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قراءة كتاب The Grecian Daughter
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 7
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.
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.
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!
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.
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?
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?
Expos'd and helpless?
Eup. He is all truth and honour:
He fled to save my child.
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!
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.
Will none relieve his want? A drop of water
Might save his life; and even that's deny'd him.
Eva. These strong emotions—Oh! that eager air—
It is too much—assist me; bear me hence;
And lay me down in peace.
It is too much—assist me; bear me hence;
And lay me down in peace.
Eup. His eyes are fix'd!
And those pale, quiv'ring lips! He clasps my hand:
What, no assistance! Monsters, will you thus
Let him expire in these weak, feeble arms?
And those pale, quiv'ring lips! He clasps my hand:
What, no assistance! Monsters, will you thus
Let him expire in these weak, feeble arms?
Phil. Those wild, those piercing shrieks will give th'alarm.
Eup. Support him; bear him hence; 'tis all I ask.
Evan. [As he is carried off.] O Death! where art thou? Death, thou dread of guilt,
Thou wish of innocence, affliction's friend,
Tir'd nature calls thee; come, in mercy come,
And lay me pillow'd in eternal rest.
My child—where art thou? give me; reach thy hand,
Why dost thou weep?—My eyes are dry—Alas!
Quite parch'd, my lips—quite parch'd, they cleave together.
[Exeunt.
Thou wish of innocence, affliction's friend,
Tir'd nature calls thee; come, in mercy come,
And lay me pillow'd in eternal rest.
My child—where art thou? give me; reach thy hand,
Why dost thou weep?—My eyes are dry—Alas!
Quite parch'd, my lips—quite parch'd, they cleave together.
[Exeunt.
Enter Arcas.
Arcas. The grey of morn breaks thro' yon eastern clouds.
'Twere time this interview should end: the hour
Now warns Euphrasia hence: what man could dare,
I have indulg'd—Philotas!—ha! the cell
Left void!—Evander gone!—What may this mean?
Philotas, speak.
'Twere time this interview should end: the hour
Now warns Euphrasia hence: what man could dare,
I have indulg'd—Philotas!—ha! the cell
Left void!—Evander gone!—What may this mean?
Philotas, speak.
Enter Philotas.
Phil. Oh! vile, detested lot,
Here to obey the savage tyrant's will,
And murder virtue that can thus behold
Its executioner, and smile upon him.
That piteous sight!
Here to obey the savage tyrant's will,
And murder virtue that can thus behold
Its executioner, and smile upon him.
That piteous sight!
Arcas. She must withdraw, Philotas;
Delay undoes us both. The restless main
Glows with the blush of day.
The time requires
Without or further pause, or vain excuse,
That she depart this moment.
Delay undoes us both. The restless main
Glows with the blush of day.
The time requires
Without or further pause, or vain excuse,
That she depart this moment.
[Exit.
Arcas. 'Would she had ne'er adventur'd to our guard!
I dread th' event; and hark!—the wind conveys
In clearer sound the uproar of the main.
The fates prepare new havoc; on th' event
Depends the fate of empire. Wherefore thus
Delays Euphrasia? Ha! what means, Philotas,
That sudden haste, that pale, disorder'd look?
I dread th' event; and hark!—the wind conveys
In clearer sound the uproar of the main.
The fates prepare new havoc; on th' event
Depends the fate of empire. Wherefore thus
Delays Euphrasia? Ha! what means, Philotas,
That sudden haste, that pale, disorder'd look?
Enter Philotas.
Phil. O! I can hold no more; at such a sight
Ev'n the hard heart of tyranny would melt
To infant softness. Arcas, go, behold
The pious fraud of charity and love;
Behold that unexampled goodness; see
Ev'n the hard heart of tyranny would melt
To infant softness. Arcas, go, behold
The pious fraud of charity and love;
Behold that unexampled goodness; see