_Eva._ I went forth, my child, When all was dark, and awful silence round, To throw me prostrate at the altar's foot, And crave the care of Heav'n for thee and thine. Melanthon there----
_Phil._ Inevitable ruin hovers o'er you: The tyrant's fury mounts into a blaze; Unsated yet with blood, he calls aloud For thee, Evander! thee his rage hath order'd This moment to his presence.
_Eva._ Lead me to him: His presence hath no terror for Evander.
_Phil._ No, never, never: I'll perish rather! But the time demands Our utmost vigour. His policy has granted A day's suspense from arms; yet even now His troops prepare, in the dead midnight hour, With base surprise to storm Timoleon's camp.
_Eva._ And doth he grant a false insidious truce, To turn the hour of peace to blood and horror?
_Eup._ I know the monster well: when specious seeming Becalms his looks, the rankling heart within Teems with destruction.
_Mel._ Now, Phocion, now, on thee our hope depends. Fly to Timoleon; I can grant a passport: Rouse him to vengeance; on the tyrant turn His own insidious arts, or all is lost.
_Phoc._ Evander thou, and thou, my best Euphrasia, Both shall attend my flight.
_Mel._ It were in vain; Th'attempt would hazard all.
_Eup._ Together here We will remain, safe in the cave of death; And wait our freedom from thy conqu'ring arm.
_Eva._ Oh, would the gods roll back the stream of time, And give this arm the sinew that it boasted At Tauromenium, when its force resistless Mow'd down the ranks of war: I then might guide The battle's rage, and, ere Evander die, Add still another laurel to my brow.
_Eup._ Enough of laurell'd victory your sword Hath reap'd in earlier days.
_Eva._ And shall my sword, When the great cause of liberty invites, Remain inactive, unperforming quite? Youth, second youth, rekindles in my veins: Tho' worn with age, this arm will know its office; Will show, that victory has not forgot Acquaintance with this hand.--And yet--O shame It will not be: the momentary blaze Sinks, and expires: I have survived it all; Surviv'd my reign, my people, and myself.
_Eup._ Fly, Phocion, fly; Melanthon will conduct thee.
_Mel._ And, when th'assault begins, my faithful cohorts Shall form their ranks around this sacred dome.