uld appease with sacrifice
Th' impending wrath of ill-requited Heav'n.
Ill omens hover o'er us: at the altar
The victim dropp'd, ere the divining seer
Had gor'd his knife. The brazen statues tremble,
And from the marble, drops of blood distil.

_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