he deep cavern'd rock affords a passage.
A hundred chosen Greeks pursu'd my steps,
We forc'd an entrance; the devoted guard
Fell victims to our rage; but in that moment
Down from the walls superior numbers came.
The tyrant led them on. We rush'd upon him,
If we could reach his heart, to end the war.
But Heav'n thought otherwise. Melanthon, say,--
I fear to ask it, lives Evander still?

_Mel._ Alas, he lives imprisoned in the rock.
Thou must withdraw thee hence; regain once more
Timoleon's camp! alarm his slumb'ring rage;
Assail the walls; thou with thy phalanx seek
The subterraneous path; that way at night
The Greeks may enter, and let in destruction
On the astonish'd foe.

_Phoc._ By Heav'n I will;
My breath shall wake his rage; this very night
When sleep sits heavy on the slumb'ring city,
Then Greece unsheaths her sword, and great revenge
Shall stalk with death and horror o'er the ranks
Of slaughter'd troops a sacrifice to freedom!
But first let me behold Euphrasia.

_Mel._ Hush
Thy pent-up valour: to a secret haunt
I'll guide thy steps; there dwell, and in apt time
I'll bring Euphrasia to thy longing arms.

_Phoc._ Oh! lead me to her; that exalted virtue
With firmer nerve shall bid me grasp the javelin;
Shall bid my sword with more than lightning's swiftness.
Blaze in the front of war, and glut its rage
With blow repeated in the tyrant's veins. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Temple, with a Monument in the Middle._

_Enter EUPHRASIA, ERIXENE, and other Female Attendants._

_Eup._ This way, my virgins, this way bend your steps.
Lo! the sad sepulchre where, hears'd in death,
The pale remains of my dear mother lie.
There, while the victims at yon altar bleed,
And with your pray'rs the vaulted roof resounds.
There let me pay the tribute of a tear,
A weeping pilgrim o'er Eudocia's ashes.

_Erix._ Forbear, Euphrasia, to renew your sorrows.

_Eup._ My tears have dry'd their source; then let me here,
Pay this sad visit to the honour'd clay,
That moulders in the tomb. These sacred viands
I'll burn an offering to a parent's shade,
And sprinkle with this wine the hallow'd mould.
That duty paid, I will return, my virgins.

[_She goes into the Tomb._

_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 wo