
And heard the mournful sound of many a corse
Plunged from the rock into the wave beneath,
That murmurs on the shore. And means he thus
To end a monarch's life? Oh! grant my prayer;

Scarce stands at bay; each hour the strong block-My timely succour may protect his days;

ade

Hems him in closer, and, ere long, thou'lt view
Oppression's iron rod to fragments shivered!
The good Evander then-

Phil. Alas! Evander

Will ne'er behold the golden time you look for!
Melan. How! not behold it! Say, Philotas,
speak;

Has the fell tyrant, have his felon murderers-
Phil. As yet, my friend, Evander lives.
Melan. And yet,

Thy dark half-hinted purpose-lead me to him;
If thou hast murdered him-

Phil. By Heaven, he lives!

The guard is yours

Phil. Forbear; thou plead'st in vain ;
And though I feel soft pity throbbing here,
Though each emotion prompts the generous deed,
I must not yield; it were assured destruction.
Farewell! dispatch a message to the Greeks;
I'll to my station; now thou know'st the worst.

[Exit.

Melan. Oh, lost Evander! Lost Euphrasia

too!

How will her gentle nature bear the shock
Of a dear father, thus in lingering pangs
A prey to famine, like the veriest wretch,
Whom the hard hand of misery hath griped!

Melan. Then bless me with one tender inter-In vain she'll rave with impotence of sorrow;

Perhaps provoke her fate: Greece arms in vain;
All's lost; Evander dies!

Enter CALIPPUS.

Cal. Where is the king?
Our troops, that sallied to attack the foe,
Retire disordered; to the eastern gate

Euph. 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 tower
Burst on the tyrant's ranks, and on the plain
Lies an extended ruin.

Melay. Still new horrors

Increase each hour, and gather round our heads. Euph. The glorious tumult lifts my towering soul.

Once more, Melanthon, once again, my father Shall mount Sicilia's throne.

Melan. Alas! that hour

Would come with joy to every 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.

Euph. And still, Melanthon, still does pale
despair

Depress thy spirit? Lo! Timoleon comes, Armed with the power 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 victor
Within our gates triumphant.

Melan. Still my fears

Forebode for thee. Would thou had'st left this place,

When hence your husband, the brave Phocion, fled,

Fled with your infant son!

Euph. In duty fixed,

Here I remained, while my brave generous
Phocion

Fled with my child, and from his mother's arms
Bore my sweet little one. Full well thou know'st
The pangs I suffered in that trying moment,
Did I not weep? Did I not rave and shriek,
And by the roots tear my dishevelled hair?
Did I not follow to the sea-beat shore,

Resolved with him, and with my blooming boy,
To trust the winds and waves?

Melan. Deem not, Euphrasia,

I e'er can doubt thy constancy and love.

Each secret image that my fancy formed,
The gods can witness how I loved my Phocion.
And yet I went not with him. Could I do it?
Could I desert my father? Could I leave
The venerable man, who gave me being,
A victim here in Syracuse, nor stay
To watch his fate, to visit his affliction,
To cheer his prison hours, and, with the tear
Of filial virtue, bid even bondage smile?

Melan. The pious act, whate'er the fates intend,

Shall merit heart-felt praise.

Euph. 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 fafe, Euphrasia dies content.
Till that sad close of all, the task be mine
To 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 every look,
Explore each fond unutterable wish,
Catch his last breath, and close his eyes in peace.
Melan. I would not add to my afflictions; yet
My heart misgives; Evander's fatal period-
Euph. Still is far off; the gods have sent re-
lief,

And once again I shall behold him king.

Melan. Alas! those glittering hopes but lend

a ray

To gild the clouds, that hover o'er your head, Soon to rain sorrow down, and plunge you deeper In black despair.

Euph. 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 ardour
Timoleon drives the tumult of the war?
Hast thou not heard him thundering 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 towers in ruin;
Destruction pouring in on every side;
Pride and oppression at their utmost need;
And nought to save him in his hopeless hour.
[A flourish of trumpets.
Melan. Ha! the fell tyrant comes-Beguile
his rage,
And o'er your sorrows cast a dawn of gladness.

Enter DIONYSIUS, CALIPPUS, Officers, &c.
Dion. The vain, presumptuous Greek! his
hopes of conquest,

Like a gay dream, are vanished into air.
Proudly elate, and flushed with easy triumph
O'er vulgar warriors, to the gates of Syracuse
He urged the war, till Dionysius' arm

Euph. Melanthon, how I loved! the gods, who Let slaughter loose, and taught his dastard train

saw

To seek their safety by inglorious flight,

Euph. O Dionysius, if distracting fears Alarm this throbbing bosom, you will pardon A frail and tender sex. Should ruthless war Roam 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 seek The gloomy mansion, where my father dwells; I die content, if in his arms I perish.

Dion. 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 canvass swelling with the wind,
While on the purple wave the western sun
Glanced the remains of day.

Euph. Yet till the fury

Of war subside, the wild, the horrid interval,
In safety let me soothe to dear delight
In a loved father's presence: from his sight,
For three long days, with specious feigned excuse
Your guards debarred 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.
Dion. Why thus anticipate 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 evening of his various day.

Euph. For this benignity, accept my thanks. They gush in tears, and my heart pours its tribute.

Dion. Perdiccas, ere the morn's revolving
light

Unveil the face of things, do thou dispatch
A well-oared galley to Hamilcar's fleet;
At the north point of yonder promontory,
Let some selected officer instruct him
To moor his ships, and issue on the land.
Then may Timoleon tremble: vengeance, then,
Shall overwhelm his camp, pursue his bands,
With fatal havock, to the ocean's margin,
And cast their limbs to glut the vulture's famine,
In mangled heaps, upon the naked shore.

[Exit Dionysius. Euph. 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. Melan. Woe, bitterest woe impends; thou would'st not think

Euph. To that abode

Of woe and horror, that last stage of life, Has the fell tyrant moved him?

Melan. There sequestered, Alas! he soon must perish.

Euph. Well, my heart,

Well do your vital drops forget to flow ! Melan. Enough his sword has reeked with public slaughter;

Now, dark insidious deeds must thin mankind. Euph. Oh! night, that oft hast heard my piercing shrieks

Disturb thy awful silence; oft has heard
Each stroke these hands, in frantic sorrow, gave,
From this sad breast resounding; now no more
I mean to vent complaints; I mean not now
With busy memory to retrace the wrongs
The tyrant heaped on our devoted race.
I hear it all; with calmest patience bear it:
Resigned and wretched, desperate and lost.
Melan. Despair, alas! is all the sad resource
Our fate allows us now.

Euph. 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 this feeble sex,
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;
Assume the port of justice; shew mankind
Tyrannic guilt had never dared in Syracuse,
Beyond the reach of virtue.

Melan. Yet beware;
Controul this frenzy that bears down your rea-

son.

Surrounded by his guards, the tyrant mocks
Your utmost fury; moderate your zeal,
Nor let him hear these transports of the soul,
These wild upbraidings.

Euph. Shall Euphrasia's voice

Be hushed 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 terrible with wrongs,
Fierce in despair, all nature, in her cause,
Alarmed and roused with horror? Yes, Melan-
thon!

The man of blood shall hear me; yes!
my
voice
Shall mount aloft upon the whirlwind's wing,

der at!

Pierce yon blue vault, and at the throne of Heaven | For heaven and earth, for men and gods, to won-
Call down red vengeance on the murderer's head.
Melanthon, come; my wrongs will lend me force; | This arm shall vindicate a father's cause.
The weakness of my sex is gone; this arm
Feels tenfold strength; this arm shall do a deed

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I-A wild romantic scene amidst overhanging rocks; a cavern on one side.

ARCAS. [With a spear in his hand.] 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 beach No murmuring billow breaks; the Grecian tents Lie sunk in sleep; no gleaming fires are seen; All Syracuse is hushed: no stir abroad, Save ever and anon the dashing oar, That beats the sullen wave.

that

And hark!-Was

The groan of anguish from Evander's cell,
Piercing the midnight gloom?--It is the sound
Of bustling prows, that cleave the briny deep.
Perhaps, at this dead hour, Hamilcar's fleet
Rides in the bay.

Enter PHILOTAS, from the cavern.
Phil. What ho! brave Arcas! ho!
Arc. Why thus desert thy couch?
Phil. Methought the sound

Of distant uproar chased affrighted sleep.

Arc. At intervals the oar's resounding stroke Comes echoing from the main. Save that report, A death-like silence through the wide expanse Broods o'er the dreary coast.

Phil. Do thou retire,

And seek repose; the duty of thy watch
Is now performed; I take thy post.
Arc. How fares

Your royal prisoner?

Phil. Arcas, shall I own

A secret weakness? My heart inward melts
To 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! Thou withdraw;
Thy wearied nature claims repose; and now
The watch is mine.

Arc. May no alarm disturb thee.

[Exit.

Phil. Some dread event is labouring into birth. At close of day the sullen sky held forth Unerring signals. With disastrous glare

The veriest wretch that ever groaned in anguish,
Comes here to grovel on the earth before thee,
To tell her sad, sad tale, implore thy aid-
For sure the power is thine, thou canst relieve
My bleeding heart, and soften all my woes.
Phil. Ha! sure those accents-

[Takes the light from her. Euph. Deign to listen to me. Phil. Euphrasia!

Euph. Yes; the lost, undone Euphrasia;
Supreme in wretchedness; to the inmost sense,
Here in the quickest fibre of the heart,
Wounded, transfixed, and tortured to distraction.
Phil. 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
hushed;

All things are mute around us; all but you
Rest in oblivious slumber from their cares.
Euph. Yes, all; all rest: the very murderer
sleeps;

Guilt is at rest: I, only, wake to misery.
Phil. How did'st thou gain the summit of the
rock?

Euph. Give me my father; here you hold him fettered;

The moon's full orb rose crimsoned o'er with Oh! give him to me !-in the fond pursuit

blood;

And lo! athwart the gloom a falling star
Trails a long tract of fire!-What daring step
Sounds on the flinty rock? Stand there! what ho!
Speak, ere thou dar'st advance! Unfold thy pur-
pose:

All pain and peril vanish; love and duty
Inspired the thought; despair itself gave courage;
I climbed the hard ascent; with painful toil
Surmounted craggy cliffs, and pointed rocks--
What will not misery attempt?--If ever
The touch of nature throbbed within your breast,

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