All Syracuse is hush'd; no stir abroad,

Save ever and anon the dashing oar,

That beats the sullen wave. And hark!—Was that

The groan of anguish from Evander's cell,

Piercing the midnight gloom?—It is the sound

Of bustling prows, that cleave the briny deep.

Perhaps at this dead hour Hamilcar's fleet

Rides in the bay.

Enter Philotas, from the Cavern.

Philotas

Phil. What, ho! brave Arcas! ho!

Arcas. Why thus desert thy couch?

Phil. Methought the sound

Of distant uproar chas'd affrighted sleep.

Arcas. At intervals the oar's resounding stroke

Comes echoing from the main. Save that report,

A death-like silence through the wide expanse

Broods o'er the dreary coast.

Phil. Do thou retire,

And seek repose; the duty of thy watch

 Prev. P 22/101 next