{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/eurip/ion.htm","path":"cla/eurip/ion.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/eurip/ion.htm","text":"Ion\nBy Euripides\nTranslated by Robert Potter\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nDramatis Personae\nMERCURY\nION\nCREUSA, daughter of Erechtheus\nXUTHUS, husband of CREUSA\nTUTOR\nATTENDANT\nPRIESTESS OF APOLLO\nMINERVA\nCHORUS OF HANDMAIDENS OF CREUSA\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nBefore the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. The sun is about to rise. MERCURY\nenters.\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nMERCURY Atlas, that on his brazen shoulders rolls\nYon heaven, the ancient mansion of the gods,\nWas by a goddess sire to Maia; she\nTo supreme Jove bore me, and call'd me Hermes;\nAttendant on the king, his high behests\nI execute. To Delphi am I come,\nThis land where Phoebus from his central throne\nUtters to mortals his high strain, declaring\nThe present and the future; this is the cause;\nGreece hath a city of distinguish'd glory,\nWhich from the goddess of the golden lance\nReceived its name; Erechtheus was its king;\nHis daughter, call'd Creusa, to the embrace\nOf nuptial love Apollo strain'd perforce,\nWhere northward points the rock beneath the heights\nCrown'd with the Athenian citadel of Pallas,\nCall'd Macrai by the lords of Attica.\nHer growing burden, to her sire unknown\n(Such was the pleasure of the god,) she bore,\nTill in her secret chamber to a son\nThe rolling months gave birth: to the same cave,\nWhere by the enamour'd god she was compress'd,\nCreusa bore the infant: there for death\nExposed him in a well-compacted ark\nOf circular form, observant of the customs\nDrawn from her great progenitors, and chief\nFrom Erichthonius, who from the Attic earth\nDeriv'd his origin: to him as guards\nMinerva gave two dragons, and in charge\nConsign'd him to the daughters of Aglauros:\nThis rite to the Erechthidae hence remains,\nMid serpents wreathed in ductile gold to nurse\nTheir children. What of ornament she had\nShe hung around her son, and left him thus\nTo perish. But to me his earnest prayer\nPhoebus applied, \"To the high-lineaged sons\nOf glorious Athens go, my brother; well\nThou know'st the city of Pallas; from the cave\nDeep in the hollow rock a new-born babe,\nLaid as he is, and all his vestments with him;\nBring to thy brother to my shrine, and place\nAt the entrance of my temple; of the rest\n(For, know, the child is mine) I will take care.\"\nTo gratify my brother thence I bore\nThe osier-woven ark, and placed the boy\nHere at the temple's base, the wreathed lid\nUncovering, that the infant might be seen.\nIt chanced, as the orient sun the steep of heav'n\nAscended, to the god's oracular seat\nThe priestess entering, on the infant cast\nHer eye, and marvelled, deeming that some nymph\nOf Delphi at the fane had dared to lay\nThe secret burden of her womb: this thought\nPrompts her to move it from the shrine: but soon\nTo pity she resign'd the harsh intent;\nThe impulse of the god secretly acting\nIn favour of the child, that in his temple\nIt might abide; her gentle hand then took it,\nAnd gave it nurture; yet conceived she not\nThat Phoebus was the sire, nor who the mother\nKnew aught, nor of his parents could the child\nGive information. All his youthful years\nSportive he wandered round the shrine, and there\nWas fed: but when his firmer age advanced\nTo manhood, o'er the treasures of the god\nThe Delphians placed him, to his faithful care\nConsigning all; and in this royal dome\nHis hallow'd life he to this hour hath pass'd.\nMeantime Creusa, mother of the child,\nTo Xuthus was espoused, the occasion this:-\nOn Athens from Euboean Chalcis roll'd\nThe waves of war; be join'd their martial toil,\nAnd with his spear repell'd the foe; for this\nTo the proud honour of Creusa's bed\nAdvanc'd; no native, in Achaea sprung\nFrom Aeolus, the son of Jove. Long time\nUnbless'd with children, to the oracular shrine\nOf Phoebus are they come, through fond desire\nOf progeny: to this the god hath brought\nThe fortune of his son, nor, as was deem'd,\nForgets him; but to Xuthus, when he stands\nThis sacred seat consulting, will he give\nThat son, declared his offspring; that the child,\nWhen to Creusa's house brought back, by her\nMay be agnized; the bridal rites of Phoebus\nKept secret, that the youth may claim the state\nDue to his birth, through all the states of Greece\nNamed Ion, founder of the colonies\nOn the Asiatic coast. The laurell'd cave\nNow will I visit, there to learn what fortune\nIs to the boy appointed, for I see\nThis son of Phoebus issuing forth to adorn\nThe gates before the shrine with laurel boughs.\nFirst of the gods I hail him by the name\nOf Ion, which his fortune soon will give him. (MERCURY vanishes.\nION and the attendants of the temple enter.)\nION (chanting) Now flames this radiant chariot of the sun\nHigh o'er the earth, at whose ethereal fire\nThe stars into the sacred night retreat:\nO'er the Parnassian cliffs the ascending wheels\nTo mortals roll the beams of day; the wreaths\nOf incense-breathing myrrh mount to the roof\nOf Phoebus' fane; the Delphic priestess now\nAssumes her seat, and from the hallow'd tripod\nPronounces to the Greeks the oracular strains\nWhich the god dictates. Haste, ye Delphic train,\nHaste to Castalia's silver-streaming fount;\nBathed in its chaste dews to the temple go;\nThere from your guarded mouths no sound be heard\nBut of good omen, that to those who crave\nAdmission to the oracle, your voice\nMay with auspicious words expound the answers.\nMy task, which from my early infancy\nHath been my charge, shall be with laurel boughs\nAnd sacred wreaths to cleanse the vestibule\nOf Phoebus, on the pavement moistening dews\nTo rain, and with my bow to chase the birds\nWhich would defile the hallow'd ornaments.\nA mother's fondness, and a father's care\nI never knew: the temple of the god\nClaims then my service, for it nurtured me. (The attendants leave.\nION busies himself before the temple as he continues to sing., strophe)\nHaste, thou verdant new-sprung bough,\nHaste, thy early office know;\nBranch of beauteous laurel come,\nSweep Apollo's sacred dome,\nCropp'd this temple's base beneath,\nWhere the immortal gardens breathe,\nAnd eternal dews that round\nWater the delicious ground,\nBathe the myrtle's tresses fair.\nLightly thus, with constant care,\nThe pavement of the god I sweep,\nWhen over the Parnassian steep\nFlames the bright sun's mounting ray;\nThis my task each rising day.\nSon of Latona, Paean, Paean, hail!\nNever, O never may thy honours fail!\n(antistrophe)\nGrateful is my task, who wait\nServing, Phoebus, at thy gate;\nHonouring thus thy hallow'd shrine,\nHonour for the task is mine.\nLabouring with unwilling hands,\nMe no mortal man commands:\nBut, immortal gods, to you\nAll my pleasing toil is due.\nPhoebus is to me a sire;\nGrateful thoughts my soul inspire;\nNurtured by thy bounty here,\nThee, Apollo, I revere;\nAs a father's I repeat.\nSon of Latona, Paean, Paean, hail!\nNever, O never may thy honours fail!\nNow from this labour with the laurel bough\nI cease; and sprinkling from the golden vase\nThe chaste drops which Castalia's fountain rolls,\nBedew the pavement. Never may I quit\nThis office to the god; or, if I quit it,\nBe it, good Fortune, at thy favouring call!\nBut see, the early birds have left their nests,\nAnd this way from Parnassus wing their flight.\nCome not, I charge you, near the battlements,\nNor near the golden dome. Herald of Jove,\nStrong though thy beak beyond the feather'd kind,\nMy bow shall reach thee. Towards the altar, see,\nA swan comes sailing: elsewhere wilt thou move\nThy scarlet-tinctured foot? or from my bow\nThe lyre of Phoebus to thy notes attuned\nWill not protect thee; farther stretch thy wings;\nGo, wanton, skim along the Delian lake,\nOr wilt thou steep thy melody in blood.\nLook, what strange bird comes onwards; wouldst thou fix\nBeneath the battlements thy straw-built nest?\nMy singing bow shall drive thee hence; begone,\nOr to the banks of Alpheus, gulfy stream,\nOr to the Isthmian grove; there hatch thy young;\nMar not these pendent ornaments, nor soil\nThe temple of the god: I would not kill you:\n'Twere pity, for to mortal man you bear\nThe message of the gods; yet my due task\nMust be perform'd, and never will I cease\nMy service to the god who nurtured me. (The CHORUS enters. The following\nlines between ION and the CHORUS are chanted responsively as they\ngaze admiringly at the decorations on the temple.)\nCHORUS The stately column, and the gorgeous dome\nRaised to the gods, are not the boast alone\nOf our magnificent Athens; nor the statues\nThat grace her streets; this temple of the god,\nSon of Latona, beauteous to behold,\nBeams the resplendent light of both her children.\nION Turn thine eyes this way; look, the son of Jove\nLops with his golden scimitar the heads\nOf the Lernean Hydra: view it well.\nCHORUS I see him.\nION And this other standing nigh,\nWho snatches from the fire the blazing brand.\nCHORUS What is his name? the subject, on the web\nDesign'd, these hands have wrought in ductile gold.\nION The shield-supporting Iolaus, who bears\nThe toils in common with the son of Jove.\nView now this hero; on his winged steed\nThe triple-bodied monster's dreadful force\nHe conquers through the flames his jaws emit.\nCHORUS I view it all attentively.\nION Observe\nThe battle of the giants, on the walls\nSculptured in stone.\nCHORUS Let us note this, my friends.\nION See where against Enceladus she shakes\nHer gorgon shield.\nCHORUS I see my goddess, Pallas.\nION Mark the tempestuous thunder's flaming bolt\nLaunch'd by the hand of Jove.\nCHORUS The furious Mimas\nHere blazes in the volley'd fires: and there\nAnother earth-born monster falls beneath\nThe wand of Bacchus wreathed with ivy round,\nNo martial spear. But, as 'tis thine to tend\nThis temple, let me ask thee, is it lawful,\nLeaving our sandals, its interior parts\nTo visit?\nION Strangers, this is not permitted.\nCHORUS Yet may we make inquiries of thee?\nION Speak;\nWhat wouldst thou know?\nCHORUS Whether this temple's site\nBe the earth's centre?\nION Ay, with garlands hung,\nAnd gorgons all around.\nCHORUS So fame reports.\nION If at the gate the honey'd cake be offer'd,\nWould you consult the oracle, advance\nTo the altar: till the hallow'd lamb has bled\nIn sacrifice, approach not the recess.\nCHORUS I am instructed: what the god appoints\nAs laws, we wish not to transgress: without\nEnough of ornament delights our eyes.\nION Take a full view of all; that is allow'd.\nCHORUS To view the inmost shrine was our lord's order.\nION Who are you call'd? Attendants on what house?\nCHORUS Our lords inhabit the magnific domes\nOf Pallas.-But she comes, of whom thou askest. (CREUSA and attendants\nenter.)\nION Lady, whoe'er thou art, that liberal air\nSpeaks an exalted mind: there is a grace,\nA dignity in those of noble birth,\nThat marks their high rank. Yet I marvel much\nThat from thy closed lids the trickling tear\nWater'd thy beauteous cheeks, soon as thine eye\nBeheld this chaste oracular seat of Phoebus.\nWhat brings this sorrow, lady? All besides,\nViewing the temple of the god, are struck\nWith joy; thy melting eye o'erflows with tears.\nCREUSA Not without reason, stranger, art thou seized\nWith wonder at my tears: this sacred dome\nAwakes the sad remembrance of things past.\nI had my mind at home, though present here.\nHow wretched is our sex! And, O ye gods,\nWhat deeds are yours! Where may we hope for right,\nIf by the injustice of your power undone?\nION Why, lady, this inexplicable grief?\nCREUSA It matters not; my mind resumes its firmless:\nI say no more; cease thy concern for me.\nION But say, who art thou? whence? what country boasts\nThy birth? and by what name may we address thee?\nCREUSA Creusa is my name, drawn from Erechtheus\nMy high-born lineage; Athens gave me birth.\nIllustrious is thy state; thy ancestry\nSo noble that I look with reverence on thee.\nCREUSA Happy indeed is this, in nothing farther.\nION But tell me, is it true what fame has blazon'd?\nCREUSA What wouldst thou ask? Stranger, I wish to know.\nION Sprung the first author of thy line from the earth?\nCREUSA Ay, Erichthonius; but my race avails not.\nION And did Minerva raise him from the earth?\nCREUSA Held in her virgin hands: she bore him not.\nION And gave him as the picture represents?\nCREUSA Daughters of Cecrops these, charged not to see him.\nION The virgins ope'd the interdicted chest?\nCREUSA And died, distaining with their blood the rock.\nION But tell me, is this truth, or a vain rumour?\nCREUSA What wouldst thou ask? I am not scant of time.\nION Thy sisters did Erechtheus sacrifice?\nCREUSA He slew the virgins, victims for their country.\nION And thou of all thy sisters saved alone?\nCREUSA I was an infant in my mother's arms.\nION And did the yawning earth swallow thy father?\nCREUSA By Neptune's trident smote; and so he perish'd.\nION And Macrai call you not the fatal place?\nCREUSA Why dost thou ask? What thoughts hast thou recall'd?,\nION Does Phoebus, do his lightnings honour it?\nCREUSA Honour! Why this? Would I had never seen it!\nION Why? Dost thou hate the place dear to the god?\nCREUSA No: but for some base deed done in the cave.\nION But what Athenian, lady, wedded thee?\nCREUSA Of Athens none, but one of foreign birth.\nION What is his name? Noble he needs must be.\nCREUSA Xuthus, by Aeolus derived from Jove.\nION How weds a stranger an Athenian born?\nCREUSA Euboea is a state neighbouring on Athens.\nION A narrow sea flows, I have heard, between.\nCREUSA Joining the Athenian arms, that state he wasted.\nION Confederate in the war, thence wedded thee?\nCREUSA The dowral meed of war, earn'd by his spear.\nION Comest thou with him to Delphi, or alone?\nCREUSA With him, gone now to the Trophonian shrine.\nION To view it, or consult the oracle?\nCREUSA Both that and this, anxious for one response.\nION For the earth's fruits consult you, or for children?\nCREUSA Though wedded long, yet childless is our bed.\nION Hast thou ne'er borne a child, that thou hast none?\nCREUSA My state devoid of children Phoebus knows.\nION Bless'd in all else, luckless in this alone.\nCREUSA But who art thou? Bless'd I pronounce thy mother.\nION Call'd as I am the servant of the god.\nCREUSA Presented by some state, or sold to this?\nION I know not aught save this, I am the god's.\nCREUSA And in my turn, stranger, I pity thee.\nION As knowing not my mother, or my lineage.\nCREUSA Hast thou thy dwelling here, or in some house?\nION The temple is my house, ev'n when I sleep.\nCREUSA A child brought hither, or in riper years?\nION An infant, as they say, who seem to know.\nCREUSA What Delphian dame sustain'd thee at her breast?\nION I never knew a breast. She nourish'd me.\nCREUSA Who, hapless youth? Diseased, I find disease.\nION The priestess: as a mother I esteem her.\nCREUSA Who to these manly years gave thee support?\nION The altars, and the still-succeeding strangers.\nCREUSA Wretched, whoe'er she be, is she that bore thee.\nION I to some woman am perchance a shame.\nCREUSA Are riches thine? Thou art well habited.\nION Graced with these vestments by the god I serve.\nCREUSA Hast thou made no attempt to trace thy birth?\nION I have no token, lady, for a proof.\nCREUSA Ah, like thy mother doth another suffer.\nION Who? tell me: shouldst thou help me, what a joy\nCREUSA One for whose sake I come before my husband.\nION Say for what end, that I may serve thee, lady.\nCREUSA To ask a secret answer of the god.\nION Speak it: my service shall procure the rest.\nCREUSA Hear then the tale: but Modesty restrains me.\nION Ah, let her not; her power avails not here.\nCREUSA My friend then says that to the embrace of Phoebus-\nION A woman and a god! Say not so, stranger.\nCREUSA She bore a son: her father knew it not.\nION Not so: a mortal's baseness he disdains.\nCREUSA This she affirms; and this, poor wretch, she suffer'd.\nION What follow'd, if she knew the god's embrace?\nCREUSA The child, which hence had birth, she straight exposed.\nION This exposed child, where is he? doth he live?\nCREUSA This no one knows; this wish I to inquire.\nION If not alive, how probably destroyed?\nCREUSA Torn, she conjectures, by some beast of prey.\nION What ground hath she on which to build that thought?\nCREUSA Returning to the place she found him not.\nION Observed she drops of blood distain the path?\nCREUSA None, though with anxious heed she search'd around.\nION What time hath pass'd since thus the child was lost?\nCREUSA Were he alive, his youth were such as thine.\nION The god hath done him wrong: the unhappy mother-\nCREUSA Hath not to any child been mother since.\nION What if in secret Phoebus nurtures him!\nCREUSA Unjust to enjoy alone a common right.\nION Ah me! this cruel fate accords with mine.\nCREUSA For thee too thy unhappy mother mourns.\nION Ah, melt me not to griefs I would forget!\nCREUSA I will be silent: but impart thy aid.\nION Seest thou what most the inquiry will suppress?\nCREUSA And to my wretched friend what is not ill?\nION How shall the god what he would hide reveal?\nCREUSA As placed on the oracular seat of Greece.\nION The deed must cause him shame: convict him not.\nCREUSA To the poor sufferer 'tis the cause of grief.\nION It cannot be; for who shall dare to give\nThe oracle? With justice would the god,\nIn his own dome affronted, pour on him\nSeverest vengeance, who should answer thee.\nDesist then, lady: it becomes us ill,\nIn opposition to the god, to make\nInquiries at his shrine; by sacrifice\nBefore their altars, or the flight of birds,\nShould we attempt to force the unwilling gods\nTo utter what they wish not, 'twere the excess\nOf rudeness; what with violence we urge\n'Gainst their consent would to no good avail us:\nWhat their spontaneous grace confers on us,\nThat, lady, as a blessing we esteem.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS How numberless the ills to mortal man,\nAnd various in their form! One single blessing\nBy any one through life is scarcely found.\nCREUSA Nor here, nor there, O Phoebus, art thou just\nTo her; though absent, yet her words are present.\nNor didst thou save thy son, whom it became thee\nTo save; nor, though a prophet, wilt thou speak\nTo the sad mother who inquires of thee;\nThat, if he is no more, to him a tomb\nMay rise; but, if he lives, that he may bless\nHis mother's eyes. But even thus behooves us\nTo omit these things, if by the god denied\nTo know what most I wish.-But, for I see\nThe noble Xuthus this way bend, return'd\nFrom the Trophonian cave; before my husband\nResume not, generous stranger, this discourse,\nLest it might cause me shame that thus I act\nIn secret, and perchance lead on to questions\nI would not have explain'd. Our hapless sex\nOft feel our husbands' rigour: with the bad\nThe virtuous they confound, and treat us harshly. (XUTHUS and his\nretinue enter.)\nXUTHUS With reverence to the god my first address\nI pay: Hail, Phoebus! Lady, next to thee:\nAbsent so long, have I not caused thee fear?\nCREUSA Not much: as anxious thoughts 'gan rise, thou'rt come.\nBut, tell me, from Trophonius what reply\nBearest thou; what means whence offspring may arise?\nXUTHUS Unmeet he held it to anticipate\nThe answer of the god: one thing he told me.\nThat childless I should not return, nor thou,\nHome from the oracle.\nCREUSA Goddess revered,\nMother of Phoebus, be our coming hither\nIn lucky hour; and our connubial bed\nBe by thy son made happier than before!\nXUTHUS It shall be so. But who is president here?\nION Without, that charge is mine; within, devolved\nOn others, stranger, seated near the tripod;\nThe chiefs of Delphi these, chosen by lot.\nXUTHUS 'Tis well: all that I want is then complete.\nLet me now enter: for the oracle\nIs given, I hear, in common to all strangers\nBefore the shrine; on such a day, that falls\nPropitious thus, the answer of the god\nWould I receive: meanwhile, these laurel boughs\nBear round the altars; lady, breathe thy prayers\nTo every god, that from Apollo's shrine\nI may bring back the promise of a son. (XUTHUS, after giving the\nlaurel boughs to CREUSA, enters the temple.)\nCREUSA It shall, it shall be so. Should Phoebus now\nAt least be willing to redress the fault\nOf former times, he would not through the whole\nBe friendly to us: yet will I accept\nWhat he vouchsafes us, for he is a god. (CREUSA departs to the shrines\nin the outer precinct of the temple.)\nION Why does this stranger always thus revile\nWith obscure speech the god? Is it through love\nOf her, for whom she asks? or to conceal\nSome secret of importance? But to me\nWhat is the daughter of Erechtheus? Naught\nConcerns it me. Then let me to my task,\nAnd sprinkle from the golden vase the dew.\nYet must I blame the god, if thus perforce\nHe mounts the bed of virgins, and by stealth\nBecomes a father, leaving then his children\nTo die, regardless of them. Do not thou\nAct thus; but, as thy power is great, respect\nThe virtues; for whoe'er, of mortal men,\nDares impious deeds, him the gods punish: how\nIs it then just that you, who gave the laws\nTo mortals, should yourselves transgress those laws?,\nIf (though it is not thus, yet will I urge\nThe subject,)-if to mortals you shall pay\nThe penalty of forced embraces, thou,\nNeptune, and Jove, that reigns supreme in heaven,\nWill leave your temples treasureless by paying\nThe mulcts of your injustice: for unjust\nYou are, your pleasures to grave temperance\nPreferring: and to men these deeds no more\nCan it be just to charge as crimes, these deeds\nIf from the gods they imitate: on those\nWho gave the ill examples falls the charge. (ION goes out.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe)\nThee prompt to yield thy lenient aid,\nAnd sooth a mother's pain:\nAnd thee, my Pallas, martial maid,\nI call: O, hear the strain!\nThou, whom the Titan from the head of Jove,\nPrometheus, drew, bright Victory, come,\nDescending from thy golden throne above;\nHaste, goddess, to the Pythian dome,\nWhere Phoebus, from his central shrine,\nGives the oracle divine,\nBy the raving maid repeated,\nOn the hallow'd tripod seated:\nO haste thee, goddess, and with thee\nThe daughter of Latona bring;\nA virgin thou, a virgin she,\nSisters to the Delphian king;\nHim, virgins, let your vows implore,\nThat now his pure oracular power\nWill to Erechtheus' ancient line declare\nThe blessing of a long-expected heir!\n(antistrophe)\nTo mortal man this promised grace\nSublimest pleasure brings,\nWhen round the father's hearth a race\nIn blooming lustre springs.\nThe wealth, the honours, from their high-drawn line\nFrom sire to son transmitted down,\nShall with fresh glory through their offspring shine,\nAnd brighten with increased renown:\nA guard, when ills begin to lower,\nDear in fortune's happier hour;\nFor their country's safety waking,\nFirm in fight the strong spear shaking;\nMore than proud wealth's exhaustless store,\nMore than a monarch's bride to reign,\nThe dear delight, to virtue's lore\nCareful the infant mind to train.\nDoth any praise the childless state?\nThe joyless, loveless life I hate;\nNo; my desires to moderate wealth I bound,\nBut let me see my children smile around.\n(epode)\nYe rustic seats, Pan's dear delight;\nYe caves of Macrai's rocky height,\nWhere oft the social virgins meet,\nAnd weave the dance with nimble feet;\nDescendants from Aglauros they\nIn the third line, with festive play,\nMinerva's hallow'd fane before\nThe verdant plain light-tripping o'er,\nWhen thy pipe's quick-varying sound\nRings, O Pan, these caves around;\nWhere, by Apollo's love betray'd,\nHer child some hapless mother laid,\nExposed to each night-prowling beast,\nOr to the ravenous birds a feast;\nFor never have I heard it told,\nNor wrought it in historic gold,\nThat happiness attends the race,\nWhen gods with mortals mix the embrace. (ION re-enters.)\nION Ye female train, that place yourselves around\nThis incense-breathing temple's base, your lord\nAwaiting, hath he left the sacred tripod\nAnd oracle, or stays he in the shrine,\nMaking inquiries of his childless state?\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Yet in the temple, stranger, he remains.\nION But he comes forth; the sounding doors announce\nHis near approach; behold, our lord is here. (XUTHUS enters from\nthe temple. He rushes to greet ION.)\nXUTHUS Health to my son! This first address is proper.\nION I have my health: be in thy senses thou,\nAnd both are well.\nXUTHUS O let me kiss thy hand,\nAnd throw mine arms around thee.\nION Art thou, stranger,\nWell in thy wits? or hath the god's displeasure\nBereft thee of thy reason?\nXUTHUS Reason bids,\nThat which is dearest being found, to wish\nA fond embrace.\nION Off, touch me not; thy hands\nWill mar the garlands of the god.\nXUTHUS My touch\nAsserts no pledge: my own, and that most dear,\nI find.\nION Wilt thou not keep thee distant, ere\nThou hast my arrow in thy heart?\nXUTHUS Why fly me,\nWhen thou shouldst own what is most fond of thee?\nION I am not fond of curing wayward strangers,\nAnd madmen.\nXUTHUS Kill me, raise my funeral pyre;\nBut, if thou kill me, thou wilt kill thy father.\nION My father thou! how so? it makes me laugh\nTo hear thee.\nXUTHUS This my words may soon explain.\nION What wilt thou say to me?\nXUTHUS I am thy father,\nAnd thou my son.\nION Who declares this?\nXUTHUS The god,\nThat nurtured thee, though mine.\nION Thou to thyself\nArt witness.\nXUTHUS By the oracle inform'd.\nION Misled by some dark answer.\nXUTHUS Well I heard it.\nION What were the words of Phoebus?\nXUTHUS That who first\nShould meet me-\nION How?-what meeting?\nXUTHUS As I pass'd.\nForth from the temple.\nION What the event to him?\nXUTHUS He is my son.\nION Born so, or by some other\nPresented?\nXUTHUS Though a present, born my son.\nION And didst thou first meet me?\nXUTHUS None else, my son.\nION This fortune whence?\nXUTHUS At that we marvel both.\nION Who is my mother?\nXUTHUS That I cannot say.\nION Did not the god inform thee?\nXUTHUS Through my joy,\nFor this I ask'd not.\nION Haply from the earth\nI sprung, my mother.\nXUTHUS No, the earth no sons\nProduces.\nION How then am I thine?\nXUTHUS I know not.\nTo Phoebus I appeal.\nION Be this discourse\nChang'd to some other.\nXUTHUS This delights me most.\nION Hast thou e'er mounted an unlawful bed?\nXUTHUS In foolishness of youth.\nION Was that before\nThy marriage with the daughter of Erechtheus?\nXUTHUS Since never.\nION Owe I then my birth to that?\nXUTHUS The time agrees.\nION How came I hither then?\nXUTHUS I can form no conjecture.\nION Was I brought\nFrom some far distant part?\nXUTHUS That fills my mind\nWith doubtful musing.\nION Didst thou e'er before\nVisit the Pythian rock?\nXUTHUS Once, at the feast\nOf Bacchus.\nION By some public host received?\nXUTHUS Who with the Delphian damsels-\nION To the orgies\nLed thee, or how?\nXUTHUS And with the Maenades\nOf Bacchus-\nION In the temperate hour, or warm\nWith wine?\nXUTHUS Amid the revels of the god.\nION From thence I date my birth.\nXUTHUS And fate, my son,\nHath found thee.\nION How then came I to the temple?\nXUTHUS Perchance exposed.\nION The state of servitude\nHave I escaped.\nXUTHUS Thy father now, my son,\nReceive.\nION Indecent were it in the god\nNot to confide.\nXUTHUS Thy thoughts are just.\nION What else\nWould we?\nXUTHUS Thou seest what thou oughtst to see.\nION Am I the son then of the son of Jove?\nXUTHUS Such is thy fortune.\nION Those that gave me birth\nDo I embrace?\nXUTHUS Obedient to the god.\nION My father, hail!\nXUTHUS That dear name I accept\nWith joy.\nION This present day-\nXUTHUS Hath made me happy.\nION O my dear mother, when shall I behold\nThy face? Whoe'er thou art, more wish I now\nTo see thee than before; but thou perchance\nArt dead, and nothing our desires avail.\nLEADER We in the blessing of our house rejoice.\nYet wish we that our mistress too were happy\nIn children, and the lineage of Erechtheus.\nXUTHUS Well hath the god accomplish'd this, my son,\nDiscovering thee, well hath he joined thee to me;\nAnd thou hast found the most endearing ties,\nTo which, before this hour, thou wast a stranger.\nAnd the warm wish, which thou hast well conceived,\nIs likewise mine, that thou mayst find thy mother;\nI from what woman thou derivest thy birth.\nThis, left to time, may haply be discover'd.\nNow quit this hallow'd earth, the god no more\nAttending, and to mine accord thy mind,\nTo visit Athens, where thy father's sceptre,\nNo mean one, waits thee, and abundant wealth:\nNor, though thou grieve one parent yet unknown,\nShalt thou be censured as ignobly born,\nOr poor: no, thou art noble, and thy state\nAdorn'd with rich possessions. Thou art silent.\nWhy is thine eye thus fixed upon the ground?\nWhy on thy brow that cloud? The smile of joy\nVanish'd, thou strikest thy father's heart with fear.\nION Far other things appear when nigh, than seen\nAt distance. I indeed embrace my fortune,\nIn thee my father found. But hear what now\nWakes sad reflections. Proud of their high race\nAre your Athenians, natives of the land,\nNot drawn from foreign lineage: I to them\nShall come unwelcome, in two points defective,\nMy father not a native, and myself\nOf spurious birth: loaded with this reproach,\nIf destitute of power, I shall be held\nAbject and worthless: should I rush among\nThe highest order of the state, and wish\nTo appear important, inferior ranks\nWill hate me; aught above them gives disgust.\nThe good, the wise, men form'd to serve the state,\nAre silent, nor at public honours aim\nToo hastily: by such, were I not quiet\nIn such a bustling state, I should be deem'd\nRidiculous, and proverb'd for a fool.\nShould I attain the dignity of those,\nWhose approved worth hath raised them to the height\nOf public honours, by such suffrage more\nShould I be watch'd; for they that hold in states\nRule and pre-eminence, bear hostile minds\nTo all that vie with them. And should I come\nTo a strange house a stranger, to a woman\nChildless herself, who that misfortune shared\nBefore with thee, now sees it her sole lot,\nAnd feels it bitterly, would she not hate me,\nAnd that with justice? When I stand before them.\nWith what an eye would she, who hath no child,\nLook on thy child? In tenderness to her,\nThy wife, thou must forsake me, or embroil\nThy house in discord, if thou favour me.\nWhat murderous means, what poisonous drugs for men\nHave women with inventive rage prepared!\nBesides, I have much pity for thy wife,\nNow growing old without a child, that grief\nUnmerited, the last of her high race,\nThe exterior face indeed of royalty,\nSo causelessly commended, bath its brightness;\nWithin, all gloom: for what sweet peace of mind,\nWhat happiness is his, whose years are pass'd\nIn comfortless suspicion, and the dread\nOf violence? Be mine the humble blessings\nOf private life, rather than be a king,\nFrom the flagitious forced to choose my friends,\nAnd hate the virtuous through the fear of death.\nGold, thou mayst tell me, hath o'er things like these\nA sovereign power, and riches give delight:\nI have no pleasure in this noisy pomp,\nNor, while I guard my riches, in the toil:\nBe mine a modest mean that knows not care.\nAnd now, my father, hear the happy state\nI here enjoy'd; and first, to mortal man\nThat dearest blessing, leisure, and no bustle\nTo cause disturbance: me no ruffian force\nShoved from the way: it is not to be borne,\nWhen every insolent and worthless wretch\nMakes you give place. The worship of the god\nEmploy'd my life, or (no unpleasing task)\nService to men well pleased: the parting guest\nI bade farewell-welcomed the new-arrived.\nThus something always new made every hour\nGlide sweetly on; and to the human mind\nThat dearest wish, though some regard it not,\nTo be, what duty and my nature made me,\nJust to the god: revolving this, my father,\nI wish not for thy Athens to exchange\nThis state; permit me to myself to live;\nDear to the mind pleasures that arise\nFrom humble life, as those which greatness brings.\nLEADER Well hast thou said, if those whom my soul holds\nMost dear shall in thy words find happiness.\nXUTHUS No more of this discourse; learn to be happy.\nIt is my will that thou begin it here,\nWhere first I found thee, son: a general feast\nWill I provide, and make a sacrifice,\nWhich at thy birth I made not: at my table\nWill I receive thee as a welcome guest,\nAnd cheer thee with the banquet, then conduct the\nTo Athens with me as a visitant,\nNot as my son: for, mid my happiness,\nI would not grieve my wife, who hath no child.\nION But I will watch the occasions time may bring,\nAnd so present thee, and obtain her leave\nThat thou mayst hold the sceptre which I bear.\nIon I name thee, as befits thy fortune,\nAs first thou met'st me from the hallow'd shrine\nAs I came forth; assemble then thy friends,\nInvite them all to share the joyful feast,\nSince thou art soon to leave the Delphic state.\nAnd you, ye females, keep, I charge you, keep\nThis secret; she that tells my wife shall die.\nION Let us then go; yet one thing to my fortune\nIs wanting: if I find not her that bore me,\nLife hath no joy. Might I indulge a wish,\nIt were to find her an Athenian dame,\nThat from my mother I might dare to assume\nSome confidence; for he whose fortune leads him\nTo a free state proud of their unmix'd race,\nThough call'd a citizen, must close his lips\nWith servile awe, for freedom is not his. (XUTHUS and ION go out.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe)\nYes, sisters, yes, the streaming eye,\nThe swelling heart I see, the bursting sigh,\nWhen thus rejoicing in his son\nOur queen her royal lord shall find,\nAnd give to grief her anguish'd mind,\nAfflicted, childless, and alone.\nWhat means this voice divine,\nSon of Latona, fate-declaring power?\nWhence is this youth, so fondly graced,\nThat to ripe manhood, from his infant hour,\nHath in thy hallow'd courts been plac'd\nAnd nurtured at thy shrine?\nThy dark reply delights not me;\nLurking beneath close fraud I see:\nWhere will this end? I fear, I fear-\n'Tis strange, and strange events must hence ensue:\nBut grateful sounds it to his ear,\nThe youth, that in another's state\n(Who sees not that my words are true?)\nEnjoys the fraud, and triumphs in his fate.\n(antistrophe)\nSay, sisters, say, with duteous zeal\nShall we this secret to our queen reveal?\nShe, to her royal lord resign'd,\nWith equal hope, with equal care,\nForm'd her his joys, his griefs to share,\nAnd gave him an her willing mind.\nBut joys are his alone;\nWhile she, poor mourner, with a weight of woes,\nTo hoary age advancing, bends;\nHe the bright smile of prosperous fortune knows.\nEv'n thus, unhonour'd by his friends,\nPlac'd on another's throne,\nMischance and ruin on him wait,\nWho fails to guard its happy state.\nHim may mischance and ruin seize,\nWho round my lov'd queen spreads his wily trains.\nNo god may his oblation please,\nNo favouring flame to him ascend!\nTo her my faith, my zeal remains,\nKnown to her ancient royal house a friend.\n(epode)\nNow the father and the new-found son\nThe festive table haste to spread,\nWhere to the skies Parnassus lifts his head,\nAnd deep beneath the hanging stone\nForms in its rudely-rifted side\nA cavern wild and wide;\nWhere Bacchus, shaking high his midnight flames,\nIn many a light fantastic round\nDances o'er the craggy ground,\nAnd revels with his frantic dames.\nNe'er to my city let him come,\nThis youth: no, rather let him die,\nAnd sink into an early tomb!\nWith an indignant eye\nAthens would view the stranger's pride\nWithin her gates triumphant ride:\nEnough for her the honour'd race that springs\nFrom old Erechtheus and her line of kings. (CREUSA and her aged TUTOR\nenter.)\nCREUSA Thou venerable man, whose guiding voice\nMy father, while he lived, revered, advance\nUp to the oracular seat thy aged steps;\nThat, if the royal Phoebus should pronounce\nPromise of offspring, thou with me mayst share\nThe joy; for pleasing is it when with friends\nGood fortune we receive; if aught of ill\n(Avert it, Heaven!) befalls, a friend's kind eye\nBeams comfort; thee, as once thou didst revere\nMy father, though thy queen, I now revere.\nTUTOR In thee, my child, the nobleness of manners\nWhich graced thy royal ancestors yet lives;\nThou never wilt disgrace thy high-born lineage.\nLead me, then, lead me to the shrine, support me:\nHigh is the oracular seat, and steep the ascent;\nBe thou assistant to the foot of age.\nCREUSA Follow; be heedful where thou set thy steps.\nTUTOR I am: my foot is slow, my heart hath wings.\nCREUSA Fix thy staff firm on this loose-rolling ground.\nTUTOR That hath no eyes; and dim indeed my sight.\nCREUSA Well hast thou said; on cheerful then, and faint not.\nTUTOR I have the will, but o'er constraint no power.\nCREUSA Ye females, on my richly-broider'd works\nFaithful attendants, say, respecting children,\nFor which we came, what fortune hath my lord\nBorne hence? if good, declare it: you shall find\nThat to no thankless masters you give joy.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS O fortune!\nCREUSA To thy speech this is a proem\nNot tuned to happiness.\nLEADER Unhappy fortune!\nBut why distress me for the oracle\nGiven to our lords? Be that as fate requires\nIn things which threaten death, what shall we do?\nCREUSA What means this strain of woe? Whence are these fears?\nLEADER What! shall we speak, or bury this in silence?\nCREUSA Speak, though thy words bring wretchedness to me.\nLEADER It shall be spoken, were I twice to die.\nTo thee, my queen, it is not given to clasp\nIn thy fond arms a child, or at thy breast\nTo hold it.\nTUTOR O my child, would I were dead!\nCREUSA Yes, this is wretchedness indeed, a grief\nThat makes life joyless.\nTUTOR This is ruin to us.\nCREUSA Unhappy me! this is a piercing grief,\nThat rends my heart with anguish.\nTUTOR Groan not yet.\nCREUSA Yet is the affliction present.\nTUTOR Till we learn-\nCREUSA To me what tidings?\nTUTOR If a common fate\nAwait our lord, partaker of thy griefs,\nOr thou alone art thus unfortunate.\nLEADER To him, old man, the god hath given a son,\nAnd happiness is his unknown to her.\nCREUSA To ill this adds the deepest ill, a grief\nFor me to mourn.\nTUTOR Born of some other woman\nIs this child yet to come, or did the god\nDeclare one now in being?\nLEADER One advanced\nTo manhood's prime he gave him: I was present.\nCREUSA What hast thou said? Thy words denounce to me\nSorrows past speech, past utterance.\nTUTOR And to me.\nCREUSA How was this oracle accomplish'd? Tell me\nWith clearest circumstance: who is this youth?\nLEADER Him as a son Apollo gave, whom first,\nDeparting from the god, thy lord should meet.\nCREUSA O my unhappy fate! I then am left\nChildless to pass my life, childless, alone,\nAmid my lonely house! Who was declared?\nWhom did the husband of this wretch first meet?\nHow meet him? Where behold him? Tell me all.\nLEADER Dost thou, my honoured mistress, call to mind\nThe youth that swept the temple? This is he.\nCREUSA O, through the liquid air that I could fly,\nFar from the land of Greece, ev'n to the stars\nFix'd in the western sky! Ah me, what grief,\nWhat piercing grief is mine I\nTUTOR Say, by what name\nDid he address his son, if thou hast heard it?\nOr does it rest in silence, yet unknown?\nLEADER Ion, for that he first advanced to meet him.\nTUTOR And of what mother?\nLEADER That I could not learn:\nAbrupt was his departure (to inform thee\nOf all I know, old man) to sacrifice,\nWith hospitable rites, a birthday feast;\nAnd in the hallow'd cave, from her apart,\nWith his new son to share the common banquet.\nTUTOR Lady, we by thy husband are betrayed,\nFor I with thee am grieved, with contrived fraud\nInsulted, from thy father's house cast forth.\nI speak not this in hatred to thy lord,\nBut that I love thee more: a stranger he\nCame to the city and thy royal house,\nAnd wedded thee, all thy inheritance\nReceiving, by some other woman now\nDiscover'd to have children privately:\nHow privately I'll tell thee: when he saw\nThou hadst no child, it pleased him not to bear\nA fate like thine; but by some favourite slave,\nHis paramour by stealth, he hath a son.\nHim to some Delphian gave he, distant far,\nTo educate; who to this sacred house\nConsign'd, as secret here, received his nurture.\nHe knowing this, and that his son advanced\nTo manhood, urged thee to attend him hither,\nPleading thy childless state. Nor hath the god\nDeceived thee: he deceived thee, and long since\nContrived this wily plan to rear his son,\nThat, if convicted, he might charge the god,\nHimself excusing: should the fraud succeed,\nHe would observe the times when he might safely\nConsign to him the empire of thy land.\nAnd this new name was at his leisure form'd,\nIon, for that he came by chance to meet him.\nI hate those ill-designing men, that form\nPlans of injustice, and then gild them over\nWith artificial ornament: to me\nFar dearer is the honest simple friend,\nThan one whose quicker wit is train'd to ill.\nAnd to complete this fraud, thou shalt be urged\nTo take into thy house, to lord it there,\nThis low-born youth, this offspring of a slave.\nThough ill, it had been open, had he pleaded\nThy want of children, and, thy leave obtain'd,\nBrought to thy house a son that could have boasted\nHis mother noble; or, if that displeased thee,\nHe might have sought a wife from Aeolus.\nBehooves thee then to act a woman's part,\nOr grasp the sword, or drug the poison'd bowl,\nOr plan some deep design to kill thy husband,\nAnd this his son, before thou find thy death\nFrom them: if thou delay, thy life is lost:\nFor when beneath one roof two foes are met,\nThe one must perish. I with ready zeal\nWill aid thee in this work, and kill the youth,\nEntering the grot where he prepares the feast;\nIndifferent in my choice, so that I pay\nWhat to my lords I owe, to live or die.\nIf there is aught that causes slaves to blush,\nIt is the name; in all else than the free\nThe slave is nothing worse, if he be virtuous.\nI too, my honour'd queen, with cheerful mind\nWill share thy fate, or die, or live with honour.\nCREUSA (chanting) How, o my soul, shall I be silent, how\nDisclose this secret? Can I bid farewell\nTo modesty? What else restrains my tongue?\nTo how severe a trial am I brought!\nHath not my husband wrong'd me? Of my house\nI am deprived, deprived of children; hope\nIs vanish'd, which my heart could not resign,\nWith many an honest wish this furtive bed\nConcealing, this lamented bed concealing.\nBut by the star-bespangled throne of Jove,\nAnd by the goddess high above my rocks\nEnshrined, by the moist banks that bend around\nThe hallow'd lake by Triton form'd, no longer\nWill I conceal this bed, but ease my breast,\nThe oppressive load discharged. Mine eyes drop tears,\nMy soul is rent, to wretchedness ensnared\nBy men, by gods, whom I will now disclose,\nUnkind betrayers of the beds they forced.\nO thou, that wakest on thy seven-string'd lyre\nSweet notes, that from the rustic lifeless horn\nEnchant the ear with heavenly melody,\nSon of Latona, thee before this light\nWill I reprove. Thou camest to me, with gold\nThy locks all glittering, as the vermeil flowers\nI gather'd in my vest to deck my bosom\nWith the spring's glowing hues; in my white hand\nThy hand enlocking, to the cavern'd rock\nThou led'st me; naught avail'd my cries, that call'd\nMy mother; on thou led'st me, wanton god,\nImmodestly, to Venus paying homage.\nA son I bare thee, O my wretched fate!\nHim (for I fear'd my mother) in thy cave\nI placed, where I unhappy was undone\nBy thy unhappy love. Woe, woe is me!\nAnd now my son and thine, ill-fated babe,\nIs rent by ravenous vultures; thou, meanwhile,\nArt to thy lyre attuning strains of joy.\nSet of Latona, thee I call aloud\nWho from thy golden seat, thy central throne,\nUtterest thine oracle: my voice shall reach\nThine ear: ungrateful lover, to my husband,\nNo grace requiting, thou hast given a son\nTo bless his house; my son and thine, unown'd,\nPerish'd a prey to birds; the robes that wrapp'd\nThe infant's limbs, his mother's work, lost with him.\nDelos abhors thee, and the laurel boughs\nWith the soft foliage of the palm o'erhung,\nGrasping whose round trunk with her hands divine,\nLatona thee, her hallow'd offspring, bore.\nLEADER Ah, what a mighty treasury of ills\nIs open'd here, a copious source of tears!\nTUTOR Never, my daughter, can I sate my eyes\nWith looking on thy face: astonishment\nBears me beyond my senses. I had stemm'd\nOne tide of evils, when another flood\nHigh-surging overwhelm'd me from the words\nWhich thou hast utter'd, from the present ills\nTo an ill train of other woes transferr'd.\nWhat say'st thou? Of what charge dost thou implead\nThe god? What son hast thou brought forth? Where placed him\nA feast for vultures? Tell me all again.\nCREUSA Though I must blush, old man, yet I will speak.\nTUTOR I mourn with generous grief at a friend's woes.\nCREUSA Hear then: the northward-pointing cave thou knowest,\nAnd the Cecropian rocks, which we call Macrai.\nTUTOR Where stands a shrine to Pan, and altars nigh.\nCREUSA There in a dreadful conflict I engaged.\nTUTOR What! my tears rise ready to meet thy words.\nCREUSA By Phoebus drawn reluctant to his bed.\nTUTOR Was this, my daughter, such as I suppose?\nCREUSA I know not: but if truth, I will confess it.\nTUTOR Didst thou in silence mourn this secret ill?\nCREUSA This was the grief I now disclose to thee.\nTUTOR This love of Phoebus how didst thou conceal?\nCREUSA I bore a son. Hear me, old man, with patience.\nTUTOR Where? who assisted? or wast thou alone?\nCREUSA Alone, in the same cave where compress'd.\nTUTOR Where is thy son, that childless now no more\nCREUSA Dead, good old man, to beasts of prey exposed.\nTUTOR Dead! and the ungrateful Phoebus gives no aid?\nCREUSA None: in the house of Pluto a young guest.\nTUTOR Whose hands exposed him? Surely not thine own.\nCREUSA Mine, in the shades of night, wrapp'd in his vests.\nTUTOR Hadst thou none with thee conscious to this deed?\nCREUSA My misery, and the secret place alone.\nTUTOR How durst thou in a cavern leave thy son?\nCREUSA How? uttering many sad and plaintive words.\nTUTOR Ah, cruel was thy deed, the god more cruel.\nCREUSA Hadst thou but seen him stretch his little hands!\nTUTOR Seeking the breast, or reaching to thine arms?\nCREUSA To this, deprived of which he suffer'd wrong.\nTUTOR And what induced thee to expose thy child?\nCREUSA Hope that the god's kind care would save his son.\nTUTOR How are the glories of thy house destroy'd!\nCREUSA Why, thine head cover'd, dost thou pour these tears?\nTUTOR To see thee and thy father thus unhappy.\nCREUSA This is the state of man: nothing stands firm.\nTUTOR No longer then, my child, let grief oppress us.\nCREUSA What should I do? In misery all is doubt.\nTUTOR First on the god that wrong'd thee be avenged.\nCREUSA How shall a mortal 'gainst a god prevail?\nTUTOR Set this revered oracular shrine on fire.\nCREUSA I fear: ev'n now I have enough of ills.\nTUTOR Attempt what may be done then; kill thy husband.\nCREUSA The nuptial bed I reverence, and his goodness.\nTUTOR This son then, which is now brought forth against thee.\nCREUSA How? Could that be, how warmly should I wish it.\nTUTOR Thy train hath swords: instruct them to the deed.\nCREUSA I go with speed: but where shall it be done?\nTUTOR In the hallow'd tent, where now he feasts his friends.\nCREUSA An open murder, and with coward slaves!\nTUTOR If mine displease, propose thou some design.\nCREUSA I have it, close and easy to achieve.\nTUTOR In both my faithful services are thine.\nCREUSA Hear then: not strange to thee the giants' war.\nTUTOR When they in Phlegra fought against the gods.\nCREUSA There the earth brought forth the Gorgon, horrid monster.\nTUTOR In succour of her sons to annoy the gods?\nCREUSA Ev'n so: her Pallas slew, daughter of Jove.\nTUTOR What fierce and dreadful form did she then wear?\nCREUSA Her breastplate arm'd with vipers wreathed around.\nTUTOR A well-known story; often have I heard it.\nCREUSA Her spoils before her breast Minerva wore.\nTUTOR The aegis; so they call the vest of Pallas.\nCREUSA So named, when in the war she join'd the gods.\nTUTOR But how can this, my child, annoy thy foes?\nCREUSA Thou canst not but remember Erichthonius.\nTUTOR Whom first of thy high race the earth brought forth.\nCREUSA To him while yet an infant Pallas gave-\nTUTOR What? Thy slow preface raises expectation.\nCREUSA Two drops of blood that from the Gorgon fell.\nTUTOR And on the human frame what power have these?\nCREUSA The one works death, the other heals disease.\nTUTOR In what around the infant's body hung?\nCREUSA Enclosed in gold: he gave them to my father.\nTUTOR At his decease then they devolved to thee?\nCREUSA Ay, and I wear it as a bracelet; look.\nTUTOR Their double qualities how temper'd, say.\nCREUSA This drop, which from her hollow vein distill'd,-\nTUTOR To what effect applied? What is its power?\nCREUSA Medicinal, of sovereign use to life.\nTUTOR The other drop, what faculties hath that?\nCREUSA It kills, the poison of the Gorgon dragons.\nTUTOR And dost thou bear this gore blended in one?\nCREUSA No, separate; for with ill good mixes not.\nTUTOR O my dear child, thou hast whate'er we want.\nCREUSA With this the boy shall die, and thou shalt kill him.\nTUTOR Where? How? 'Tis thine to speak, to dare be mine.\nCREUSA At Athens, when he comes beneath my roof.\nTUTOR I like not this; what I proposed displeased.\nCREUSA Dost thou surmise what enters now my thoughts?\nTUTOR Suspicion waits thee, though thou kill him not.\nCREUSA Thou hast judged well: a stepdame's hate is proverb'd.\nTUTOR Then kill him here; thou mayst disown the deed.\nCREUSA My mind ev'n now anticipates the pleasure.\nTUTOR Thus shalt thou meet thy husband's wiles with wiles\nCREUSA This shalt thou do: this little golden casket\nTake from my hand, Minerva's gift of old;\nTo where my husband secretly prepares\nThe sacrifice, bear this beneath thy vest.\nThat supper ended, when they are to pour\nLibations to the gods, thou mayst infuse\nIn the youth's goblet this: but take good heed,\nLet none observe thee; drug his cup alone\nWho thinks to lord it in my house: if once\nIt pass his lips, his foot shall never reach\nIllustrious Athens: death awaits him here. (She gives him the casket.)\nTUTOR Go thou then to the hospitable house\nPrepared for thy reception: be it mine,\nObedient to thy word to do this deed.\nCome then, my aged foot, be once more young\nIn act, though not in years, for past recall\nThat time is fled: kill him, and bear him forth.\nWell may the prosperous harbour virtuous thought;\nBut when thou wouldst avenge thee on thy foes,\nThere is no law of weight to hinder thee. (They both go out.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nDaughter of Ceres, Trivia hear,\nPropitious regent of each public way\nAmid the brightness of the day,\nNor less when night's dark hour engenders fear;\nThe fulness of this goblet guide\nTo check with death this stripling's pride,\nFor whom my queen this fatal draught prepares,\nTinged with the Gorgon's venom'd gore:\nThat seat, which mid Erechtheus' royal heirs\nHis pride claims, it shall claim no more:\nNever may one of alien blood disgrace\nThe imperial honours of that high-born race!\n(antistrophe 1)\nShould not this work of fate succeed,\nNor the just vengeance of my queen prevail;\nShould this apt time of daring fail,\nAnd hope, that flatters now, desert the deed;\nSlaughter shall other means afford,\nThe strangling cord, the piercing sword;\nFor rage from disappointed rage shall flow,\nAnd try each. various form of death;\nFor never shall my queen this torment know;\nNe'er while she draws this vital breath,\nBrook in her house that foreign lords should shine,\nClothed with the splendours of her ancient line.\n(strophe 2)\nThou whom the various hymn delights,\nThen thy bright choir of beauteous dames among,\nDancing the stream's soft brink along,\nThou seest the guardian of thy mystic rites,\nThy torch its midnight vigils keep,\nThine eye meantime disdaining sleep;\nWhile with thee dances Jove's star-spangled plain.\nAnd the moon dances up the sky:\nYe nymphs, that lead to grots your frolic train,\nBeneath the gulfy founts that lie:\nThou gold-crown'd queen, through night's dark regions fear'd,\nAnd thou, her mother, power revered,\nHow should I blush to see this youth unknown!\nThis Delphic vagrant, hope to seize the throne.\n(antistrophe 2)\nYou, who the melting soul to move,\nIn loose, dishonest airs the Muse employ\nTo celebrate love's wanton joy,\nThe joy of unallow'd, unholy love,\nSee how our pure and modest law\nCan lavish man's lewd deeds o'erawe!\nYe shameless bards, revoke each wanton air;\nNo more these melting measures frame;\nBid the chaste muse in Virtue's cause declare,\nAnd mark man's lawless bed with shame!\nUngrateful is this Jove-descended lord;\nFor, his wife's childless bed abhorr'd,\nLewdly he courts the embrace of other dames,\nAnd with a spurious son his pride inflames. (An ATTENDANT of CREUSA\nenters.)\nATTENDANT Athenian dames, where shall I find our queen,\nThe daughter of Erechtheus? Seeking her,\nThis city have I walked around in vain.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS And for what cause, my fellow-slave? What means\nThy hasty foot? What tidings dost thou bring?\nATTENDANT We are discover'd; and the rulers here\nSeek her, that she may die o'erwhelm'd with stones.\nLEADER Ah me! what wouldst thou say? Are our designs\nOf secret ruin to this youth disclosed?\nATTENDANT They are; and know, the worst of ills await you.\nLEADER How were our dark devices brought to light?\nATTENDANT The god, that justice might receive no stain\nCaused it to triumph o'er defeated wrong.\nLEADER How? as a suppliant, I conjure thee, tell me\nOf this inform'd, if we must die, more freely\nWish we to die than see the light of heaven.\nATTENDANT Soon as the husband of Creusa left\nThe god's oracular shrine, this new-found son\nHe to the feast, and sacrifice prepared\nTo the high gods, led with him. Xuthus then\nWent where the hallow'd flame of Bacchus mounts,\nThat on each rock's high point the victim's blood\nMight flow, a grateful offering for his son\nThus recognised, to whom he gave in charge,\n\"Stay thou, and with the artist's expert aid\nErect the sheltering tent: my rites perform'd\nTo the kind gods that o'er the genial bed\nPreside, should I be there detain'd too long,\nSpread the rich table to my present friends.\"\nThis said, he led the victims to the rocks.\nMeanwhile with reverent heed the son 'gan rear\nOn firm supporters the wide tent, whose sides\nNo masonry require, yet framed to exclude\nThe mid-day sun's hot beams, or his last rays\nWhen sinking in the west: the lengthen'd lines\nEqually distant comprehend a square\nOf twice five thousand feet (the skilful thus\nCompute it), space to feast (for so he will'd)\nAll Delphi: from the treasures of the god\nHe took the sacred tapestry, and around\nHung the rich shade, on which the admiring eye\nGazes with fix'd delight: first over head,\nLike a broad pennon spread the extended woof,\nWhich from the Amazonian spoils the son\nOf Jove, Alcides, hallow'd to the god;\nIn its bright texture interwov'n a sky\nGathering the stars in its ethereal round,\nWhile downwards to the western wave the sun\nHis steeds declines, and to his station high\nDraws up the radiant flame of Hesperus.\nMeanwhile the Night robed in her sable stole,\nHer unreign'd car advances; on her state\nThe stars attend; the Pleiads mounting high,\nAnd with his glittering sword Orion arm'd;\nAbove, Arcturus to the golden pole\nInclines; full-orb'd the month-dividing moon\nTakes her bright station, and the Hyades\nMarked by the sailor: distant in the rear,\nAurora ready to relume the day,\nAnd put the stars to flight. The sides were graced\nWith various textures of the historic woof,\nBarbaric arguments; in gallant trim\nAgainst the fleet of Greece the hostile fleet\nRides proudly on. Here monstrous forms portray'd\nHuman and brutal mix'd: the Thracian steeds\nAre seized, the hinds, and the adventurous chase\nOf savage lions: figured nigh the doors,\nCecrops, attended by his daughter's, roll'd\nHis serpent train: in the ample space within\nHe spread the festal table, richly deck'd\nWith golden goblets. Now the herald walk'd\nHis round, each native that inclined to grace\nThe feast inviting: to the crowded tent\nThey hasten, crown'd with garlands, and partake\nThe exquisite repast. The pleasured sense\nNow satiate, in the midst an old man stood,\nOfficious in his ministry, which raised\nMuch mirth among the guests; for from the urns\nHe fill'd the lavers, and with fragrant myrrh\nIncensed the place; the golden bowls he claim'd\nHis charge. When now the jocund pipes 'gan breathe\nHarmonious airs, and the fresh goblet stood\nReady to walk its round, the old man said,\n\"Away with these penurious cups, and bring\nCapacious bowls; so shall you quickly bathe\nYour spirits in delight.\" With speed were brought\nGoblets of gold and silver: one he took\nOf choicer frame; and, seemingly intent\nTo do his young lord honour, the full vase\nGave to his hands, but in the wine infused\nA drug of poisonous power, which, it is said,\nHis queen supplied, that the new son no more\nMight view the light of heav'n; but unobserved\nHe mix'd it. As the youth among the rest\nPour'd the libation, 'mid the attendant slaves\nWords of reproach one utter'd: he, as train'd\nWithin the temple and with expert seers,\nDeem'd them of evil omen, and required\nAnother goblet to be filled afresh-\nThe former a libation to the god,\nHe cast upon the ground, instructing all\nTo pour, like him, the untasted liquor down.\nSilence ensued: the sacred bowls we fill\nWith wines of Byblos; when a troop of doves\nCame fluttering in, for undisturb'd they haunt\nThe dome of Phoebus: in the floating wine\nThey dipp'd their bills to drink, then raised their heads,\nGurgling it down their beauteous-plumed throats.\nHarmless to all the spilt wine, save to her\nThat lighted where the youth had pour'd his bowl:\nShe drank, and straight convulsive shiverings seized\nHer beauteous plumes; around in giddy rings\nShe whirl'd, and in a strange and mournful note\nSeem'd to lament: amazement seized the guests,\nSeeing the poor bird's pangs: her heart heaved thick,\nAnd stretching out her scarlet legs, she died.\nRending his robes, the son of Phoebus given\nSprung from the table, and aloud exclaim'd,-\n\"What wretch design'd to kill me? Speak, old man:\nOfficious was thy ministry; the bowl\nI from thy hand received.\" Then straight he seized\nHis aged arm, and to the question held him,\nAs in the fact discover'd: he thus caught,\nReluctant and constrain'd, own'd the bold deed,\nThe deadly goblet by Creusa drugg'd.\nForth from the tent, the guests attending, rush'd\nThe youth announced by Phoebus, and amid\nThe Pythian regents says,-\"O hallow'd land!\nThis stranger dame, this daughter of Erechtheus\nAttempts my life by poison.\" Then decreed\nThe Delphian lords (nor did one voice dissent)\nThat she should die, my mistress, from the rock\nCast headlong, as the deed was aim'd against\nA sacred life, and impiously presumed\nThis hallow'd place with murder to profane.\nDemanded by the state, she this way bends\nHer wretched steps. Unhappy to this shrine\nShe came through fond desire of children; here,\nTogether with her hopes, her life is lost.\nCHORUS (singing) None, there is none, from death no flight,\nTo me no refuge; our dark deed\nBetray'd, betray'd to open light;\nThe festive bowl, with sprightly wine that flow'd\nMix'd with the Gorgon's viperous blood,\nAn offering to the dead decreed,\nAll is betray'd to light: and I,\nCast headlong from the rock, must die.\nWhat flight shall save me from this death,\nBorne on swift pinions through the air,\nSunk to the darksome cave beneath,\nOr mounted on the rapid car?\nOr shall the flying bark unfurl its sails?\nAlas, my queen, no flight avails,\nSave when some god's auspicious power\nShall snatch us from the dangerous hour.\nUnhappy queen, what pangs shall rend thy heart!\nShall we, who plann'd the deathful deed,\nBe caught within the toils we spread,\nWhile justice claims severe her chast'ning part? (CREUSA rushes in.)\nCREUSA I am pursued, ye faithful females, doom'd\nTo death: the Pythian council hath decreed it:\nMy life is forfeited.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Unhappy lady,\nWe know the dreadful ills that close thee round.\nCREUSA Ah, whither shall I fly? From instant death\nScarce hath my foot sped hither, from my foes\nBy stealth escaping.\nLEADER Whither wouldst thou fly,\nBut to this altar?\nCREUSA What will that avail me?\nLEADER To kill a suppliant there the law forbids.\nCREUSA But by the law I perish.\nLEADER If their hands\nHad seized thee.\nCREUSA Dreadful contest, with drawn swords\nThey hastily advance.\nLEADER Now take thy seat\nAt the altar: shouldst thou die ev'n there, thy blood\nWill call the vengeance of the god on those\nThat spilt it: but our fortune we must bear. (She takes refuge at\nthe altar as ION, guards, and Delphians enter.)\nION Bull-visaged sire Cephisus, what a viper\nHast thou produced? a dragon from her eyes\nGlaring pernicious flame. Each daring deed\nIs hers: less venomous the Gorgon's blood,\nWith which she purposed to have poison'd me.\nSeize her, that the Parnassian rocks may tease\nThose nice-adjusted ringlets of her hair,\nAs down the craggy precipice she bounds.\nHere my good genius saved me, e'er I came\nTo Athens, there beneath my stepdame's wiles\nTo fall; amid my friends thy fell intents\nHave I unravell'd, what a pest to me,\nThy hate how deadly: had thy toils inclosed me\nIn thine own house, thou wouldst at once have sent me\nWith complete ruin to the shades below.\nBut nor the altar nor Apollo's shrine\nShall save thee. Pity, might her voice be heard,\nWould rather plead for me and for my mother,\nShe absent, yet the name remains with me.\nBehold that sorceress; with what art she wove\nWile after wile; the altar of the god\nImpress'd her not with awe, as if secure.\nNo vengeance waited her unhallow'd deeds.\nCREUSA I charge thee, kill me not, in my own right,\nAnd in the god's, whose suppliant here I stand.\nION What right hast thou to plead Apollo's name?\nCREUSA My person hallow'd to the god I offer.\nION Yet wouldst thou poison one that is the god's.\nCREUSA Thou wast no more Apollo's, but thy father's.\nION I have been, of a father's wealth I speak.\nCREUSA And now I am: thou hast that claim no more.\nION But thou art impious: pious were my deeds.\nCREUSA As hostile to my house, I would have kill'd thee.\nION Did I against thy country march in arms?\nCREUSA And more; thou wouldst have fired Erechtheus' house.\nION What torch, what brands, what flames had I prepared?\nCREUSA There wouldst thou fix, seizing my right by force.\nION The land which he possess'd, my father gave me.\nCREUSA What claim hath there the race of Aeolus?\nION He was its guardian, not with words but arms.\nCREUSA Its soldier then; an inmate, not its lord.\nION Wouldst thou, through fear of what might happen, kill me?\nCREUSA Lest death should be my portion, if not thine.\nION Childless thou enviest that my father found me.\nCREUSA And wilt thou make a childless house thy spoil?\nION Devolves my father then no share to me?\nCREUSA His shield, his spear; be those thine heritage.\nION Come from the altar, quit that hallow'd seat.\nCREUSA Instruct thy mother, whosoe'er she be.\nION Shalt thou unpunish'd meditate my death?\nCREUSA Within this shrine if thou wilt murder me.\nION What pleasure mid these sacred wreaths to die?\nCREUSA We shall grieve one, by whom we have been grieved.\nION Strange, that the god should give these laws to men,\nBearing no stamp of honour, nor design'd\nWith provident thought: it is not meet to place\nThe unrighteous at his altars; worthier far\nTo be chased thence; nor decent that the vile\nShould with their touch pollute the gods: the good,\nOppress'd with wrongs, should at those hallow'd seats\nSeek refuge: ill beseems it that the unjust\nAnd just alike should seek protection there. (As ION and his followers\nare about to tear CREUSA from the altar, the PRIESTESS of Apollo enters\nfrom the temple.)\nPRIESTESS Forbear, my son, leaving the oracular seat,\nI pass this pale, the priestess of the god,\nThe guardian of the tripod's ancient law,\nCall'd to this charge from all the Delphian dames.\nION Hail, my loved mother, dear, though not my parent.\nPRIESTESS Yet let me have the name, 'tis grateful to me.\nION Hast thou yet heard their wily trains to kill me?\nPRIESTESS I have; but void of mercy thou dost wrong.\nION Should I not ruin those that sought my life?\nPRIESTESS Stepdames to former sons are always hostile.\nION And I to stepdames ill intreated thus.\nPRIESTESS Be not, this shrine now leaving for thy country.\nION How, then, by thy monition should I act?\nPRIESTESS Go with good omens, pure to Athens go.\nION All must be pure that kill their enemies.\nPRIESTESS So do not thou: attentive mark my words.\nION Speak: from good will whate'er thou say'st must flow.\nPRIESTESS Seest thou the vase I hold beneath mine arm?\nION I see an ancient ark entwined with wreaths.\nPRIESTESS In this long since an infant I received thee.\nION What say'st thou? New is thy discourse and strange.\nPRIESTESS In silence have I kept them: now I show them.\nION And why conceal'd, as long since thou received'st me?\nPRIESTESS The god would have thee in his shrine a servant.\nION Is that no more his will? How shall I know it?\nPRIESTESS Thy father shown, he sends thee from this land.\nION Hast thou preserved these things by charge, or how?\nPRIESTESS It was the god that so disposed my thought.\nION With what design? Speak, finish thy discourse.\nPRIESTESS Ev'n to this hour to keep what then I found.\nION What gain imports this to me, or what loss?\nPRIESTESS There didst thou lie wrapp'd in thy infant vests.\nION Thou hast produced whence I may find my mother.\nPRIESTESS Since now the god so wills, but not before.\nION This is a day of bless'd discoveries.\nPRIESTESS Now take them: o'er all Asia, and the bounds\nOf Europe hold thy progress: thou shalt know\nThese tokens. To do pleasure to the god,\nI nurtured thee, my son; now to thy hand\nRestore what was his will I should receive\nUnbidden, and preserve: for what intent\nIt was his will, I have not power to say.\nThat I had these, or where they were conceal'd,\nNo mortal knew. And now farewell: the love\nI bear thee equals what a parent feels.\nLet thy inquiries where they ought begin;\nFirst, if some Delphian virgin gave thee birth,\nAnd in this shrine exposed thee; next, if one\nOf Greece. From me, and from the god, who feels\nAn interest in thy fortune, thou hast all. (She goes into the temple\nafter giving ION the ark.)\nION Ah me! the moist tear trickles from mine eye,\nWhen I reflect that she who gave me birth,\nBy stealth espoused, may with like secrecy\nHave sold me, to my infant lips her breast\nDenied: but in the temple of the god\nWithout a name, a servile life I led.\nAll from the god was gracious, but from fortune\nHarsh; for the time when in a mother's arms\nI in her fondness should have known some joy\nOf life, from that sweet care was I estranged,\nA mother's nurture: nor less wretched she,\nThus forced to lose the pleasure in her son.\nBut I will take this vase, and to the god\nBear it, a hallow'd offering; that from thence\nI may find nothing which I would not find.\nShould she, that gave me being, chance to be\nA slave, to find her were a greater ill,\nThan to rest silent in this ignorance.\nO Phoebus, in thy temple hang I this.\nWhat am I doing? War I not against\nThe pleasure of the god, who saved for me\nThese pledges of my mother? I must dare,\nAnd open these: my fate cannot be shunn'd. (He opens the ark.) Ye\nsacred garlands, what have you so long\nConceal'd: ye bands, that keep these precious relics?\nBehold the cover of this circular vase;\nIts freshness knows no change, as if a god\nSo will'd; this osier-woven ark yet keeps\nIts soundness undecay'd; yet many a year,\nSince it contain'd this treasured charge, has pass'd.\nCREUSA What an unhoped-for sight do I behold!\nION I thought thou long hadst known to keep thee silent.\nCREUSA Silence is mine no more; instruct not me;\nFor I behold the ark, wherein of old\nI laid thee, O my son, an infant babe;\nAnd in the caves of Cecrops, with the rocks\nOf Macrai roof'd, exposed thee: I will quit\nThis altar, though I run on certain death.\nION Seize her; for by the impulse of the god\nShe leaves the sculptured altar: bind her bands.\nCREUSA Instantly kill me, so that I embrace\nThis vase, and thee, and these thy conceal'd pledges.\nION Is not this strange? I take thee at thy word.\nCREUSA Not strange: a friend thou by thy friends art found.\nION Thy friend! Yet wouldst thou kill me secretly.\nCREUSA My son: if that to parents is most dear.\nION Forbear thy wiles; I shall refute them well.\nCREUSA Might I but to come to what I wish, my son!\nION Is this vase empty, or contains it aught?\nCREUSA Thy infant vests, in which I once exposed thee.\nION And wilt thou name them to me, ere thou see them?\nCREUSA If I recount them not, be death my meed.\nION Speak then: thy confidence hath something strange.\nCREUSA A tissue, look, which when a child I wrought.\nION What is it? Various are the works of virgins.\nCREUSA A slight, unfinish'd essay of the loom.\nION What figure wrought? Thou shalt not take me thus.\nCREUSA A Gorgon central in the warp enwoven-\nION What fortune haunts me, O supreme of gods!\nCREUSA And like an aegis edged with serpents round.\nION Such is the woof, and such the vest I find.\nCREUSA Thou old embroidery of my virgin bands!\nION Is there aught else besides this happy proof?\nCREUSA Two dragons, an old work, their jaws of gold.\nION The gift of Pallas, who thus nurtures children?\nCREUSA Emblems of Erichthonius of old times.\nION Why? for what use? Explain these works of gold.\nCREUSA For ornaments to grace the infant's neck.\nION See, here they are; the third I wish to know.\nCREUSA A branch of olive then I wreathed around thee,\nPluck'd from that tree which from Minerva's rock\nFirst sprung; if it be there, it still retains\nIts verdure: for the foliage of that olive,\nFresh in immortal beauty, never fades.\nION O my dear mother! I with joy behold thee.\nWith transport 'gainst thy cheek my cheek recline. (They embrace.)\nCREUSA My son, my son, far dearer to thy mother\nThan yon bright orb (the god will pardon me) ,\nDo I then hold thee in my arms, thus found\nBeyond my hopes, when in the realms below,\nI thought thy habitation 'mong the dead?\nION O my dear mother, in thy arms I seem\nAs one that had been dead to life return'd.\nCREUSA Ye wide-expanded rays of heavenly light,\nWhat notes, what high-raised strains shall tell my joy?\nThis pleasure whence, this unexpected transport?\nION There was no blessing farther from my thoughts\nThan this, my mother, to be found thy son.\nCREUSA I tremble yet.\nION And hast thou yet a fear,\nHolding me, not to hold me?\nCREUSA Such fond hopes\nLong time have I renounced. Thou hallow'd matron,\nFrom whom didst thou receive my infant child?\nWhat bless'd hand brought him to Apollo's shrine?\nION It was the god's appointment: may our life\nTo come be happy, as the past was wretched.\nCREUSA Not without tears, my son, wast thou brought forth;\nNor without anguish did my hands resign thee.\nNow breathing on thy cheek I feel a joy\nTransporting me with heartfelt ecstasies.\nION The words expressive of thy joys speak mine.\nCREUSA Childless no more, no more alone, my house\nNow shines with festive joy; my realms now own\nA lord; Erechtheus blooms again; no more\nHis high-traced lineage sees night darkening round,\nBut glories in the sun's refulgent beams.\nION Now let my father, since he's present here,\nBe partner of the joy which I have given you.\nCREUSA What says my son?\nION Such, such as I am proved.\nCREUSA What mean thy words? Far other is thy birth.\nION Ah me! thy virgin bed produced me base.\nCREUSA Nor bridal torch, my son, nor bridal dance\nHad graced my nuptial rites, when thou wast born.\nION Then I'm a wretch, a base-born wretch: say whence.\nCREUSA Be witness, thou by whom the Gorgon died,-\nION What means this adjuration?\nCREUSA Who hast fix'd\nHigh o'er my cave thy seat amid the rocks\nWith olive clothed.\nION Abstruse thy words, and dark.\nCREUSA Where on the cliffs the nightingale attunes\nHer songs, Apollo-\nION Why Apollo named?\nCREUSA Led me in secret to his bed.\nION Speak on;\nThy words import some glorious fortune to me.\nCREUSA Thee in the tenth revolving month, my son,\nA secret pang to Phoebus did I bear.\nION Thy words, if true, are grateful to my soul.\nCREUSA These swathing bands, thy mother's virgin work,\nWove by my flying shuttle, round thy body\nI roll'd; but from thy lips my breast withheld,\nA mother's nouriture, nor bathed thy bands\nIn cleansing lavers; but to death exposed thee,\nLaid in the dreary cave, to birds of prey\nA feast, rent piecemeal by their ravenous beaks.\nION Cruel, my mother, was thy deed.\nCREUSA By fear\nConstrain'd, my son, I cast thy life away;\nUnwillingly I left thee there to die.\nION And from my hands unholy were thy death.\nCREUSA Dreadful was then my fortune, dreadful here,\nWhirl'd by the eddying blast from misery there\nTo misery here, and back again to joy:\nHer boisterous winds are changed; may she remain\nIn this repose: enough of ills are past:\nAfter the storm soft breathes a favouring gale.\nLEADER From this example, mid the greatest ills\nNever let mortal man abandon hope.\nION O thou, that hast to thousands wrought a change\nOf state ere this, involving them in ills,\nAnd raising them to happiness again;\nFortune, to what a point have I been carried,\nReady to kill my mother, horrid thought!\nBut in the sun's bright course each day affords\nInstruction. Thee, my mother, have I found,\nIn that discovery bless'd; nor hath my birth\nAught I can blame: yet one thing would I say\nTo thee alone:-walk this way: to thine ear\nIn secret would I whisper this, and throw\nThe veil of darkness o'er each circumstance.\nTake heed, my mother, lest thy maiden fault\nSeeks in these secret nuptials to conceal\nIts fault, then charges on the god the deed;\nAnd, fearing my reproach, to Phoebus gives\nA son, to Phoebus whom thou didst not bear.\nCREUSA By her, who 'gainst the giants in her car\nFought by the side of Jove, victorious Pallas,\nNo one of mortal race is father to thee,\nBut he who brought thee up, the royal Phoebus.\nION Why give his son then to another father?\nWhy say that I was born the son of Xuthus?\nCREUSA Not born the son of Xuthus; but he gives thee,\nBorn from himself as friend to friend may give\nHis son, and heir adopted to his house.\nION True is the god, his tripod else were vain.\nNot without cause then is my mind perplex'd.\nCREUSA Hear what my thoughts suggest: to work thee good\nApollo placed thee in a noble house.\nAcknowledged his, the rich inheritance\nCould not be thine, nor could a father's name;\nFor I conceal'd my nuptials, and had plann'd\nTo kill thee secretly: for this the god\nIn kindness gives thee to another father.\nION My mind is prompt to entertain such thoughts;\nBut, entering at his shrine will I inquire\nIf from a mortal father I am sprung,\nOr from Apollo.-Ha! what may this be?\nWhat god above the hallow'd dome unveils\nHis radiant face that shines another sun?\nHaste, let us fly: the presence of the gods\n'Tis not for mortals to behold, and live. (MINERVA appears from above.)\nMINERVA Fly not; in me no enemy you fly;\nAt Athens friendly to you, and no less\nHere. From that land I come, so named from me,\nBy Phoebus sent with speed: unmeet he deems it\nTo show himself before you, lest with blame\nThe past be mention'd; this he gave in charge,\nTo tell thee that she bore thee, and to him,\nPhoebus thy father; he to whom he gave thee,\nNot as to the author of thy being gives thee,\nBut to the inheritance of a noble house.\nThis declaration made, lest thou shouldst die,\nKill'd by thy mother's wily trains, or she\nBy thee, these means to save you he devised.\nThese things in silence long conceal'd, at Athens\nThe royal Phoebus would have made it known\nThat thou art sprung from her, thy father he:\nBut to discharge my office, and unfold\nThe oracle of the god, for which you yoked\nYour chariots, hear: Creusa, take thy son,\nGo to the land of Cecrops: let him mount\nThe royal throne; for, from Erechtheus sprung,\nThat honour is his due, the sovereignty\nOver my country: through the states of Greece\nWide his renown shall spread; for from his root\nFour sons shall spring, that to the land, the tribes,\nThe dwellers on my rock, shall give their names.\nGeleon the first, Hopletes, Argades,\nAnd from my aegis named Aegicores:\nTheir sons in fate's appointed time shall fix\nTheir seats along the coast, or in the isles\nGirt by the Aegean sea, and to my land\nGive strength; extending thence the opposite plains\nOf either continent shall make their own,\nEurope and Asia, and shall boast their name\nIonians, from the honour'd Ion call'd.\nTo thee by Xuthus shall a son be born,\nDorus, from whom the Dorian state shall rise\nTo high renown; in the Pelopian land,\nAnother near the Rhian cliffs, along\nThe sea-wash'd coast, his potent monarchy\nShall stretch, Achaeus; and his subject realms\nShall glory in their chief's illustrious name.\nWell hath Apollo quitted him in all:\nFirst, without pain he caused thee bear a son.\nThat from thy friends thou mightst conceal his birth;\nAfter the birth, soon as his infant limbs\nThy hands had clothed, to Mercury he gave\nThe charge to take the babe, and in his arms\nConvey him hither; here with tenderness\nHe nurtured him, nor suffer'd him to perish.\nGuard now the secret that he is thy son,\nThat his opinion Xuthus may enjoy\nDelighted: thou too hast thy blessings, lady.\nAnd now, farewell: from this relief from ills\nA prosperous fortune I to both announce.\nION O Pallas, daughter of all-powerful Jove!\nNot with distrust shall we receive thy words:\nI am convinced that Phoebus is my father,\nMy mother she, not unassured before.\nCREUSA Hear me too, now: Phoebus I praise, before\nUnpraised; my son he now restores, of whom\nTill now I deem'd him heedless. Now these gates\nAre beauteous to mine eyes; his oracles\nNow grateful to my soul, unpleasant late.\nWith rapture on these sounding rings my hands\nNow hang; with rapture I address the gates.\nMINERVA This I approve, thy former wayward thoughts\nResign'd, with honour that thou name the god.\nSlow are the gifts of Heaven, but found at length\nNot void of power.\nCREUSA My son, let us now go\nTo Athens.\nMINERVA Go; myself will follow you.\nCREUSA A noble guard, and friendly to the state.\nMINERVA But seat him high on thy paternal throne.\nCREUSA A rich possession, and I glory in him. (MINERVA disappears.)\nCHORUS (singing) Son of Latona and all-powerful Jove,\nApollo, hail! Though fortune's blackest storms\nRage on his house, the man whose pious soul\nReveres the gods, assumes a confidence,\nAnd justly: for the good at length obtain\nThe meed of virtue; but the unholy wretch\n(Such is his nature) never can be happy.\nTHE END","title":"Ion, By Euripides","type":"page"}