chide thee:

Pho. To what deadly gulphs

Of horror and despair, what cruel straits
Of agonizing thought I have been driven.
This night, ere my perplexed, bewildered soul,
Could find its way-thou saidst that thou
- wouldst chide;

I fear thou wilt; indeed, I have done that

I could have wished to avoid-but for a cause So lovely, so beloved

Eud. What dost thou mean?

I'll not indulge a thought, that thou couldst do
One act unworthy of thyself, thy honour,
And that firm zeal against these foes of heaven,
Which won my heart, at first, to share in all
Thy dangers and thy fame, and wish thee mine.
Thou couldst not save thy life by means inglo-
rious.

Pho. Alas! thou know'st me not-I'm man,

frail man,

To error born; and who, that's man, is perfect?
To save my life? O no, well was it risked
For thee! had it been lost, it were not too much,
And thou wert safe;-O, what wouldst thou have
said,

If I had risked my soul to save Eudocia?

Eud. Ha! speak-Oh, no, be dumb-it cannot be !

And yet thy looks are changed, thy lips pale.

grow

Why dost thou shake?-Alas! I tremble too! Thou couldst not, hast not, sworn to Mahomet? Pho. No-I should first have died-nay, given up thee.

Eud. O Phocyas! was it well to try me thus! And yet another deadly fear succeeds.— How came these wretches hither? Who revived Their fainting arms to unexpected triumph? For while thou fought'st, and fought'st the christian cause,

These battered walls were rocks impregnable, Their towers of adamant. But, oh! I fear Some act of thine

Pho. Oh, I must tell thee all;

But prithee do not frown on me, Eudocia !
I found the wakeful foe, in midnight council,
Resolved, ere day, to make a fresh attack,
Keen for revenge, and hungry after slaughter-
Could my racked soul bear that, and think of thee!
Nay, think of thee exposed, a helpless prey,
To some fierce ruffian's violating arms!
O, had the world been mine, in that extreme
I should have given whole provinces away,
Nay, all-and thought it little for thy ransom!
Eud. For this, then-Oh-thou hast betrayed
the city!

That still protect the chaste and innocent:
And to avert a feigned, uncertain danger,
Thou hast brought certain ruin on thy country!
Pho. No, thou forgetst the friendly terms-
the sword,

Which threatened to have filled the streets with blood,

I sheathed in peace; thy father, thou, and all The citizens, are safe, uncaptived, free.

Eud. Safe! free! O no- -life, freedom, eve

ry good,

Turns to a curse, if sought by wicked means.
Yet sure it cannot be ! Are these the terms
On which we meet?-No; we can never meet
On terms like these; the hand of death itself
Could not have torn us from each other's arms
Like this dire act, this more than fatal blow!
In death, the soul and body only part,
To meet again, and be divorced no more;
But now-

Pho. Ha! lightning blast me! strike me,
Ye vengeful bolts, if this is my reward!
Are these my hoped for joys! Is this the wel-

If, in my heart's deep anguish, I've been forced
Awhile from what I was-
-dost thou reject me?
Think of the cause-

Eud. The cause? There is no cause-
Not universal nature could afford
A cause for this. What were dominion, pomp,
The wealth of nations, nay, of all the world,
The world itself, or what a thousand worlds,
If weighed with faith unspotted, heavenly truth,
Thoughts free from guilt, the empire of the mind,
And all the triumphs of a godlike breast,
Firm and unmoved in the great cause of virtue?
Pho. How shall I answer thee?—My soul is

awed,

And, trembling, owns the eternal force of reason.
But, oh! can nothing then atone, or plead
For pity from thee?

Eud. Can'st thou yet undo

The deed that's done; recal the time that's past?
O, call back yesterday; call back last night,
Though with its fears, its dangers, its distress:
Bid the fair hours of innocence return,
When, in the lowest ebb of changeful fortune,
Thou wert more glorious in Eudocia's eyes,

Than all the pride of monarchs! But that deed | Pho. No more-thou waken'st in my tortured heart

The cruel, conscious worm, that stings to mad

ness.

Oh, I'm undone !- -I know it, and can bear
To be undone for thee, but not to lose thee.
Eud. Poor wretch!-I pity thee!—but art
thou Phocyas,

The man I loved!-I could have died with thee
Ere thou didst this; then we had gone together,
A glorious pair, and soared above the stars,
Bright as the stars themselves; and as we passed
The heavenly roads, and milky ways of light,
Had heard the blest inhabitants, with wonder,
Applaud our spotless love. But never, never
Will I be made the curst reward of treason,
To seal thy doom, to bind a hellish league,
And to ensure thy everlasting woe.

Pho. What league?-'tis ended-I renounce
it-thus-
[Kneels.
-O thou divine,

I bend to heaven and thee-
Thou matchless image of all perfect goodness!
Do thou but pity yet the wretched Phocyas,

SCENE I.-An open Place in the City.

Heaven will relent, and all may yet be well.
Eud. No--we must part. Twill ask whole
years of sorrow

To purge away this guilt. Then do not think
Thy loss in me is worth one dropping tear:
But if thou wouldst be reconciled to Heaven,
First sacrifice to Heaven that fatal passion
Which caused thy fall-Farewell: forget the lost
-But how shall I ask that?-I would have said,
For my soul's peace, forget the lost Eudocia.
Can'st thou forget her?-Oh! the killing torture
To think it was love, excess of love, divorced us!
Farewell for still I cannot speak that word,
These tears speak for me-O farewell-

Pho. [Raving] For ever!

[Erit.

Return, return and speak it; say, for ever!
She's gone-and now she joins the fugitives.
And yet she did not quite pronounce my doom—
O hear, all gracious Heaven! wilt thou at once
Forgive, and O inspire me to some act
This day, that may in part redeem what's past!
Prosper this day, or let it be my last!

Erit.

The camp's extent: it is stretched quite through the valley.

I think that more than half the city's here.

Eum. The prospect gives me much relief. I'm pleased,

My honest countrymen, to observe your numbers;

And yet it fills my eyes with tears--'Tis said
The mighty Persian wept, when he surveyed
His numerous army, but to think them mortal;
Yet he then flourished in prosperity.
Alas! what's that?-Prosperity!-a harlot,
That smiles but to betray! O shining ruin!
Thou nurse of passions, and thou bane of virtue!
O self-destroying monster! that art blind,

| Yet putst out reason's eye, that still should guide thee

Then plungeth down some precipice unseen,
And art no more!-Hear me, all-gracious Heaven!
Let me wear out my small remains of life,
Obscure, content with humble poverty,
Or in affliction's hard but wholesome school,
If it must be I'll learn to know myself,
And that's more worth than empire. But, 0
Heaven,

Curse me no more with proud prosperity!
It has undone me!-Herbis! where, my friend,
Hast thou been this long hour?

Enter HERBIS.

Herb. On yonder summit,

To take a farewell prospect of Damascus.
Eum. And is it worth a look?
Herb. No-I've forgot it.

All our possessions are a grasp of air:
We're cheated whilst we think we hold them
fast:

And when they're gone, we know that they were nothing.--

But I've a deeper wound.

Eum. Poor, good old man ! 'Tis true-thy son-there thou'rt indeed unhappy.

Enter ARTAMON.

What Artamon!-art thou here, too?
Art. Yes, sir.

I never boasted much of my religion,
Yet I've some honour and a soldier's pride;
I like not these new lords.

Eum. Thou'rt brave and honest.

Nay, we'll not yet despair. A time may come, When from these brute barbarians we may

wrest

Once more our pleasant seats.-Alas! how soon
The flatterer, Hope, is ready with his song
To charm us to forgetfulness!--No more-
Let that be left to Heaven-See, Herbis, see,
Methinks we've here a goodly city yet.
Was it not thus our great forefathers lived,
In better times-in humble fields and tents,
With all their flocks and herds, their moving
wealth ?

See too, where our own Pharphar winds his

stream

Through the long vale, as if to follow us,
And kindly offers his cool, wholesome draughts,
To ease us in our march!--Why this is plenty.
Enter EUDOCIA.

My daughter-wherefore hast thou left thy

tent? What breaks so soon thy rest?

Eud. Rest is not there,

Or I have sought in vain, and cannot find it. | Oh no-we're wanderers, it is our doom ; There is no rest for us.

Enter another Officer.

2 Offi. Arm, arm! we're ruined? The foe is in the camp. Eum. So soon!

2 Offi. They've quitted

Their horses, and with sword in hand have forced Our guard; they say they come for plunder. Eum. Villains!

Sure Caled knows not of this treachery. Come on-we can fight still. We'll make them know

What 'tis to urge the wretched to despair.

[A noise of fighting is heard for some time. Enter DARAN, with a party of Saracen Soldiers. Dar. Let the fools fight at distance—Here's the harvest.

Reap, reap, my countrymen !-Ay, there-first

clear

rage?

Pho. [Walking aside.] The blood ebbs back that filled my heart, and now Again her parting farewell awes my soul, As it were fate, and not to be revoked. Will she not now upbraid me? See thy friends! Are these, are these the villains thou hast trusted? Eud. What means this murmured sorrow to thyself?

Is it in vain that thou hast rescued me ទ

by treaty,

Have drawn the Saracens to make a search. Perhaps 'twill quickly be agreed-But, Oh ! Thou knowest, Eudocia, I'm a banished man, And 'tis a crime I'm here once more before thee; Else might I speak; 'twere better for the present If thou would'st leave this place.

Eud. No I have a father,

(And shall I leave him?) whom we both have wronged,

Or he had not been thus driven out, exposed
The humble tenant of this sheltering vale,
For one poor night's repose.

And yet, alas!

For this last act, how would I thank thee, Phocyas!

I've nothing, now, but prayers and tears to give, Cold, fruitless thanks!But, 'tis some comfort yet,

That fate allows this short reprieve, that thus
We may behold each other, and once more
May mourn our woes, ere yet again we part-
Pho. For ever!

'Tis then resolved- -It was thy cruel sentence, And I am here to execute that doom.

Eud. What dost thou mean?

Pho. [Kneeling.] Thus at thy feet-
Eud. O rise!

Pho. Never-No, here I'll lay my burthen down;

I've tried it's weight, nor can support it longer.
Take thy last look; if yet thy eyes can bear
To look upon a wretch accurst, cast off
By Heaven and thee- -A little longer yet,
And I am mingled with my kindred dust,
By thee forgotten, and the world-
Eud. Forbear,

O cruel man! Why wilt thou rack me thus?
Didst thou not mark-thou didst, when last

the gulph,

When thou hast trod that dark, that unknown way,

Canst thou return! What if the change prove worse?

O think, if then

Pho. No thought's my deadliest foe; 'Tis lingering racks, and slow consuming fires, And therefore to the grave I'd fly to shun it!

Eud. O fatal error!- -Like a restless ghost, It will pursue and haunt thee still; even there, Perhaps, in forms more frightful. Death's a name By which poor guessing mortals are deceived; Tis no where to be found. Thou flyest in vain From life, to meet again with that thou flyest. How wilt thou curse thy rashness then? How start,

And shudder, and shrink back? yet how avoid To put on thy new being?

Pho. I thank thee!

For now I'm quite undone- -I gave up all
For thee before, but this; this bosom friend,
My last reserve-There-

[Throws away the dagger.

Tell me now, Eudocia,
Cut off from hope, denied the food of life,
And yet forbid to die, what am I now?
Or what will fate do with me?

Eud. Oh

[Turns away weeping.

Pho. Thou weepest! Canst thou shed tears, and yet not melt to mercy? O say, ere yet returning madness seize me, Is there in all futurity no prospect, No distant comfort? Not a glimmering light To guide me through this maze? Or must I now Sit down in darkness and despair for ever?

[Here they both continue silent for some time. Still thou art silent?-Speak, disclose my doom, That's now suspended in this awful moment! O speak- for now my passions wait thy voice: My beating heart grows calm, my blood stands still.

Scarcely I live, or only live to hear thee.

Eud. If yet-but can it be !—I fear-O, Pho

cyas,

Let me be silent still!

Pho. Hear then this last,

This only prayer!-Heaven will consent to this.
Let me but follow thee, where'er thou goest,
But see thee, hear thy voice; be thou my angel,
To guide and govern my returning steps,
'Till long contrition and unwearied duty,
Shall expiate my guilt. Then say, Eudocia,
If, like a soul annealed in purging fires,
After whole years thou see'st me white again,
When thou, even thou shalt think-

Eud. No more——— -This shakes

My firmest thoughts, and if

[Here a cry is heard of persons slaugh-
tered in the camp.
-What shrieks of death!

3 D