For sure the pow'r is thine, thou canst relieve
My bleeding heart, and soften all my woes.

_Phil._ Euphrasia!----
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 hush'd;
All things are mute around us; all but you
Rest in oblivious slumber from their cares.

_Eup._ Yes; all, all rest: the very murd'rer sleeps;
Guilt is at rest: I only wake to misery.

_Phil._ How didst thou gain the summit of the rock?

_Eup._ Give me my father; here you hold him fetter'd;
Oh! give him to me----If ever
The touch of nature throbb'd within your breast,
Admit me to Evander. In these caves
I know he pines in want; let me convey
Some charitable succour to a father.

_Phil._ Alas, Euphrasia! 'would I dare comply!

_Eup._ It will be virtue in thee. Thou, like me,
Wert born in Greece:--Oh! by our common parent--
Nay, stay; thou shalt not fly; Philotas, stay;--
You have a father too; think, were his lot
Hard as Evander's; if by felon hands
Chain'd to the earth, with slow-consuming pangs
He felt sharp want, and with an asking eye
Implor'd relief, yet cruel men deny'd it,
Wouldst thou not burst thro' adamantine gates,
Thro' walls and rocks, to save him? Think, Philotas,
Of thy own aged sire, and pity mine.
Think of the agonies a daughter feels,
When thus a parent wants the common food,
The bounteous hand of nature meant for all.

_Phil._ 'Twere best withdraw thee, princess; thy assistance
Evander wants not; it is fruitless all;
Thy tears, thy wild entreaties, are in vain.

_Eup._ Ha!--thou hast murder'd him; he is no more;
I understand thee;--butchers, you have shed
The precious drops of life.

_Phil._ Alas! this frantic grief can nought avail.
Retire and seek the couch of balmy sleep,
In this dead hour, this season of repose.

_Eup._ And dost thou then, inhuman as thou art!
Advise a wretch like me to know repose?
This is my last abode:--these caves, these rocks,
Shall ring for ever with Euphrasia's wrongs.
Here will I dwell, and rave, and shriek, and give
These scatter'd locks to all the passing winds;
Call on Evander lost;--
And cruel gods, and cruel stars invoking,
Stand on the cliff in madness and despair.

_Phil._ By Heav'n,
My heart in pity bleeds.
No other fear assails this warlike breast.
I pity your misfortunes; yes, by Heav'n,
My heart bleeds for you.--Gods! you've touch'd my soul!
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