_Erix._ Now, ye just gods, if vengeance you prepare, Now find the guilty head. _Enter EUPHRASIA, from the Tomb._ _Eup._ Virgins, I thank you--Oh! more lightly now My heart expands; the pious act is done, And I have paid my tribute to a parent. Ah! wherefore does the tyrant bend his way? _Phil._ He flies the altar; leaves th' unfinish'd rites. No god there smiles propitious on his cause. Fate lifts the awful balance; weighs his life, The lives of numbers, in the trembling scale. _Eup._ Despair and horror mark his haggard looks. Do you retire, Retire, Philotas; let me here remain, And give the moments of suspended fate To pious worship and to filial love. _Phil._ Alas! I fear to yield: awhile I'll leave thee, And at the temple's entrance wait thy coming. [_Exit._ _Eup._ Now, then, Euphrasia, now thou may'st indulge The purest ecstacy of soul. Come forth, Thou man of woe, thou man of every virtue. _Enter EVANDER, from the Monument._ _Eva._ And does the grave thus cast me up again, With a fond father's love to view thee? Thus To mingle rapture in a daughter's arms? _Eup._ How fares my father now? _Eva._ Thy aid, Euphrasia, Has giv'n new life. Thou from this vital stream Deriv'st thy being; with unheard-of duty Thou hast repaid it to thy native source. _Eup._ Sprung from Evander, if a little portion Of all his goodness dwell within my heart, Thou wilt not wonder. _Eva._ Joy and wonder rise In mix'd emotions!--Though departing hence, After the storms of a tempestuous life, Tho' I was entering the wish'd-for port, Where all is peace, all bliss, and endless joy, Yet here contented I can linger still To view thy goodness, and applaud thy deeds, Thou author of my life?--Did ever parent Thus call his child before?--my heart's too full, My old fond heart runs o'er; it aches with joy. _Eup._ Alas! too much you over-rate your daughter; Nature and duty call'd me--Oh! my father, How didst thou bear thy long, long suff'rings? How Endure their barb'rous rage? _Eva._ My foes but did To this old frame, what Nature's hand must do. In the worst hour of pain, a voice still whisper'd me, "Rouse thee, Evander; self-acquitting conscience "Declares thee blameless, and the gods behold thee." I was but going hence by mere decay, To that futurity which Plato taught. Thither, oh! thither was Evander going, But thou recall'st me; thou! _Eup._ Timoleon too Invites thee back to life. _Eva._ And does he still Urge on the siege? _Eup._ His active genius comes To scourge a guilty race. The Punic fleet, Half lost, is swallow'd by the roaring sea. The shatter'd refuse seek the Lybian shore, To bear the news of their defeat to Carthage. _Eva._ These are thy wonders, Heaven! Abroad thy spirit Moves o'er the deep, and mighty fleets are vanish'd. _Eup._ Ha!--hark!--what noise is that! Some busy footstep beats the hallow'd pavement. Oh! sir, retire--Ye pow'rs!--Philotas!--ha! _Enter PHILOTAS._