e pow'rs, that spectacle of woe!

_Eva._ Despatch me, pitying gods, and save my child!
I burn, I burn; alas! no place of rest:

[_Rises and comes out._

A little air; once more a breath of air;
Alas! I faint; I die.

_Eup._ Heart-piercing sight!
Let me support you, sir.

_Eva._ Oh! lend your arm.
Whoe'er thou art, I thank thee: that kind breeze
Comes gently o'er my senses--lead me forward:
And is there left one charitable hand
To reach its succour to a wretch like me?

_Eup._ Well may'st thou ask it. O! my breaking heart!
The hand of death is on him.

_Eva._ Still a little,
A little onward to the air conduct me;
'Tis well;--I thank thee; thou art kind and good,
And much I wonder at this gen'rous pity.

_Eup._ Dost thou not know me, sir?

_Eva._ Methinks I know
That voice: art thou--alas! my eyes are dim!
Each object swims before me--No, in truth
I do not know thee.

_Eup._ Not your own Euphrasia?

_Eva._ Art thou my daughter?

_Eup._ Oh! my honour'd sire!

_Eva._ My daughter, my Euphrasia? come to close
A father's eyes! Giv'n to my last embrace!
Gods! do I hold her once again? Your mercies
Are without number. [_Falls on the Couch._
This excess of bliss
O'erpow'rs; it kills; Euphrasia--could I hope it?
I die content--Art thou indeed my daughter?
Thou art; my hand is moisten'd with thy tears:
I pray you do not weep--thou art my child:
I thank you, gods! in my last dying moments
You have not left me--I would pour my praise;
But oh! your goodness overcomes me quite!
You read my heart; you see what passes there.

_Eup._ Alas, he faints! the gushing tide of transport
Bears down each feeble sense: restore him, Heaven!

_Eva._ All, my Euphrasia, all will soon be well.
Pass but a moment, and this busy globe,
Its thrones, its empires, and its bustling millions,
Will seem a speck in the great void of space.
Yet, while I stay, thou darling of my age!--
Nay, dry those tears.

_Eup._ I will, my father.

_Eva._ Where,--
I fear to ask it, where is virtuous Phocion?

_Eup._ Fled from the tyrant's pow'r.

_Eva._ And left thee here
Expos'd and helpless?

_Eup._ He is all truth and honour:
He fled to save my child.

_Eva._ My young Evander!
Your boy is safe, Euphrasia?--Oh! my heart!
Alas! quite gone; worn out with misery;
Oh! weak, decay'd old man!

_Eup._ Inhuman wretches!
Will none relieve his want? A drop of water
Might save his life; and even that's deny'd him.

_Eva._ These strong