California sgional Lcility CO m tfe n a VINilOillO to e s e OF CAlirORNtA o U gg ^i o dO Ativnan iMi « e Of CAliFORNtA c X • io Mvum aw • O THE lIBRAftY OF o C^ n O viNBOillV? *0 « 1 cfc ^3 ^ o AmilJAINn 3tU • 5^ eO uo « K> AHVUSU 3t4i • \ e IME llfiRAIiY OF o § < JO ^ VIN«Oil1V3 iO o O IME UNIVtRSITV O s « SANTA eARBARA » o OF CAltFOIIMA u £0 33^ o dO ASVDSn 3H1 « O AllMSAINn 3H1 o^ yiNDOJllXO iO No. I. MODERN STANDARD DRAMA. EDITED BY EPES SARGENT, -Author of " Vzlasco, a Tragedy," &c. I I : IN FIVE ACTS. BY THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, SERGEANT AT LAW. FROM THE author's LATEST EDITION. With the Stage Directions, Descriptions of Costumes, &c. NEW YORK : PUBLISHED BY JAMES MOWATT & CO. 174 Broadway, Corner of Maiden Lane ; redding and co., and brainard and co., boston ; ceo. jones, alba^y; a. burke, buffalo ; g. h. zeiber, and r. o. berford, philadelpiha j wm. taylor, baltimlire ; robinson and jones, c1^c1nnati ; john sly, 64 royal st. new orleans. PRICE ONE SKILL] NG. THE MODERN STANDARD DRAMA. LIBRARY EDITION (S^iteb bp €f)£S 0argent. The series will be composed principally of such modem dramas of celebrity as, in consequence of the restrictions of copyright in Eng- land, have not yet appeared in any collection of specimens of the British drama. The dramatic chef-d'auvres of Talfourd, Croly, Sheil, Maturin, Bulwer, Tobin, Knowles, Morton, D'Israeli, Leigh Hunt, Mil- man, Jerrold, and others, certainly possess that degree of interest, that no well-selected library should be without them ; and yet few of these works have ever been presented to the American public ia a shape suitable for preservation. It is proposed in the present series to remedy this deficiency. Every number will consist of an entire drama, of a character to please in the closet as weU as on the stage, and accompanied by introductory remarks, historical and critical. The stage-marks and directions, including a description of the costumes of the characters, will be given ; but in no instance will there be a depar- ture from the text of the author. The series will thus not only be serviceable to the actor, but satisfactory to the general reader. The typography of the series wLU be new, large and uniform ; and every number, comprising a distinct and entire work in itself, will be sold at the low price of 12 1-2 cents. The scries will appear periodicaUy on the first and fifteenth of every month, dnd may be had of the principal periodical agents and booksellers in the United States. JAMES MOWATT & CO., Publishers, 174 Broadway, N. Y. No. I. MODERN STANDARD DRAMA. EDITED BY EPES SARGENT, Author of " Velaeco, a Tragedy," &c. 10 I ; IN FIVE ACTS BY THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, SERGEANT AT LAW. " I left no calling for this idle trade, No duty broke, no father disobeyed." FROM THE author's LATEST EDITION. With the Stage Directions, Descriptions of Costumes, &c. NEW-YORK : PUBLISHED BY JAMES M W A T T & CO 174 Broadway. SOLD BY ALL PERIODICAL AGENTS AND BOOESELLEES. 1844. EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION. The Tragedy of Ion was first publicly produced at the Covent Garden Theatre, on the night of Mr. Macready's benefit, 26th of May, 1836. It had been printed, and privately circulated, some months before, but it was not until a London audience had given it the stamp of their approbation, that an edition, large enough to supply the demand of the public, was issued. The success of this piece in the representation was as decided as it was remarkable and unexpected. That a play so strictly classical in its construction and language, so pervaded by the spirit of the mythology of ancient Greece, and so destitute of those melo-dramatic coups de theatre, which are usually considered necessary in order to " bring down the house" — that such a play should not only charm the scholar and the man of letters in the closet, but attract, night after night, large popular audi- ences, in the representation, might well have been a mat- ter of surprise to the author and his friends. Not only in England but in the United States, " Ion'* continues to be one of the most attractive of stock plays. It was feared by those, who read the piece previous to its performance, that the character and mission of the " de- VI voted" hero were such as to place him out of the pale of the sympathies of a modern popular audience ; but it is a great triumph of the author's genius, that notwithstanding the formidable obstacles with which he has to contend, he has placed his tragedy prosperously upon the modern stage, so that it ranks not only among the most beautiful closet dramas, but the most successful acting plays in the English language. " The title of Ion," says Mr. Talfourd, " is borrowed from the Tragedy of Euripides, which gave the first hint of the situation in which its hero is introduced — that of a foundling youth educated in a temple and assisting in its services ; but otherwise there is no resemblance be- tween this imperfect sketch and that exquisite picture." Of Macready's impersonation of the hero, the author says : " It was one of the most remarkable triumphs of ?irt, which has graced the stage of late years. Although other of his performances are abstractedly greater, none I believe approach this as an effort of art, estimated with reference to the nature of the materials which he anima- ted, to the difficulties which he subdued, and to the pre- conceptions which he charmed away. By the graces of beautiful elocution, he beguiled the audience to receive the drama as belonging to a range of associations which are no longer linked with the living world, but which retain an undying interest of a gentler cast, as a thing "which might have been ; and then, by his fearful power of making the fantastic real, he gradually rendered the whole possible — probable — true! The consequence of this extraordinary power of vivifying the frigid, and familiarising the remote, was to dissipate the fears of my firWnds ; to render the play an object of attraction during the short remainder of the season; and to embolden others to attempt the part, and encomage other audiences vu to approve it, even when the power which first gave it sanction was wanting." In regard to Miss Ellen Tree, who, in this country, " illustrated the hero, and made the story of his sufferings and his virtues familiar to transatlantic ears," Mr. Talfourd says : " Who is there who does not feel proud of the just appreciation, by the great American people, of one who is not only the exquisite representative of a range of de- lightful characters, but of all that is most graceful and refined in English womanhood, — or fail to cherish a wish for her fame and happiness, as if she were a particular friend or relation of his own ?" The moral tone of this exquisite play is throughout vigourous and healthy. The strong anti-monarchical prin- ciples, which it inculcates, are manifest on every page ; and should contribute largely to its popularity in republi- can America. The characters of Ion and Adrastus are pourtrayed and contrasted with a master hand ; and the subordinate persons of the drama are all skilfully indivi- duahzed. Indeed, the play promises long to retain its high place among the most admired and perfect specimens of the British drama. STAGE COSTUMES OP THE CHARACTERS. ADRASTUS. — Grecian shirt, gold breastplate and Lamber- kins, fleshings, sandals, regal robes, and crown. MEDOJS. — White surplice, white robes — toga form, gold bands, vitta round head — white ribbons, fleshings and sandals. CTESIPHON.— Grecian shirt, silver breastplate, Lamber- Kins, helmet, fleshings and sandals. CRYTHES. — Grecian shirt, Lamberkins, breastplate, helm- et, fleshings and sandals. PHOCION. — Grecian shirt, white toga, fleshings, and sandals. CASSANDER.— Same as Phocion. AGENOR. — White surplice, white robes, fleshings, and san- dals. — Like a Priest of Apollo. CLEON.— The same— Priest's dress. TIMOCLES.— Same as Cleon. ION. — Gecian white shirt, white toga — edged with Grecian border ; fleshings and sandals. Second Dress. — Same as Adrastus. IRUS. — Grecian white shirt, fleshings and sandals. SOLDIERS. — Grecian shirts, breast plates, Lamberkins, helmets, fleshings and sandals. CLEM ANTHE.— White and gold Grecian head dress, white dress, white ribbons. ABR A.. — Grecian dress — plain. THEATRICAL MEMORANDA. R. means Right; L. Left; C. Centre; R. C. Right of Centre; L. C. Left of Centre; D. F. Door in Flat; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door; S. E. Second E?iirance; V.'K.Upper Entrance; C. D. Centre Door. *^* The Reader is supposed to be on the Stage facing the Audience. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA, AS REPRESENTED AT COVENT GARDEN THEATRE. Adrasttts, King of Argos, Crtthes, Captain of the Royal Guard, Phocion, Son of Medon, cS.r£, I N^W^Argive Youths. Ion, Agenor, ) Cleon, > Sages of Argos, TiMOCLES, ) Irus, a boy, slave to Agenor, Clemanthe, Daughter of Medon, Abka, Attendant on Clemanthe, Mr. Dale. Mr. Vandenhoff. Mr. C. Hill. Mr. Roberts. Mr. G. Bennett. Mr. H. Wallack. Mr. J. Webster. Mr. Howard. Mr. Macready. Mr. Pritchard. Mr. Tilbury. Mr. Harris. Miss Lane. Miss Ellen Tree. Miss H. Faucit. Miss Lacy. In the United States, Miss Ellen Tree personated the part of Ion, at the principal Theatres. SCENE— ARGOS. The TurE of the Action is comprised in one day and night, and the following morning. ION: ACT I. Scene I. — The Interior of the Temple of Apollo, which is supposed to he placed on a rocky eminence. — Early morn- ing. — The interior lighted hy a single lamp suspended from the roof. — Agenor resting against a column, r. — Irus seated on a bench at the side of the scene, l. Agenor comes forward and speaks, c. Agenor. Will the dawn never visit us 1 These hours Toil heavy with the unresting curse they bear To do the work of desolating years ! All distant sounds are hush'd ; — the shriek of death And the survivors' wail are now unheard, As grief had woni itself to patience. Irus ! I'm loth so soon to break thy scanty rest, But my heart sickens for the tardy morn ; Sure it is breaking ; speed and look — yet hold — Know'st thou the fearful shelf of rock that hangs Above the encroaching waves, the loftiest point That stretches eastward % Irus. Know it 1 Yes, my lord ; There often have I bless'd the opening day, Which thy free kindness gave me leave to waste In happy wandering through the forests. 12 ION. [Act I. Agen. Well, Thou art not then afraid to tread it ; there The earliest streak from the unrisen sun Is to be welcomed ; tell nie how it gleams, In bloody portent, or in saffron hope, And hasten back to slumber. Irus. I shall hasten ; Believe not that thy summons broke my rest ; I was not sleeping. [^Exit, L. Agen. Heaven be with thee, child ! His grateful mention of delights bestow'd On that most piteous state of servile childhood By liberal words chance-dropp'd, hath touch'd a vein Of feeling which I deem'd forever numb'd, And, by a gush of household memories, breaks The icy casing of that thick despair Which day by day hath gather'd o'er my heart, While, basely safe, within this column'd circle. Uplifted far into the purer air, And by Apollo's partial love secured, I have, in spirit, glided with the Plague, As in foul darkness or in sickliest light It Avafted death through Argos : and mine ears*, Listening athirstfor any human sound. Have caught the disinal cry of confused pain, Which to this dizzy height the fitful wind Hath borne from each sad quarter of the vale Where life was. Re-enter Irus, l. Are there signs of day -break % Irus. None ; The eastern sky is still unbroken gloom. Agen. It cannot surely be. Thine eyes are dim (No fault of thine) for want of rest, or now I look upon them near, with scalding tears. Hath care alighted on a head so young ! What grief hast thou been weeping 1 Iriis. Pardon me ; I never thought at such a mournful time To plead my humble sorrow in excuse SCEKE I.] ION. 13 Of poorly-rendered service : but my brother — Thou may'st have noted him, — a sturdy lad, With eye so men-y and with foot so light That none could chide his gamesomeness — fell sick But yesterday, and died in my w^eak arms Ere I could seek for stouter aid ; I hoped That I had taught my grief to veil its signs From thy observant care ; but when I stood Upon the well-known ten-ace wheie we loved. Arm link'd in arm, to watch the gleaming sails — His favourite pastime, for he bum'd to share A seaman's hardy lot — my tears would flow. And I forgot to dry them. But I see Cleon is walking yonder ; let me call him ; For sure 'twill cheer thy heart to speak with him. Agen. Call him, good youth, and then go in to sleep, Or, if thou wilt, go weep. [Exit Irus, l. I envy thee The privilege, but Jupiter forefend That I should rob thee of it ! Enter Cleov, l. Cleon. Hail, Agenor ! Dark as our lot remains, 'tis comfort yet To find thy age unstricken. Agen. Rather mourn That I am destined still to linger here, In strange unnatural strength, while death is round me. I chide these sinews that are framed so tough Grief cannot palsy them ; I chide the air Which round this citadel of nature breathes With sweetness not of this world ; I would share The common grave of my dear countrymen, And sink to rest, while all familiar things Old custom has endeared are failing with me, Rather than shiver on in life behind them. Nor should these walls detain me from the paths Where death may be embraced, but that my word, In a rash moment plighted to our host. Forbids me to depart without his license, Which firmly he refuses. 14 ION. [Act I. Cleon. Do not chide me, If I rejoice to find the generous Priest Means, with Apollo's blessing, to preserve The treasure of thy wisdom ; — nay, he trusts not To pi'omises alone ; his gates are barr'd Against thy egress : — none, indeed, may pass them, Save the youth Ion, to whose earnest prayer His foster-father grants reluctant leave To visit the sad city at his will : And freely does he use the dangerous boon, Whicli, in my thought, the love that cherish'd him. Since he was found within the sacred grove Smiling amidst the storm, a most rare infant. Should have had sternness to deny. Agen. What, Ion, The only inmate of this fane, allow'd To seek the mournful walks where death is busy ! — Ion, our sometime darling, whom we prized As a stray gift, by bounteous Heaven dismiss'd From some bright s])here which son'ow may not cloud. To make the happy happier 1 Is he sent To grapple with the miseries of this time, Whose nature such ethereal aspect wears As it would perish at the touch of wi'ong ? By no internal contest is he trained For such hard duty ; no emotions rude Have his clear spirit vanquish'd ; — Love, the germ Of his mild nature, hath spi-ead graces forth, Expanding with its progress, as the store Of rainbow colour which the seed conceals Sheds out its tints from its dim treasury, To flush and circle in the flower. No tear Hath fill'd his eye save that of thoughtful joy. When, in the evening stillness, lovely things Press'd on his soul too busily ; his voice, If in the earnestness of childish sports. Raised to the tone of anger, check'd its force, As if it fear'd to break its being's law. And falter'd into music : when the forms Of guilty passion have been made to live In pictured speech, and others have wax'd loud Scene I.] ION. 15 In righteous indignation, he hath heara With sceptic smile, or from some slender vein Of goodness, which suiTounding gloom conceal'd, Struck sunlight o'er it : so his life hath flow'd From its mysterious urn a sacred stream, In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure Alone are min-or'd ; which, though shapes of iU May hpver round its surface, glides in light. And takes no shadow from them. Clean. Yet, methinks. Thou hast not lately met him, or a change Pass'd strangely on him had not miss'd thy wonder. His form appears dilated ; in those eyes. Where pleasure danced, a thoughtful sadness dwells ; Stern purpose knits the forehead, which till now Knew not the passing wrinkle of a care ; Those limbs which in their heedless motion own'd A stripling's playfizl happiness, are strong As if the iron hardships of the camp Had given them sturdy nurture ; and his step. Its airiness of yesterdajj^ forgotten, Awakes the echoes of these desolate courts, As if a hero of gigantic mould Paced them in armour, Agen. Hope is in thy tale. This is no freak of Nature's wayward course. But work of jjitying Heaven ; for not in vain The gods have pour'd into that guileless heart The strengths that nerve the hero ; — they are ours. CI eon. How can he aid us 1 Can he stay the pulse Of ebbing life, — arrest the infected winds. Or smite the hungry spectre of the grave 1 Agen. And dost thou think these bi-eezes are our foes, — The innocent airs that used to dance around us, As if they felt the blessings they convey'd. Or that the death they bear is casual % No ! 'Tis human guilt that blackens in the cloud, Flashes athwart its mass in jagged fire. Whirls in the hurricane, pollutes the air. Turns all the joyous melodies of earth To murmurings of doom. There is a foe. 16 ION. [Act t Who in the glorious summit of the state Draws down the great resentment of the gods, Whom he defies to stiike us ; — yet his power Partakes that just infirmity which Nature Blends in the empire of her proudest sons — That it is cased within a single breast, And may be pluck'd thence by a single arm. Let but that arm, selected by the gods, Do its great office on the tyrant's life, And Argos breathes again ! Clcon. A footstep ! — hush ! Thy wishes, falling on a slavish ear, Would tempt another outrage : 'tis a friend — An honest though a crabbed one — Timocles : Something hath ruffled him. Good day, Timocles ! - [Timocles passes infrorU. He will not speak to us, Agen. But he shall speak. Timocles — nay then, thus I must enforce thee ! \8taymghim. Sure thou wilt not refuse a comrade's hand, That may be cold ere sunset. TV?«. (giving his hand.) Thou may'st school me ; Thy years and love have license ; but I own not A stripling's mastery; is't fit, A gen or ? Agcn. Nay, thou must tell thy wrong : whate'er it prove, I hail thy anger as a hopeful sign. For it revives the thought of household days. When the small bickerings of friends had space To fret, and Death was not forever nigh To frown upon Estrangement. AVliat has moved thee ? Tim. I blush to tell it. Weary of the night And of my life, I sought the western portal : It opened, when ascending from the stair That through the rock winds spiral from the town, Ion, the foundling cherish'd by the Priest, • Stood in the entrance : with such mild command As he has often smilingly obey'd, I bade him stand aside and let me pass ; When — wouldst thou think it % — in determined speech, He gave me counsel to return ; I press'd Impatient onward : he, with honey'd phrase Scene I.] ICW. 17 His daring act excusing, grasped my arm With strength resistless; led me from the gate ; Replaced its ponderous bars ; and, with a look As modest as he wore in childhood, left me. Agen. And thou wilt thank him for it soon : he comes — Now hold thy angry purpose, if thou can'st ! Enter Ion, l. Ion. I seek thee, good Timocles, to implore Again thy pardon. I am young in trust, And fear, lest, in the earnestness of love, I stayed thy course too rudely. Thou hast borne My childish folly often, — do not frown If I have ventui-ed with unmanner'd zeal To guard the ripe exj^eriences of years From one rash moment's danger. Tim. Leave thy care. If I am weary of the flutterer life, Is mortal bidding thus to cage it in % Ion (crosses cj. And art thou tired of being? Has the grave No terrors for thee 1 Hast thou sunder'd quite Those thousand meshes which old custom weaves To bind us earthward, and gay fancy films With airy lustre various 1 Hast subdued Those cleavings of the spirit to its prison, Those nice regards, dear habits, pensive memories, That change the valour of the thoughtful breast To brave dissimulation of its fears I Is Hope quench'd in thy Ijosom 1 Thou art free. And in the simple dignity of man Standest apart untempted ; — do not lose The great occasion thou hast pluck'd from misery, Nor play the spendthrift with a gi-eat despair, But use it nobly ! l^im. What, to sti'ike 1 to slay Io?i. No ! — not unless the audible voice of Heaven Call thee to that dire office ; but to shed On ears abused by falsehood, truths of power In words immortal, — not such words as flash From the fierce demagogue's unthinking rage, To madden for a moment and expire, — 18 ION. [Act I Nor such as the rapt orator imbues "With warmth of facile sympathy, and moulds To mirrors radiant with fair images, , To grace the noble fervour of an hour ; — But words which bear the spirits of great deeds Wing'd for the Future ; which the dying breath Of Freedom's martyr shapes as it exhales, And to the most enduring forms of earth Commits — to linger in the craggy shade Of the huge valley, 'neath the eagle's home, Or in the sea-cave where the tempest sleeps, Till some heroic leader bid them Avake To thrill the world with echoes ! — But I talk Of things above my grasp, which strangely press Upon my soul, and tempt me to forget The duties of my youth ; pray you forgive me. ^ Thn. Have I not said so 1 Agcn. AV'elcome to the mom ! The eastern gates unfold, the Priest approaches ; [As Agenor speaks, the great gates at the back of the Scene open ; the Sea is discovercdfar beneath, — the dawn breaking over it. Medon, the Priest, enters, attended. And lo ! the sun is struggling vnlh. the gloom, Whose masses fill the eastern sky, and tints Its edges with dull red ; — but he will triuraph ; Bless'd be the omen ! Medon. God of light and joy. Once more delight us with tliy healing beams ! If I may trace thy language in the clouds That wait upon thy rising, help is nigh — But help achieved in blood. Ion. Say'st thou in blood ? Medon. Yes, Ion ! — 'why, he sickens at the word, Spite of his new-born strength: the sights of woe That he will seek have shed their paleness on him. Has this night's walk shown more than common sorrow ? Ion. I pass'd the palace whei-e the frantic king Yet holds his crimson revel, whence the roar Of desperate mirth came, mingling with the sigh Of death-subdued robustness, and the gleam Scene IJ lOIT. 19 Of festal lamps 'mid spectral columns hung Flaunting o'er shapes of anguish, made them ghastlier. How can I cease to tremble for the sad ones He mocks — and him, the wretchedest of all] Tim, And canst thou pity him % Dost thou discern, Amidst his impious darings, plea for him ? Ion. Is he not childless, friendless, and a king? He's human ; and some pulse of good must live Within his nature — have ye tried to w^ake it 1 Mcdon. Yes ; I believe he felt our sufferings once ; When, at my strong entreaty, he despatch'd Phocion, my son, to Delphos, there to seek Our cause of sorrow; but, as time dragg'd on Without his messengei''s return, he grew Impatient of all counsel, — to his palace In awful mood retiring, wildly call'd The reckless of his court to share its stores, And end all with him. When we dared disturb His dreadful feasting with a humble prayer That he would meet us, the poor slave, who boro The message, flew back smarting from the scourge, And mutter'd a decree that he who next Unbidden met the tyrant's glance, should die. Agcn. I am prepared to brave it, Cleon. So am I. Tim. And I— Ion. O, Sages, do not think my prayer Bespeaks unseemly forwardness^send me ! The coarsest reed that trembles in the marsh, ^ If Heaven select it for its instrument. May shed celestial music on the breeze, As clearly as the pipe whose virgin gold Befits the lip of Phoebus ; — ye are wise ; And needed by your country ; ye are fathers ! I am a lone stray thing, whose little life By strangers' bounty cherish'd, like a wave, That from the summer sea a wanton breeze Lifts for a moment's sparkle, will subside Light as it rose, nor leave a sigh in breaking. Medon. Ion, no sigh ! Ion. Forgive me, if X seem'd 20 ION. [Act I. To doubt that thou wilt mourn me if I fall; Nor would I tax thy love with such a fear, But that high promptings, which could never rise Spontaneous in my nature, bid me plead Thus boldly for the mission. Medon. Isly brave boy ! It shall be as thou wilt. I see thou art call'd To this great peril, and I will not stay thee. When wilt thou be prepared to seek it 1 Ion. Now. Only before I go, thus, on my knee, Let me in one woi'd thank thee for a life Made by thy love a cloudless holiday ; And, oh, my more than father ! let me look Up to thy face, as if indeed a father's, And give me a son's blassing. JSIcdon. Bless thee, son ! I should be marble now ; let's part at once. Ion. If I should not return, bless Phocion for me ; And, for Clemanthe — may I speak one word, One parting word, with my fair playfellow 1 Medoji. if thou wouldst have it so, thou shalt. Ifm. Farewell then ! Your prayers wait on my steps. The arm of Heaven I feel, in life or death, will be around me. [Exit, l. Medon. O grant it be in life ! Let's to the sacrifice. [Exeunt, K. SCENE II. — An Apartment of the Temple. Enter Q-ly.sw^-vw^, followed by Abra, r. Clem. Is he so changed 1 Abra. His bearing is so alter'd, That, distant, I scarce kne%v him for himself; But, looking in his face, I felt his smile Gracious as ever, though its sweetness wore Unwonted sorrow in it. Clcyn. He ^vill go To some high fortune, and forget us all, Reclaim'd (be sure of it) by noble parents; Me, he forgets already ; for five days, Five melancholy days, I have not seen him. BCERE II.] ION. 21 Ahra. Thou knowest that he has privilege to range The infected city ; and, 'tis said, he spends The hours of needful rest in squalid hovels Where death is most forsaken. Clem. Why is this ] Why should my father, niggard of the lives Of aged men, be prodigal of youth So rich in glorious prophecy as his ? Abra. He comes to answer for himself. I'll leave you. [Exit, R. Clem. Stay ! Well ray heart may guard its secret best By its own strength. EnterloN, l. Ion. How fares my pensive sister ] Clem. How should I fare but ill, when the pale hand Draws the black foldings of the eternal curtain Closer and closer round us — Phocion absent — And thou, forsaking all within thy home, Wilt risk thy life with strangers, in whose aid Even thou canst do but little 1 Ion. It is little : But in these shai-p extremities of fortune, The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter Have their own season. 'Tis a little thing To give a cup of water ; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. It is a little thing to speak a phrase Of common comfort, which by daily use Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear Of him who thought to die unmoum'd, 'twill fall Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand To know the bonds of fellowship again; And shed on the departing soul a sense, More precious than the benison of friends About the honoured death-bed of the rich, To him who else were lonely, that another Of the great family is near and feels. 22 ION. [Act I. Clem. Oh, tliou canst never bear these mournful of- fices ! So blithe, so meiTy once ! Will not the sight Of frenzied agonies unfix thy reason. Or the dumb woe congeal thee ? Ion. No, Clemanthe : They are the patient soitows that touch nearest ! If thou hadst seen the warrior, when he writhed In the last grapple of his sinewy frame With conquering anguish, strive to cast a smile (And not in vain) upon his fragile wife, Waning beside him, — and, his limbs composed, The widow of the moment fix her gaze Of longing, speechless love, upon the babe, The only living thing which yet was hers, Spreading its arms for its own resting-place, Yet with attenuated hand wave off The unstricken child, and so embraceless die Stifling the mighty hunger of the heart ; Thou could' St endure the sight of selfish grief In sullenness or frenzy^ — ^but to-day Another lot falls on me. Clem. Thou wilt leave us ! I read it plainly in thy altered mien. Is it for ever ] Ion. That is with the gods ! I go but to the palace, urged by hope, Which from afar hath darted on my soul. That to the humbleness of one like me The haughty king may listen. Clem. To the palace ! Knowest thou the peril — nay, the certain issue That waits thee 1 Death ! — The tyrant has decreed it. Confirmed it with an oath ; and he has power To keep that oath ; for, hated as he is, The reckless soldiers who partake his riot Are swift to do his bidding. Ion. I know all ! But they who call me to the work can shield me, Or make me strong to suffer. Clefn. Then the sword Scene II.] ION. 23 Falls on thy neck ! O gods ! to think that thou, Who in the plenitude of youthful life Art now before me, ere the sun decline, Perhaps in one short hour, shalt lie cold, cold, To speak, smile, bless no more ! — Thou shalt not go ! Ion. Thou must not stay me, fair one : even thy father, Who (blessings on him !) loves me as his son. Yields to the will of Heaven. Clem. And can he do this ! I shall not bear his presence, if thou fallest By his consent : so shall I be alone. Ion. Phocion will soon return, and juster thoughts Of thy admiring father close the gap Thy old companion left behind him. Clem. Never ! What will to me be father, brother, friends, When thou art gone — the light of our life quench'd — Haunting like spectres of departed joy The home where thou wert dearest ] Ion. Thrill me not With words that, in their agony, suggest A hope too ravishing, — or my head will swim, And my heart faint within me. Clem. Has my speech Such blessed power ? I will not mourn it then, Though it had told a secret I had borne Till death in silence : how affection grew To tliis> I know not : — day succeeded day, Each fraught with the same innocent delights, 19 Without one shock to ruffle the disguise Of sisterly regard which veil'd it well, Till thy changed mien reveal'd it to my soul, And thy great peril makes me bold to tell it. Do not desjjise it in me ! Ion. With deep joy Thus 1 receive it. Trust me, it is long Since I have leam'd to tremble 'mid our pleasures, Lest I should break the golden dream around me With most ungrateful rashness. I should bless The sharp and perilous duty which hath press'd A life's deliciousness into these moments, — 24 ION. [Aci I. Which here must end* I came to say farewell, And the word must be said. Clem. Thou can'st not mean it ! Have I disclaimed all maiden bashfulness, To tell the cherished secret of my soul To my soul's master, and in rich return Obtained the dear assurance of his love, To hear him speak that miserable word I cannot — will not echo 1 Ion. Heaven has called me, And I have pledged my honour. Wlien thy heart Bestowed its preference on a friendless boy, Thou didst not image him a recreant ; nor Must he prove so, by thy election crown'd. Thou hast endow'd me with a right to claim Thy help through this our journey, be its course Lengthen'd to age, or in an hour to end ; And now I ask it ! — Bid my courage hold, And with thy free approval send me forth In soul apparelled for my office ! Clem. Go! I would not have thee other than thou art, Living or dying ; and if thou shouldst fall — Ion. Be sure I shall retura. Clem. If thou shouldst fall, I shall be ha23pier as the affianced bride Of thy cold ashes, than in proudest fortunes — Thine — ever thine — [She faints in his arms. Ion (calls.) Abra ! — So best to part — Enter Abra, with attendant, r. Let her have air ; be near her through the day ; I know thy tenderness — should ill news come, Of any friend, she will require it all. [Abra hears Clemanthe out, R. Ye gods, that have enriched the life ye claim With priceless treasure, strengthen me to Jield it ! {Exit, L. END OP ACT I. Scene I.] ION. 25 ACT II Scene I. — A terrace of the Palace. Adrastus, Crythes, and Guards, from the Terrace, c. Adras. The air breathes freshly after our long night Of glorious revelry. I '11 walk awhile. Cry. It blows across the town : dost thou not fear It bear infection with it ? Adras. Fear ! dost talk Of fear to me ] I deem'd even thy poor thoughts Had better scann'd their master. Prithee tell me. In what act, word, or look, since I have borne Thy converse here, hast thou discern'd such baseness As makes thee bold to prate to me of fear 1 Cry. My liege, of human might all know thee fearless ; But may not heroes shun the elements Wlien sickness taints them 1 Adras. Let them blast me now ! — I stir not — tremble not ! These massive walls Whose date o'erawes tradition, gird the home Of a great race of kings, along whose line The eager mind lives aching, through the darkness Of ages else unstoried, till its shapes Of armed sovereigns spread to godlike port, And, frowning in the uncertain dawn of time, Strike awe, as powers who ruled an elder world, In mute obedience. I, sad heritor Of all their glories, feel our doom is nigh ; And I will meet it as befits their fame : Nor will I vary my selected path The breadth of my sword's edge, nor check a vnsh If such unkingly yielding might avert it. Cry. Thou art ever royal in thy thoughts. Adras. No more — I would be private. [Exit Cryt^hes, with guards, E. Grovelling parasite ! Why should I waste these fate-environ'd hours, And pledge my great defiance to despair. With flatterers such as thou ! — as if my joys 26 ION. [Act II. Required the pale reflections cast by slaves In mirror'd mockery round my throne, or lack'd The aid of reptile sympathies to stream Through fate's black pageantry 1 Let weakness seek Companionship : I'll henceforth feast alone. Enter a Soldier, r. Sol. My liege, forgive me. Adras. Well ! speak out at once Thy business and retire. Sol. I have no part In the presumptuous message that I bear. Adras. Tell it, or go. Tliere is no time to waste On idle terrors. Sol. Thus it is, my lord : — As we were burnishing our arms, a man Enter'd the court, and when we saw him first Was tending towards the palace ; in amaze We hail'd the rash intruder; still he walk'd Unheeding onward, till the western gate Barr'd further course : then turning-, he besouffht Our startled band to herald him to tiiee, That he might urge a message which the sages Had charged him to deliver. Adras. Ha! the greybeards, Who, 'mid the altars of the gods, conspire To cast the image of supernal power From earth, its shadow consecrates. What sage Is so resolved to play the orator That he would die for't ? Sol. He is but a youth, Yet urged his prayer with a sad constancy AVTiich could not be denied. Adras. Most bravely plann'd ! Sedition worthy of the reverent host Of sophist traitors ; brave to scatter fancies Of discontent 'midst sturdy artizans, Whose honest sinews they dii'ect unseen, And make their proxies in the work of peril ! 'Tis fit, when burning to insult their king, And warn'd the pleasure must be bought with life, SCEHE I.] ION. 27 Their valour send a boy to speak their wisdom ! Thou know'st my last decree ; tell this rash youth The danger he incurs ; then let him pass, And own the king more gentle than his masters. Sol. We have already told him of the fate, Which waits his daring ; courteously he thank'd us. But still with solemn aspect urged his suit. Adras. Tell him once more, if he pei'sists, he dies — Then, if he will, admit him. Should he hold His purpose, order Crythes to conduct him. And see the headsman instantly prepare To do his office. \Exit Soldier. So resolved, so young — 'Twere pity he should fall ; yet he must fall. Or the great sceptre, which hath sway'd the fears Of ages, will become a common staff". For youth to wield or age to rest upon, Despoil'd of all its virtues. He must fall, Else, they who prompt the insult will grow bold, And with their pestilent vauntings through the city Raise the low fog of murky discontent. Which now creeps harmless through its marshy birth-place To veil my setting glories. He is warn'd ; And if he cross yon threshold, he shall die. Enter Crythes and Ion, r. Cry. The king! Adras. Stranger, I liid thee welcome*, We are about to tread the same dark passage, Thou almost on the instant. Is the sword [ To Crythes. Of justice shai-pen'd, and the headsman ready 1 Cry. Thou mayst behold them plainly in the court : Even now the solemn soldiers line the ground ; The steel gleams on the altar; and the slave Disrobes himself for duty. Adras. [to Ion.) Dost thou see them 1 Ion. I do. Adras. By Heaven, he does not change ! If, even now, thou wilt depart, and leave Thy traitorous thoughts unspoken, thou ait free. Ion. I thank thee for thy offer ; but I stand 38 RW. [Act H. Before thee for the lives of thousands, rich In all that makes life precious to the brave ; Who perish not alone, but in their fall Break the far spreading tendrils that they feed, And leave them nurtureless. If thou wilt heai* me For them, I am content to speak no more. Adras. Thou hast thy wish then. Crythes ! till yon dial Casts its thin shadow on the approaching hour, I hear this gallant traitor. On the instant, Come without word, and lead him to his doom. Now leave us. Cry. What, alone ? Adras. Yes, slave ! alone. He is no assassin ! [Exit Crythes, r. Tell me who thou art. What generous source ov^ms that heroic blood, Which holds its course thus bravely 1 What great wars Have nursed the courage that can look on death, Certain and speedy death, with placid eye 1 Io?i. I am a simple youth, who never bore The weight of armour, — one who may not boast Of noble birth or valour of his own. Deem not the powers which nei-ve me thus to speak In thy great presence, and have made my heart Upon the verge of bloody death as calm, As equal in its beatings, as when sleep Approach'd me nestling from the sportive toils Of thoughtless childhood, and celestial dreams Began to glimmer through the deepening shadows Of soft oblivion, — to belong to me ! These are the strengths of Heaven : to thee they speak, Bid thee to hearken to thy people's cry, Or warn thee that thy hour must shortly come ! Adras. I know it must ; so mayst thou spare thy wamr ings. The envious gods in me have doom'd a race. Whose glories stream fi'om the same cloud-girt founts, Whence their own dawn'd upon the infant world ; And I shall sit on my ancestral throne To meet their vengeance ; but, till then, I rule As I have ever ruled, and thou wilt feel. Scene I.] ION. 29 Ion. I will not further urge thy safety to thee ; It may be, as thou sayst, too late ; nor seek To make thee tremble at the gathering curse Which shall burst forth in mockery at thy fall : But thou art gifted witli a nobler sense — I know thou art, my sovereign ! — sense of pain Endured by myi-iad Argives, in whose souls, And in whose fathers' souls, thou and thy fathers Have kept their cherish'd state ; whose heaitstrings, still The living fibres of thy rooted power, Quiver with agonies thy crimes have drawn From heavenly justice on them. Adras. How ! my crimes ] Ion. Yes ; 'tis the eternal law, that whel'e guilt is, Son'ow shall answer it ; and thou hast not A poor man's privilege to bear alone, Or in the narrow circle of his kinsmen. The penalties of evil, for in thine A nation's fate lies circled. — King Adrastus ! Steel'd as thy heart is with the usages Of pomp and power, a few short summers since Thou wert a child, and canst not be relentless. Oh, if maternal love embraced thee then, Think of the mothers who with eyes unwet Glai'e o'er their perishing children : hast thou shared The glow of a first friendshijj, which is born 'Midst the rude sports of boyhood, think of youth Smitten amidst its playthings ; let the spirit Of thy own innocent childhood whisper pity ! Adras. In every word thou dost but steel my soul. My youth, was blasted : parents, brother, kin^ All that should people infancy with joy — Conspired to poison mine ; despoil'd my life Of innocence and hope — all but the sword And sceptre — dost thou wonder at me now 1 Ion. I knew that we should pity — Adras. Pity ! dare To speak that word again, and torture waits thee ! I am yet king of Argos. Well, go on — Thy time is short, and I am pledged to hear. Ion. If thou hast ever loved — 30 ION. [Act II. Adras. Beware ! beware ! Ion. Thou hast ! I see thou hast ! Thou art not marble, And thou shalt hear me !— -Thmk upon the time When the clear depths of thy yet lucid soul Were ruffled with the troublings of strange joy, As if some unseen visitant from heaven Touch'd the calm lake, and wTeathed its images In sparkling waves ! Recall the dallying hope That on the margin of assurance trembled, As loth to lose in certainty top bless'd, Its happy being ; taste in thought again Of the stolen sweetness of those evening walks, When pansied tui^f was air to winged feet, And circling forests, by ethereal touch Enchanted, wore the livery of the sky, As if about to melt in golden light Shapes of one heavenly vision ; and thy heart, Enlarged by its new sympathy with one, Grew bountiful to all ! Adras. That tone ! that tone ! Whence came it ? from thy lips ! it cannot be — The long-hush'd music of the only voice That ever spake unbought affection to me. And waked my soul to blessing ! O sweet hours Of golden joy, ye come ! your glories break Through my pavilion'd spirit's sable folds ! Roll on ! roll on ! Sti'anger, thou dost enforce me To speak of things unbreathed by lip of mine To human ear : wilt listen % Ion. As a child. Adras, Again ! that voice again ! thou hast seen me moved As never mortal saw me, by a tone Which some light breeze, enamour'd of the sound. Hath wafted through the woods, till thy j'^oung voice Caught it to rive and melt me. At my birth This city, which, expectant of its Prince, Lay hush'd, broke out in clamorous ecstacies ; Yet, in that moment, while the uplifted cups Foam'd with the choicest product of the sun. And welcome thunder'd from a thousand throats, Scene I.] ION. 31 My doom was seal'd. From the hearth's vacant space, In the dark chamber where my mother lay, Faint with the sense of pain-bought happiness. Came forth, in heait-appalHng tone, these words Of me the nurseling : — " Woe unto the babe ! ** Against the life which now begins, shall life, " Lighted from thence, be arm'd, and, both soon quench'd, "End this great line in soitow 1" — Ere I grew Of years to know inyself a thing accui'sed, A second son was bom, to steal the love "V^-Tiich fate had else scarce rifled : he became My parents' hope, the darling of the crew Who lived uj^on their smiles, and thought it flattery To trace in every foible of my youth — A prince's youth ! — the workings of the curse. My very mother — Jove ! I cannot bear To speak it noAv — looked freezingly upon me ! Ion. But thy brother — Adras. Died. Thou hast heard the lie, The common lie that every peasant tells Of me his master, — that I slew the boy. 'Tis false ! One summer's eve, behnv a crag Which, in his wilful mood, he strove to climb, He lay a mangled coi-pse : the veiy slaves, Whose cruelty had shut him from my heart, Now coined their own injustice into proofs To brand me as his murderer. Io7i. Did they dare Accuse thee ? Adras. Not in open speech : they felt I should have seized the miscreant by the throat, And crushed the lie, half-spoken, with the life Of the base speaker ; but the lie look'd out From the stolen gaze of coward eyes, which shrank When mine have met them ; murmur'd through the crowd That at the sacrifice, or feast, or game. Stood distant from me; burnt into my soul When I beheld it in my father's shudder ! Ion. Didst not declare thy innocence ] Adras. To whom ? To parents who could doubt me % To the ring 32 ION. PACT II Of grave impostors, or their shallow sons, Who should have studied to prevent my wish, Before it grew to language ; hailed my choice To service as a prize to wrestle for ; And whose reluctant courtesy I bore, Pale with proud anger, till from lips compress'd The blood has started 1 To the common herd. The vassals of our ancient house, the mass Of bones and muscles framed to till the soil A few brief years, then rot unnamed beneath it, Or, deck'd for slaughter at their master's call, To smite and to be smitten, and lie crush'd In heaps to swell his glory or his shame ] Answer to them 1 No ! though my heait had burst, As it was nigh to bursting ! — To the mountains I fled, and on their pinnacles of snow Breasted the icy Avind, in hope to cool My spirit's fever — struggled with the oak In search of weariness, and learn'd to rive Its stubborn boughs, till limbs, once lightly strung, Might mate in cordage with its infant stems ; Or on the sea-beat rock tore off the vest Which burat upon my bosom, and to air Headlong committed, clove the water's depth Which plummet never sounded ; — but in vain. Ion. Yet succour came to thee ] Ailras. A blessed one ! Which the strange magic of thy voice revives, And thus unlocks my soul. My rapid steps Were, in a wood-encircled valley, stayed By the bright vision of a maid, whose face Most lovely, more than loveliness reveal'd, In touch of patient ginef, which dearer seem'd Than happiness to spirit sear'd like mine. With feeble hands she strove to lay in earth The body of her aged sire, whose death Left her alone. I aided her sad work, And soon two lonely ones, by holy rites. Became one happy being. Days, weeks, months^ In stream-like unity flow'd silent by us In our delightful nest. My father's spies — ScEira I.] ION. 33 Slaves, Avhom my nod should have consign'd to stripes Or the swift falchion — tracked our sylvan home Just as my bosom knew its second joy, And, spite of fortune, I embraced a son. Ion. Urged by thy trembling parents to avert That dreadful prophecy % Adras. Fools ! did they deem Its worst accomplishment could match the ill Which they wrought on me ? It had left unharm'd A thousand ecstacies of passion'd years, Which, tasted once, live ever, and disdain Fate's iron grapple ! Could I now behold That son, with knife uplifted at my heart, A moment ere my life-blood followed it, I would embrace him with my dying eyes. And pardon destiny ! While jocund smiles Wreathed on the infant's face, as if sweet spirits Suggested pleasant fancies to its soul. The ruffians broke upon us ; seized the child j Dash'd through the thicket to the beetling rock 'Neath which the deep wave eddies : I stood still As stricken into stone ; I heard him cry, Press'd by the rudeness of the murderer's gripe, Severer ill unfearing — then the splash Of waters that shall cover him for ever ; And could not stir to save him ! Ion. And the inother — Adras. She spake no word, but clasped me in her arms. And lay her down to die. A lingering gaze Of love she fix'd on me — none other loved, — And so pass'd hence. By Jupiter, her look! Her dying patience glimmers in thy face ! She lives again ! She looks upon me. now ! There's magic in't. Bear with me — I am childish. Enter Crythes, and Guards, r. Adras. Why art thou here % Cry. The dial points the hour. Adras. Dost thou not see that horrid purpose pass'd ? Hast thou no heart — no sense ? Cry. Scarce half an hour 34 H)N [Act II Hath flown since the command on which I wait. Adras. Scarce half an hour ! — years — years have roU'd since then. Begone ! remove that pageantry of death — It blasts my sight — and hearken ! Touch a hair Of this brave youth, or look on him as now i With thy cold headsman's eye, and yonder band \ Shall not expect a fearful show in vain. * Hence, without word ! \^Exit Crythes, h. What wouldst thou have me do 1 Ion. Let thy awakened heart speak its own language ; Convene thy Sages ; — frankly, nobly meet them ; Explore with them the pleasure of the gods, And, whatsoe'er the sacrifice, perform it. Adras. Well ! I will seek their presence in an hour ; Go summon them, young hero : hold ! no word Of the strange passion thou hast witness'd here. Ion. Distrust me not ! — Benignant powers, I thank ye ! [Exit, R. Adras. Yet stay — he's gone — his spell is on me yet ; What have I promised him 1 To meet the men Who from my living head would strij) the crown And sit in judgment on me 1 — I must do it — Yet shall my band be ready to o'erawe The course of liberal speech, and, if it rise So as too loudly to offend my ear, Strike the rash brawler dead ! — What idle dream Of long-past days had melted me ? It fades — It vanishes — I am aaain a kinsr ! SCENE 11.— T/cc Interior of the Temple. \S>amc as Act I. Scene J.] Clemanthe seated — Abra attending her. Ahra. Look, dearest lady ! — the thin smoke aspires In the calm air, as when in happier times It show'd the gods propitious : wilt thou seek Thy chamber, lest thy father and his friends, Returning, find us hinderers of their council 1 She answers not — she hearkens not — with joy Scene II.] ION. 35 Could I believe her, for the first time, sullen ! Still she is rapt. Enter Agenor, l. Oh, speak to my sweet mistress ; Haply thy voice may rouse her, Agen. Dear Clemanthe, Hope dawns in every omen ; we shall hail Our tranquil hours again. Enter Medon, Cleon, Timocles, and Others, L. Medon. Clemanthe here ! How sad ! how pale ! Ahra. Her eye is kindling — hush ! Clem. Hai'k ! hear ye not a distant footstep ] Medo?i. No, Look round, my fairest child ; thy friends are near thee. Clem. Yes ! now 'tis lost — 'tis on that endless stair! Nearer and more distinct — 'tis his — 'tis his — He lives ! he comes ! [^Rises and rushes to hack of the stage, at which Ion appears, c. and returns with her, c. Hei'e is your messenger, ^ Whom Heaven has rescued from the tyrant's rage. Ye sent him forth to brave. Rejoice, old men, That ye are guiltless of his blood ! — why pause ye ? Why shout ye not his welcome ? Medo7i. Dearest girl. This is no scene for thee ; go to thy chamber, I'll come to thee ere long. [Exeunt Clemanthe and Abra, She is o'erwrought By fear and joy for one whose infant hopes Were mingled with her own, even as a brother's, Tim. Ion ! How shall we do thee honour 1 Ion. None is due. Save to the gods whose gracious influence sways The king ye deem'd relentless ; — he consents To meet ye presently in council : — speed ; This may be nature's latest rally in him, In fitful strength, ere it be quench'd for ever ! Medon. Haste to your seats ! I will but speak a word With our brave friend, and follow ; though convened In speed, let our assembly lack no forms 36 «M«. [Act II. Of due obsei'vance, which to fiirious power Plead with the silent emphasis of years. [Exeunt all but Medon and Ion, l. Ion, draw near me ; this eventful day Hath shown thy nature's graces circled round With firmness which accomplishes the hero : — And it would bring to me but one proud thought — That virtues which required not culture's aid Shed their first fragrance 'neath my roof, and there Found shelter ; — but it also hath reveal'd What I may not hide from thee, that my child, My blithe and innocent girl — more fair in soul. More delicate in fancy, than in mould — Loves thee with other than a sister's love. I should have cared for this : I vainly deem'd A fellowship in childhood's thousand joys And household memories had nurtured friendship Which might hold blameless empire in the soul ; But in that guise the traitor hath stolen in. And the fair citadel is thine. Ion. 'Tis true. I did not think the nurseling of thy house Could thus disturb its holiest inmate's duty Witli tale of selfish passion ; — but we met As plaj'^mates who might never meet again, And then the hidden truth flash'd forth and show'd To each the image in the other's soul In one bright instant. Medon. Be that instant blest Which made thee truly ours. My son ! my son ! 'Tis we should feel uplifted, for the seal Of greatness is upon thee; yet I know That when the gods, won by thy virtues, draw The veil which now conceals their lofty birth-place, Thou wilt not spurn the maid who prized them lowly. Ion. Spurn her ! My father ! Enter Ctesiphon, c. Medon. Ctesiphon! — and breathless — Art come to chide me to the council ? [Crosses to c. Ctes. No ; To bring unwonted joy ; thy son approaches. Scene II.] ION. 37 Medon. Thank HeaTen ! Hast spoken with him ? is he well 1 Ctes. I strove in vain to reach him, for the crowd, Roused from the untended couch and dismal hearth By the strange visiting of hope, press'd round him ! But, by his head erect and fiery glance, I know that he is well, and that he bears A message which shall shake the tyrant. (Shouts without^ See ! The throng is tending this way — now it parts And yields him to thy arms. Enter Phocion, l. Medon. Welcome, my Phocion — Long waited for in Argos ; how detain'd Now matters not, since thou art here in joy. Hast brought the answer of the god ? Pho. I have : Now let Adrastus tremble ! Medon. May we hear it"? Pho. I am sworn first to utter it to him. Ctes. But it is fatal to him ! — say but that ! Pho. Ha, Ctesiphon ! — I mark'd thee not before ; How fares thy fatlier 1 Ion (to Phocion). Do not speak of him. Ctes. (overhearing Ion^. Not speak of him ! Dost think there is a moment When common things eclipse the burning thought Of him and vengeance ? Pho. Has the tyrant's sword — Ctes. No, Phocion ; that were merciful and brave Compared to his base deed ; yet will I tell it \crosses to c. To make the flashing of thine eye more deadly, And edge thy words that they may rive his heartstrings. The last time that Adrastus dared to face The Sages of the state, although my father, Yielding to nature's mild decay, had left All worldly toil and hope, he gathered strength, In his old seat, to speak one word of warning. Thou know'st how bland with years his wisdom grew, And with what phrases, steep'd in love, he sheath'd The sharpness of rebuke j yet, ere his speech 38 ION. [Act II. Was closed, the tyrant started from his throne, And with his base hand smote him ; — 'twas his death-stroke ! The old man tottered home, and only once Raised his head after. Tho. Thou wert absent % Yes ! The royal miscreant lives. Ctes. Had I beheld That sacrilege, the tyrant had lain dead, Or I had been torn piecemeal by his minions. But I was far away ; when I returu'd, I found my father on the nearest beych Within our door, his thinly silver'd liead Supported by Avan hands, which hid his face, And would not be withdrav/n ; no groan, no sigh Was audible, and we might only learn. By short convulsive tremblings of his frame. That life still flicker'd in it — yet at last, By some unearthly inspiration roused. He dropp'd his wither'd hands, and sat erect As in his manhood's glory — the free blood Flush'd crimson through his cheeks, his furrow'd brow Expanded clear, and his eyes opening full, Gleam'd with a youthful fire ; — I fell in awe Upon my knees before him — still he spake not, But slowly raised his arm untrembling; clench'd His hand as if it grasp'd an airy knife. And struck in air : my hand was join'd with his In nervous grasp — my lifted eye met his In steadfast gaze — my pressure answer'd his — We knew at once each other's thought ; a smile Of the old sweetness play'd upon his lips, And life forsook him. Weaponless I flew To seek the tyrant, and was driven with scoffs From the proud gates which shelter him. He lives — And I am here to babble of revenge ! Fho. It comes, my friend — haste with me to the king! Ion. Even while we speak, Adrastus meets his council; There let us seek him : should ye find him touch'd AVith penitence, as happily ye may. Oh, give allowance to his softened nature ! Ctes. Show onrace to him ! — Dost dare % — I had forgot. Scene II.] ION. 39 Thou dost not know liow a son loves a father ! Ion. 1 know enougli to feel for thee; 1 know Thou hast endured the vilest wrongs that tyranny In its worst frenzy can inflict ; — yet think, O think ! before the irrevocable deed Shuts out all thought, how much of power's excess Is theirs who raise the idol : — do we groan Beneath the pei'sonal force of this rash man, Wlio forty summers since hung at the breast A playful weakling ; whom the heat unnerves ; The north- wind pierces ; and the hand of death May, in a moment, change, to clay as vile As that of the scourged slave whose chains it severs 1 No ! 'tis our weakness gasping, or the shows Of outward strength that builds up tyranny, And makes it look so glorious : — If we shrink Faint-hearted from the reckoning of our span Of mortal days, Ave pamper the fond wish For long durati:ocles, Cleon, and others, seated as Councillors — Soldiers line the Stage at a distance. Adras. Upon your summons, Sages, I am here ; Your king attends to know your pleasure ; speak it, Agen. And canst thou ask ? If the heart dead within thee Receives no impress of this awful time, Art thou of sense forsaken] Are thine ears So charm'd by strains of slavish minstrelsy, That the dull groan and frenzy-pointed shriek Pass them unheard to Heaven 1 Or are thine eyes So conversant with prodigies of gi'ief. They cease to dazzle at them ? Art thou aiTn'd 'Gainst wonder, while, in all things, Nature turns To dreadful contraries ; — while Youth's full cheek Is shrivell'd into fuiTows of sad years. And 'neath its glossy curls untinged by care Looks out a keen anatomy ; — while Age Is stung by feverish torture for an hour Into youth's strength ; while fragile Womanhood Starts into frightful courage, all unlike The gentle strength its gentle weakness feeds, To make affliction beautiful, and stalks Abroad, a tearless and unshuddering thing ; — While Childhood, in its oi-phan'd freedom blithe, Finds, in the shapes of wretchedness which seem Grotesque to its unsadden'd vision, cause For dreadful mirth, that shoi'tly shall be hush'd In never-broken silence ; and while Love, Immortal through all change, makes ghastly Death Its idol, and with furious passion digs Amid sepulchral images for gauds To cheat its fancy with 1 — Do sights like these . Glare through the realm thou shouldst be parent to, And canst thou find the voice to ask "our pleasure 1" Adras. Cease, babbler ; — wherefore would ye stun my ears With vain I'ecital of the griefs I know. And cannot heal 1 — will treason turn aside The shafts of fate, or medicine Nature's ills ? Scene III.] ION. 41 I have no skill in pharmacy, nor power To sway the elements. Agen. Thou hast the power To cast thyself upon the earth with us In penitential shame : or, if this power Hath left a heart made weak by luxury And hard by pride, thou hast at least the power To cease the mockery of thy frantic revels. Adras. I have yet power to punish insult — look I use it not, Agenor ! — Fate inay dash My sceptre from me,, but shall not command My will to hold it with a feebler grasp ; Nay, if few hours of empire yet are mine, They shall be colour'd with a sterner pride, And peopled with more lustrous joys, than flush'd In the sei'ene procession of its greatness. Which look'd perpetual, as the flowing course Of human things. Have ye beheld a pine That clasp'd the inountain-summit with a root As firm as its rough marble, and, apart From the huge shade of undistinguish'd trees, Lifted its head as in delight to share The evening glories of the sky, and taste The wanton dalliance of the heavenly breeze, That no ignoble vapour from the vale Could mingle with — smit by the flaming marl, And lighted for destruction % How it stood One glorious moment, fringed and wreathed with fire Which show'd the inward graces of its shape, LJncumber'd now, and midst its topmost boughs. That young Ambition's airy fancies made Their giddy nest, leap'd sportive ; — never clad By liberal summer in a pomp so rich As waited on its downfall, while it took The storm-cloud roll'd behind it for a curtain, To gird its splendours round, and made the blast Its minister to whirl its flashing shreds Aloft towards heaven, or to the startled depths Of forests that afar might share its doom ! So shall the royalty of Argos pass In festal blaze to darkness ! Have ye spoken % D* '42 ION. [Act II. Agen. I speak no more to thee ! — Great Jove, look down! \8houts without. Adras. What factious brawl is this 1 disperse it, soldiers. [Shouting renciocd. — As some of the soldiers are about tomarcli^ Phocion rushes in,foUowed hy Ctesiphon, Ion and Medon. Whence is this insolent intrusion? Fho. King! I bear Apollo's answer to thy prayer. Adras. "Has not thy travel taught thy knee its duty % Here we had school'd thee bettei'. Fho. Kneel to thee ! Medo7i. Patience, my son ! Do homage to the king. Pho. Never !— Thou talk'st of schooling — know, Adrastus That I have studied in a nobler school, Than the dull haunt of venal sophistry, Or the lewd guard-room ; — o'er which ancient Heaven Extends its arch for all, and moclis the span Of palaces and dungeons; where the, heart In its free beatings, 'neath the coarsest vest, Claims kindred with diviner things than jDower Of kings can raise or stifle — in the school Of mighty Nature — where I learn'd to blush At sight hke this, of thousands basely hush'd Before a man no mightier than themselves. Save in the absence of that love that softens. Adras. Peace ! speak thy message. Pho. Shall I tell it here % Or shall I seek thy couch at dead of night, And breathe it in low whispers ! — As thou wilt. Adras. Here — and this instant ! Pho. Hearken then, Adrastus, And hearken, Argives — thus Apollo speaks :— (Reads a scroll) "Argos ne'er shall find release Till her monarch's race shall cease." Adras. 'Tis not God's will, but man's sedition speaks s Guards ! tear that lying parchment from his hands, And bear him to the palace. Medon. Touch him not, — He is Apollo's messenger, whose lips Were never stain'd with falsehood. Pho. Come on, all ! Scene in.] ION. 43 Agen. Surround him, friends ! Die with him ! Adras. Soldiers, charge Upon these rebels ; hew them down. On ! on ! [ The Soldiers advance and surround the people : they seize Phocion. Ion rushes frovi the hach of the stage, and throws himself between An^KSTVs and Phocion. Pho. {to Adrastus.) Yet I defy thee. Ion. (to Phocion.) Friend! for sake of all. Enrage him not — wait while I speak a word — My sovereign, I implore thee, do not stain [ To Adrastus. This sacred place with blood : iii Heaven's great name I do conjure thee — and in Jias, whose spirit Is mourning for thee now ! Adras. Release the stripling — Let him go spread his treason where he will. He is not worth my anger. To the palace ! Ion. Nay, yet an instant ! — let my speech have power From Heaven to move thee further : thou hast heard The sentence of the god, and thy heart owns it ; If thou wilt cast aside this cumbrous pomp, And in seclusion purify thy soul Long fever'd and sophisticate, the gods May give thee space for penitential thoughts ; If not — as surely as thou standest here, Wilt thou lie stiff and weltering in thy blood, — > The vision presses on me now. Adras. Art mad ? Resign my state % Sue to the gods for life. The common life which every slave endures, And meanly clings to 1 No ; within yon walls I shall resume the banquet, never more Broken by man's intrusion. Councillors, Farewell !— go mutter treason till ye perish ! [Exeunt Adrastus, Crythes and Soldiers, L, Ion. (stands apart leaning on a pedestal.) 'Tis seal'd ! Medon. Let us withdraw, and strive By sacrifice to pacify the gods ! [Medon, Agenor, and Councillors retire ; thei/ leave Ctesiphon , Phocion and Ion. Ion still stands apart, as rapt in meditation. 44 ION. [Act II. Ctes. 'Tis well ; the measure of liis guilt is fill'd. Where shall we meet at sunset? Pho. In the gi'ove Which with its matted shade imbrowns the vale : Between those buttresses of rock that guard The sacred mountain on its western side, Stands a rude altar — overgi-own with moss, And stain' d with drippings of a million showers, So old, that no tradition names the power That hallow'd it, — which we will consecrate Anew to freedom and to justice. Ctes. Thither, Will I bring friends to meet thee. Shall we speak To yon rapt youth 1 [Pointing to Ion. Pho. His nature is too gentle. At sunset we will meet. — With arms ? Ctes. A knife — One sacrificial knife will serve. Pho. At sunset ! [Exeunt Ctesiphon r. Phocion c.l. Ion (comes forward). O, wretched man, thy words have seal'd thy doom ! Why should I shiver at it, when no way. Save this, remains to break the ponderous cloud That hangs above my wretched country % — death — A single death, the common lot of all, ^Vliich it will not be mine to look upon, — ■ And yet its ghastly shape dilates before me ; I cannot shut it out ; my thoughts grow rigid, And as that grim and prostrate figure haunts them, My sinews stiffen like it. Courage, Ion ! No spectral form is here; all outward things Wear their own old familiar looks ; no dye Pollutes them. Yet the air has scent of blood. And now it eddies with a hurtling sound, As if some weapon swiftly clove it. No— The falchion's course is silent as the grave That yawns before its victim. Gracious powers ! If the great duty of my life be near. Grant it may be to suffer, not to strike ! \Exit, R. END OF ACT II. SciarolJ ION. 45 ACT III. SCENE I.— A Terrace of the Temple. Enter Clemanthe and Ion. r. Clem. Nay, I must chide this sorrow from thy brow, Or 'twill rebuke my happiness ; — I know Too well the miseries that hem us round ; And yet the inward sunshine of my soul, Unclouded by their melancholy shadows, Bathes in its deep tranquillity one image — One only image, which no outward storm Can ever ruffle. Let me wean thee, then, From this vain pondering o'er the general woe, Which makes my joy look ugly. Ion. No, my fair one, The gloom that wrongs thy love is unredeem'd By generous sense of others' woe ; too sure It rises from dark presages within, And will not from me. Clem. Then it is most groundless ! Hast thou not won the blessing of the perishing By constancy, the fame of which shall live While a heart beats in Argos 1 — hast thou not Upon one agitated bosom pour'd The sweetest peace 1 and can thy generous nature, While it thus sheds felicity around it, Remain itself unbless'd % Ion. I strove awhile To think the assured possession of thy love With too divine a burthen weigh'd my heart, And press'd my spirits down : — but 'tis not so ; Nor will I with false tenderness beguile thee. By feigning that my sadness has a cause So exquisite ! Clemanthe ! thou wilt find me A sad companion ; — I who knew not life, Save as the sportive breath of happiness, Now feel my minutes teeming, as they rise, With grave exj^eriences ; I dream no more 46 ION. [Act III. Of azure realms where restless beauty sports In myriad shapes fantastic ; dismal vaults \ In black succession open, till the gloom Afar is broken by a streak of fire That shapes my name — the fearful wind that moans Before the storm articulates its sound ; And as I pass'd but now the solemn range Of Argive monarchs, that in sculptured mockery Of present empire sit, their eyes of stone Bent on ine instinct with a frightful life, That di-ew me into fellowship with them, As conscious marble ; while their ponderous lips — Fit organs of eternity — unclosed, And, as I live to tell thee, murmur'd, " Hail ! Hail ! Ion the devoted !" Clem. These are fancies, "Which thy soul, late expanded -wnth great purpose, Shapes, as it quivers to its natural circle In which its joys should lurk, as in the bud The cells of fragrance cluster. Bid them from thee. And strive to be thyself. Ion. I will do so ! I'll gaze upon thy loveliness, and drink Its quiet in ; — ^liow beautiful thou art ! — My pulse throbs now as it was wont ; — a being, Which owns so fair a glass to min-or it, Cannot show darkly. Clem. We shall soon be happy ; My father will rejoice to bless our love, And Argos waken ; — for her tyrant's course Must have a speedy end. Ion. It must ! It must ! Clem. Yes ; for no empty talk of public wrongs Assails him now ; keen hatred and revenge Are roused t(^ crush him. Io7i. Not by such base agents May the august lustration be achieved : He who shall cleanse his country from the guilt For which Heaven smites her, should be pure of soul, Guileless as infancy, and undisturb'd By personal anger as thy father is, BCENE I.] ION. 47 When, with unswerving hand and piteous eye, He stops the brief Ufe of the innocent kid Bound with white fillets to the altar ; — so Enwreathed by fate the royal victim heaves, And soon his l>reast shall shrink beneath the knife Of the selected slayer ! Clem. 'Tis thyself Whom thy strange language pictures — Ion ! thou — Ion. She has said it ! Her pure lips have spoken out What all things intimate : — didst thou not mark Me for the oflice of avenger — me 1 Clem. No ;— vsave from the wild picture tliat thy fancy- Thy o'erwrought fancy drew ; I thought it look'd Too like thee, and I shudder'd. Ion. So do I ! And yet I almost wish I shudder'd more, For the dire thoug^ht has ctowu familiar with me — Could I escape it ! Clem. 'Twill away in sleep. Ion. No, no ! I dare not sleep — for well I know That then the knife will gleam, the blood will gush, The form will stiffen ! — I will walk awhile In the sweet evening light, and try to chase These fearful images away. Clem. Let me Go with thee. Oh, how often, hand in hand. In such a lovely light have we roam'd westward Aimless and blessed ; when we were no more Than playmates : — surely we are not grown stranger Since yesterday ! Ion. No, dearest, not to-night : The plague yet rages fiercely in the vale, And I am placed in grave commission here To watch the gates ; — indeed, thou must not pass ; I will be merrier when we meet again, — Trust me, my love, I will ; farewell ! \^Exit, L. Clem. Farewell, then ! How fearful dispi'oportion shows in one Whose life hath been all harmony ! He bends Toward that thick covert where in blessed hour My father found him, which has ever been 48 ION. [Act III. His chosen place of musing. Shall I follow *? Ana I already grown a selfish mistress, To watch his solitude with jealous eye, And claim him all '? That let me never be — Yet danger from within besets him now, Known to me only — I will follow him ! [Exit, l. Scene II. — An opening in a deep Wood — in front an old gray Altar. Enter Ion. Ion. O winding pathways, o'er whose scanty blades Of unaspiring grass mine eyes have bent , So often when by musing fancy sway'd. That craved alliance with no wider scene Than your fair thickets border'd, but was pleased To deem the toilsome years of manhood flown, And, on the pictured mellowness of age Idly reflective, image my return From careful wanderings, to find ye gleam With unchanged aspect on a heart unchanged, And melt the busy past to a sweet dream As then the future was ; — why should ye now E cho my steps Avith melancholy sound. As ye were conscious of a guilty presence 1 The lovely light of eve, that, as it waned, Touch'd ye with softer, homelier look, now fades In dismal blackness ; and yon twisted roots Of ancient trees, with whose fantastic forms My thoughts grew humourous, look temble, As if about to start to sei-pent life, And hiss around me ; — whither shall I turn 1 — Where fly 1 — I see the myrtle-cradled spot Where human love, instructed by divine. Found and embraced me first; I'll cast me down Upon the earth as on a mother's breast, In hope to feel myself again a child. [Retires into the wood. Enter Ctesiphon, Cassander, and other Argive Youths. Ctes. Sure this must be the place that Phocion spoke of; — • The twilight deepens, yet he does not come. Scene II.] ION. 49 Oh, if, instead of idle dreams of freedom, He knew the sharpness of a gi'ief like mine, He would not linger thus ! Cass. The sun's broad disk Of misty red, a few brief minutes since, Sank 'neatli the leaden wave ; but night steals on With I'apid pace to veil us, and thy thoughts Are eager as the favouring darkness. Enter Phocion. Ctes. Welcome ! Thou know'st all here. Pho. Yes ; I rejoice, Cassander, To find thee my companion in a deed Worthy of all the dreamings of old days, When we, two rebel youths, grew safely brave In visionary perils. We'll not shame Our young imaginations. Ctesiphon, We look to thee for guidance in our aim. Ctes. I bring you glorious news. There is a soldier, AVho, in his reckless boyhood, was my comrade, And though by taste of luxury subdued Even to brook the tyrant's service, bums With generous anger to avenge that grief I bear above all others. He has made The retribution sure. From him I learnt, That when Adi-astus reached his palace court, He paused, to struggle with some mighty throe Of passion ; then call'd eagerly for wine. And bade his soldiers share his choicest stores, And snatch, like him, a day from Fortune. Soon, As one worn out by Avatching and excess. He stagger'd to his couch, where now he lies Oppress'd with heavy sleep, while his loose soldiers. Made by the fierce carousal vainly mad Or grossly dull, arc scatter'd through the courts Unarm'd and cautionless. The Ocistcni portal Is at this moment open ; by that gate We all may enter unperceived, and line The passages which gird the royal chamber. While one blest hand within completes the doom E 50 ION. [Act III Wliich Heaven pronounces. Nothing now remains, But tliat, as all would share this action's glory, We join in one great vow, and choose one arm Our common minister. Oh, if these sorrows Confer on me the office to return Upon the tyrant's shivering heart the blow Which crush'd my father's spirit, I will leave To him who cares for toys the patriot's laurel And the applause of ages ! Fho. Let the gods By the old course of lot reveal the name Of the predestined champion. For myself, Here do I solemnly devote all jiowers Of soul and body to that glorious purpose We live but to fulfil. Ctcs. And I ! Cass. And I ! Ion. [jolio has advanrxd from the ivoocl, rushes to tJic altar and exclaims) And I ! P/^o. Most welcome ! The serenest powers of justice, In prompting thy unspotted soul to join Our bloody councils, sanctify and bless them ! Ion. The gods have pi'ompted me ; for they have given One dreadful voice to all things which should be Else dumb or musical ; and I rejoice To step from the grim round of waking dreams Into this fellowship wliich makes all clear. Wilt trust me, Ctesiphon ? Gtes. Yes ; but we waste The precious minutes in vain talk ; if lots Must guide us, have ye scrolls % Pho. Cassander has them ; The flickering light of yonder glade will serve him To inscribe them with our names. Be quick, Cassander ! Ctes. I wear a casque, beneath whose iron circlet My father's dark hairs whiten'd ; let it hold The names of his avengers ! [Ctesiphon takes off his hemlet and gives it to Cassander, who retires with it r. Pho. {to Ctesiphon.) He whose name Scene I.] ION. 51 Thou shalt draw first shall fill the post of glory. Were it not also well, the second name Should designate another, charged to take The same great office, if the first should leave His work impei-fect ] Ctes. There can scarce be need ; Yet as thou wilt. May the first chance be mine ! I will leave little for a second arm ! [Cassander returns with the helmet. Ctes. Now, gods, decide ! [Ctesiphon draios a lot from the helmet. Pho. The name ! Why dost thou pause 1 Gles. 'Tis Ion ! Ion. Well I knew it would be mine ! [Ctesiphon draws another lot. Ctes. Phocion ! it will be thine to strike him dead If he should prove faint-hearted. Tho. With my life I'll answer for his constancy. Ctes. {to Ion.) Thy hand ! 'Tis cold as death. Jon. Yes, but it is as firm. What ceremony next"? [Ctesiphon leads Ion to the altar, and gives him a knife. Ctes. Receive this steel. For ages dedicate in my sad home To sacrificial uses ; grasp it nobly. And consecrate it to untrembling service Against the king of Argos and his race. Ion. His race ! Is he not left alone on earth ? He hath no brother, and no child. Ctes. Such words The god hath used, who never speaks in vain, Pho. There were old rumours of an infant bom, And strangely vanishing ; — a tale of guilt Half-hush'd, perchance distorted in, the hushing, And by the wise scarce heeded, for they deem'd it One of a thousand guilty histories. Which, if the walls of palaces could speak, Would show that, nursed by prideful luxury, To pamper which the virtuous peasant toils, 52 ION. [Act III Crimes grow unpunislied, which the pirate's nest, Or want's foul hovel, or the cell which justice Keeps for unlicensed guilt, would startle at ! We must root out the stock, that no stray scion Renew the tree, Avhose branches, stifling virtue, Shed poison-dews on joy. [Ion approaches the altar, and lifting up the Jcnife, speaJcs — Ye eldest gods. Who in no statues of exactest form Are palpable ; who shun the azure heights Of beautiful Olympus, and the sound Of ever-young Apollo's minstrelsy ; Yet, mindful of the empire which ye held Over dim Chaos, keep revengeful watch On falling nations, and on kingly lines About to sink forever ; ye, who shed Into the passions of earth's giant brood And their fierce usages the sense of justice ; Who clothe the fated battlements of tyranny With blackness as a funeral pall, and breathe Through the proud halls of time-embolden'd guilt Portents of ruin, hear me ! — In your presence, For now I feel ye nigh, I dedicate This arm to the destruction of the king And of his race ! Oh ! keej:) me pitiless ; Expel all human weakness from my frame, That this keen Aveapon shake not when his heart Should feel its point ; and if ho has a child Wliose blood is needful to the sacrifice My country asks, harden my soul to shed it ! — Was not that thunder? Ctes. No; I heard no sound. Now, mark me. Ion ! Thou shalt straight be led To the king's chamber ; we shall be at hand ; Nothing can give thee pause. Hold ! one should watch The city's eastern portal, lest the troops. Returning from the work of plunder home, SuiTound us unprepared. Be that thy duty. [To Phocion Pho. I am to second Ion if he fail. Ctes. He cannot fail ; — I shall be nigh. What, Ion ! Scene II.] ION. 53 Ion. Who spake to me 1 Where am I ] Friends, your pardon : 1 am jji'epared ; yet grant me for a moment, One httle moment, to be left alone. Ctcs. Be brief then, or the season of revenge Will pass. At yonder thicket we'll expect thee. \Exeunt all but loN", L. Ion. Methinks I breathe more freely, now my lot Is palpable, and mortals gird me round. Though my soul owns no sympathy with theirs. Some one approaches — I must hide this knife — Hide ! I have ne'er till now had aught to hide From any human eye. [He conceals the knife in his vest. Enter Ci.emanthe, u. e. l. Clemanthe here ! Clem. Forgive me that I break upon thee thus : I meant to watch thy steps unseen ; but night Is thickening ; thou art haunted by sad fancies And 'tis moi'e terrible to think upon thee. Wandering with such companions in thy bosom, Than in the peril thou art wont to seek Beside the bed of death. Ion. Death, say'st thou 1 Death 1 Is it not righteoiis Avhen the gods decree itl And brief its sharpest agony '! Yet, fairest, It is no theme for thee. Go in at once, And think of it no more. Clcin. Not without thee ! Indeed, thou art not well ; thy hands are marble ; Thine eyes are fixed ; let me support thee, love — Ha ! what is that gleaming within thy vest j A knife ! Tell me its purpose, Ion ! Ion. No ; My oath forbids. Clem. An oath ! Oh, gentle Ion, What can have link'd thee to a cause which needs A stronger cement than a good man's word ? There's danger in it. Wilt thou keep it from me ? Ion. Alas, I must. Thou wilt know all full soon — [ Voices witliout call " Ion ! " L. E* 54 ION. [Act III Hark ! I am caH'cl. Clem. Nay, do not leave me thus. Ion 'Tis very sad {voices again) — I dare not stay — farewell ! [Exit, 1st. e. l. Clem. It must be to Adrastus that he hastes ! If by his hand the fated tyrant die, Austere remembrance of the deed vv^ill hang Upon his delicate spirit like a cloud, And tinge its world of happy images With hues of horror. Shall I to the palace, And, as the price of my disclosure, claim His safety % No ! — 'Tis never woman's part Out of her fond misgivings, to perplex The fortunes of the man to whom she cleaves; 'Tis hers to weave all that she has of fair And bright in the dark meshes of their web, Inseparate from their windings. My poor heart Hath found its refuge in a hero's love, Whatever destiny his generous soul Shape for him ; — 'tis its duty to be still, And trust him till it bound or break with his. [Exit, l. Scene III. — A cJiamher in the Temple. Enter Medon, followed hy Abra, r. Medon. My daughter not within the temple, sayst thou % Abroad at such an hour ? Sure, not alone She wandered : tell me truly, did not Phocion Or Ion bear her company % 'Twas Ion — Confess-— -was it not he ] I shall not chide, Indeed I shall not. Abra. She went forth alone ; But it is true that Ion just before Had taken the same path. Medon. It was to meet him. I would they were returned : the night is grov^a. Of an unusual blackness. Some one comes — » Look if it be my daughter. Ahra (looking out). No : young Irus, The little slave, whose pretty tale of grief Agenor, with so gracious a respect, Scene III.] ION. 55 This morning told us. Medon. Let him come : he bears * Some message from his master. Enter Irus, l. Medon (to Irus). Thou art pale : Has any evil happened to Agenor % Irus. No, my good lord : I do not come from him ; I bear to thee a scroll from one who now Is numbered with the dead; he was my kinsman, But I had never seen him till he lay Upon his death-bed ; for he left these shores Long before I was born, and no one knew His place of exile. On this mournful day He landed, was plague-stricken, and expired. My gentle master gave me leave to tend His else unsolaced death-bed ; when he found The clammy chillness of the grave steal on, He called for parclunent, and, with trembling hand. That seem'd to gather firmness from its task, Wrote earnestly ; conjured me take the scroll Instant to thee — and died. [Irus gives a scroll to Medon. Medon (reading the scroll). These are high tidings, Abra ! is not Clemanthe come "? I long To tell her all. Enter Clemanthe. Medon. Sit down, my pensive child. Abra, this boy is faint : see him refreshed AVith food and wine before thou lett'st him pass. Irus. I have been too long absent from Agenor, Who needs my slender help. Medon. Nay, I will use Thy master's firmness here, and use it so As he would use it. Keep him prisoner, Abra, Till he has done my bidding. [Exeunt Abra andlKUS, R. Now, Clemanthe, Though thou hast play'd the truant and the rebel, I will not be too strict in my award. By keeping from thee news of one to thee Most dear — nay, do not blush — I say most dear, Clem. It is of Ion ! No, — I do not blush, 56' ION. [Act III But tremble. O my father, what of Ion 1 Medon. How often have we guessed his lineage noble ! And now 'tis proved. The kinsman of that youth Was with another hired to murder him A babe ; — they tore him from his mother's breast, And to a sea-girt summit, where a'rock O'erhung a chasm, by the surge's force Made terrible, rush'd with him. As the gods In mercy ordered it, the foremost ruffian, Who bore no burden, pressing through the gloom In the wild hurry of his guilty purpose. Trod at the extreme verge upon a crag Loosen'd by summer from its granite bed, And suddenly fell with it ; with his fall Sank the base daring of the man who held The infant ; so he placed the unconscious babe Upon the spot where it was found by me ; Watched till he saw the infant safe ; then fled, Fearful of qviestion ; and returned to die. That child is Ion. Whom dost guess his sire ? The first in Argos ! Clem. Dost thou mean Adrastus 1 He cannot — must not — be that tyrant's son ! Medon. It is most ceitain. Nay, my thankless girl, He hath no touch of his rash father's pride ; For Nature, from whose genial lap he smiled Upon us first, hath moulded ff)r her own The suppliant of her bounty ; — thou art bless'd : Thus, let me bid thee joy. Clem. Joy, sayst thou ? — joy ! Then I must speak — he seeks Adrastus' life ! And at this moment, while we talk, may stain His soul with parricide. Medon. Impossible ! Ion, the gentlest — Clem. It is true, my father ! I saw the weapon gleaming in his vest ; I heard him called ! Medon. Shall I alarm the palace % Clem. No : in the fierce confusion, he would fall Before our tale could be his safeguai'd. Gods I Is there no hope, no refuge ? Scene I.] ION. 57 Medon. Yes, if Heaven Assist us. I bethink me of a passage, Which, fashioned by a king in pious zeal, That he miQ;-ht seek the altar of the fjod In secret, from the temple's inmost shrine Leads to the royal chamber. I have tracked it In youth for pastime. Could I tread it now, I yet might save him. Clem. Oh, make haste, my father ! Shall I attend thee % Medon. No : thou would'st impede My steps : — thou 'rt fainting ! when I have lodged thee safe In thy own chamber, I will light the torch And instantly set forward. Clem. Do not waste An instant's space on me : speed, speed, my father ! The fatal moments fly — I need no aid ; — Thou seest I am calm, quite calm. Medon, The gods protect thee ! \Exeunt Medon l., Clemanthe r END OF ACT III. ACT IV. Scene I. — The royal Chamber. Adrastus on a couch asleep. — Enter Ion witli the knife. Ion. Why do I creep thus stealthily along With trembling steps % Am I not arm'd by Heaven To execute its mandate on a king Whom it hath doom'd 1 And shall I alter now, While eveiy moment that he breathes may crush Some life else happy 1 — Can I be deceived. By some foul passion, crouching in my soul, Which takes a radiant form to lure me on 1 Assure me, gods ! — Yes ; I have heard your voices ; For I dare pray ye now to nerve my arm And see me strike ! [ He soes to the couch- 58 ION. fAcT IV He's smiling in his slumber, As if some happy thought of innocent days Play'd at his heart-strings : must I scare it thence With death's sharp agony '? He lies condemn'd By the high judgment of supernal Powers, And he shall know their sentence. Wake, Adrastus ! Collect thy spirits, and be strong to die ! Adras. Who dares disturb my rest 1 Guards ! Soldiers ! Recreants ! Where tarry ye 1 Why smite ye not to earth This bold intruder ? — Ha, no weapon here \ What wouldst thou with me, ruffian % \Rising. Ion. I am none, But a sad instrument in Jove's great hand To take thy life, long forfeited — Prepare ! Thy hour is come ! Adras. Villains ! does no one hear ] Ian. Vex not the closing minutes of thy being With torturing hope, or idle rage ; thy guards, Palsied with revelry, are scatter'd senseless, While the most valiant of f)ur Argive youths Hold every passage by which human aid Could reach thee. Present death is the award Of Powers who watch above me, while I stand To execute their sentence. Adras. Thou ! — I know thee — The youth I spared this morning, in whose ear I pour'd the secrets of my bosom. Kill me. If thou dar'st do it ; but bethink thee, first. How the grim memory of thy thankless deed Will haunt thee to the grave ! Ion. It is most true ; Thou sparedst my life, and therefore do the gods Ordain me to this office, lest thy fall Seem the chance forfeit of some single sin. And not the great redress of Argos. Now — Now, while I parley — Spirits that have left, Within this hour, their plague-tormented flesh To rot untombed, glide by, and frown on me, Their slow avenger — and the chamber swarms With looks of Furies — Yet a moment wait, Scene I.] ION. 59 Ye dreadful prompters ! — If there is a friend, Whom, dying, thou wouldst gi'eet by word or token, Speak thy last bidding. Adras. I have none on eaith. If tliou hast courage, end me ! Ion. Not one friend ! Most piteous doom ! Adras. Art melted ] Ion. If I am, Hope nothing from my weakness ; mortal arms, And eyes unseen that sleep not, gird us round. And we shall fall together. Be it so ! Adras. No ; strike at once ; my hour is come : in thee I recognize the minister of Jove, And, kneeling thus, submit me to his power. \Kjieels. Ion. Avert thy face ! Adras. No ; let me meet thy gaze ; For bi'eathing pity lights thy features up Into more awful likeness of a form Which once shone on me ; and which now my sense Shapes palpable — in habit of the grave. Inviting me to the sad realm where shades Of innocents, whom passionate regard LiTik'd with the guilty, are content to pace Witli them the margin of the inky floc/d Mournful and calm ; 'tis surely there ; she waves Her pallid hand in circle o'er thy head, As if to bless thee — and I bless thee too, Death's gracious angel ! — Do not turn away. Ion. Gods ! to what office have ye doom'd me — Now ! [Ion raises his arm to stah Adrastus, who is kneeling, and gazes steadfastly %(,j)on him. The voice of Medon is heard loithout, calling, " Ion !" " Ion !" Ion drops his arm. Adras. Be quick, or thou art lost! [^1* Ion has again raised, Jiis arm to strike, Medon rushes in behind him, c. Medon. Ion, forbear. Behold thy son, Adrastus ! [Ion stands for a moment stupified, witJi horror, drops the knife, and falls senseless on the ground. 60 ION. [Act IV. Adras. What strange words Are these, which call my senses from the death They were composed to welcome 1 Son ! 'tis false — I had but one — and the deep wave rolls o'er him ! Mcdon. That wave received, instead of the fair nurseling, One of the slaves who bore him from thy sight In wicked haste to slay ; — I'll give thee proofs. Adras. Great Jove, I thank thee ! — raise him gently — proofs ! Are there not here the lineaments of her Who made me happy once — the voice, now still, That bade the long-sealed fount of love gush out, While with a prince's constancy he came To lay his noble life down ; and the sure. The dreadful proof, that he whose guileless brow Is instinct with her spirit, stood above me, Arm'd for the traitor's deed ! — It is my child ! [Ion, reviving, sinks on one knee before Adrastus. Ion. Father ! [Noise loithout. MedoJi. The clang of arms ! Ion (starting up). They come ! they come ! They who are leagued with me against thy life. Here let us fall ! Adras. I will confront them yet. Within I have a weapon which has drunk A traitor's blood ere now ; — there will I wait them : No powerless strong than death shall part us now, [Exeunt Adrastus and Ion, as into an inner chamber v. E. l. Medon. Have mercy on him, gods, for the dear sake Of your most single-hearted worslaipper ! .E?iter Ctesiphon, Cassander, and others, l. Ctes. What treachery is this 1 — the tyrant fled, And Ion fled too ! — Comrades, stay this dotard. While I search yonder chamber. Medoyi. Spare him, friends, — Spare him to clasp awhile his new-found son; Spare him as Ion's father! Ctes. Father ! yes — That is indeed a name to bid me spare : — Let me but find him, gods ! [Rushes into an inneT chamber. Scene I.] ION. 61 Medon (To Cassander and others ). Had ye but seen What I have seen, ye would have mercy on him. Crythes enters toith Soldiers, r. Ha, soldiers ! hasten to defend your master; That way — [As Crythes is about to enter the inner chamher u. e. l. Ctesiphon rushes from it with a Moody dagger, and stops them. Ctes. It is accomplished : the foul blot Is wiped away. Shade of my murdered father, Look on thy son, and smile ! Crij. Whose blood is that ] It cannot be the king's ! Ctes. It cannot be ! Think'st thou, foul minion of a tyrant's will, He was to crush, and thou to crawl for ever ] Look there, and tremble! Cry. Wretch ! thy life shall pay The forfeit of this deed. [Crythes and soldiers seize Ctesiphon. Enter A.T)K\&rv^ mortally ivounded, supported hy Ion, u. e. l. Adras. He.re let me rest ; — In this old chamber did my life begin, And here I'll end it : Crythes ! thou hast timed Thy visit well, to bring thy soldiers hither To gaze upon my parting. Cry. To avenge thee ; — Here is the traitor! Adras. Set him free at once : — Why do ye not obey me ? Ctesiphon, I gave thee cause for this ; — believe me now That thy true steel has made thy vengeance sui'e ; And as we now stand equal, I will sue For a small boon — let me not see thee more. Ctes. Farewell ! [Exit, r. Adras. ( To Crythes and soldiers.) Why do ye tarry here ] Begone ! — still do ye hover round my couch ? If the commandment of a dying king 62 ION. [Act IV. Is feeble, as a man who has embraced His child for the first time since infancy, And presently must part with him for ever, I do adjure ye leave us ! [Exeunt all but Ion and Adrastus. Ion. Oh, my father ! How is it with thee now 1 Adras. Well ; very well ; — Avenging Fate hath spent its utmost force Against me ; and I ga/e upon my son With the sweet certainty tliat naught can pait us Till all is quiet here. How like a dream Seems the succession of my regal pomps Since I embraced thy helplessness ! To me The interval hath been a weary one; How hath it passed with thee 1 Ion. But that my heart Hath sometimes ached for the sweet sense of kindred, I had enjoy'd a round of happy years As cherish'd youth e'er knew. Adras. I bless the gods That they have strewn along thy humble path Delights unblamed ; and in this hour I seem Even as I had lived so ; and I feel That I shall live in thee, unless that curse — . Oh, if it should survive me ! Ion. Think not of it ; The gods have shed such sweetness in this moment, That, howsoe'er they deal with me hereafter, I shall not deem them angry. Let me call For help to staunch thy wound ; thou art strong yet, And yet may live to bless me. Adras. Do not stir ; My strength is ebbing fast; yet, as it leaves me, The spirit of my stainless days of love Awakens ; and their images of joy, Which at thy voice started from blank oblivion. When thou wert sti'ange to me, and then half-shown Look'd sadly through the mist of guilty years. Now glimmer on me in the lovely light Which at thy age they wore. Thou art all thy mother's, Her elements of gentlest virtue cast In mould heroical. Scene I.] ION. 63 Ion. Thy speech gi'ows fainter; Can I do nothing for thee "^ Aclras. Yes ; — my son, Thou art the best, the bravest, of a race Of rightful monarchs ; thou must mount the throne Thy ancestors have fill'd, and by great deeds Efface the memory of thy fated sire, And win tlie blessing of the gods for men Stricken for him. Swear to me thou wilt do this, And I shall die forsfiven. Ion. I will. Adras. Rejoice, Sufferers of Argos ! — I am growing weak. And my eyes dazzle ; let me rest my hands, Ere they have lost their feeling, on thy head. — So ! — So ! — thy hair is glossy to the touch As when I last enwreath'd its tiny curl About my finger ; I did image then Thy reign excelling mine ; it is fulfill'd ; And I die happy. Bless thee, King of Argos ! [Dies. Ion. He's dead ! and I am fatherless again. — King did he hail me 1 shall I make that word A spell to bid old happiness awake. Throughout the lovely land that father' d me In my forsaken childhood '? \IIc sees the knife on the ground and takes it up. Most vain dream ! This austere monitor hath bid thee vanish Ere half-reveal'd. Come back, thou truant steel ; Half of thy work the gods absolved thee from — The rest remains ! Lie there ! [He conceals the knife in his vest. Shouts heard tvithout. The voice of joy ! Is this thy funeral wailing 1 Oh, my father ! Mournful and brief will be the heritage Thou leavest me ; yet I promised thee in death To grasp it ; — and I will embrace it now. Enter Agenor. Agen. Does the king live ] Ion. Alas ! in me ! The son Of him whose princely spirit is at rest. 64 ION. [Act II. Claims Lis ancestral honours. Agcn. That high thought Anticipates the prayer of Argos, roused To sudden joy. The Sages wait without To greet thee : wilt confer with them to-night, Or wait the morning % Ion. Now ; — the city's state Allows the past no sorrow, I attend them, [Exeunt, l. Scene II. — Before tlie Gate of the City. Phocion on guard. PJio. Fool that I was to take this idle office, At most inglorious distance from the scene Which shall be freedom's birth-place ; to endure The phantasies of danger, which the soul Uncheer'd by action coldly dallies with Till it begins to shiver ! Long ere this, If Ion's hand be firm, the deed is past. And yet no shout announces that the bonds Of tyranny are broken. [Shouts at a distance. Hark ! 'tis done ! — Enter Ctestphon, l. All hail, mj brother freeman ! — art not so 1 — Thy looks are haggard — is the tyrant slain ? Is liberty achieved ! Ctes. The king is dead. This arm — I bless the lighteous Furies ! — slew him. Pho. Did Ion quail, then 1 Ctes. Ion ! — clothe thy speech In phrase more courtly ; he is king of Argos. Accepted as the tyrant's son, and reigns. Pho. It cannot be ; I can believe him bom Of such high lineage ; yet he will not change His own rich treasury of unruffled thoughts For all the frigid glories that invest The loveless state in which the monarch dwells, A terror and a slave. [Shouts again. Ctes. Dost hear that shout ? 'Tis raised for him ! — the craven-hearted world Is ever eager thus to hail a master, SciSim 11 ] ION. 65 And patriots smite for it in vain. Our Soldiers, In the gay recklessness of men who sport With life as with a plaything ; Citizens, On wretched beds gaping for show ; and Sages, V^ain of a royal sophist, madly join In humble prayer that lie would deign to tread Upon their necks ; and he is pleased to grant it. Plio. He shall not grant it ! If my life, my sense. My heart's affections, and my tongue's free scope Wait the dominion of a mortal will. What is the sound to me, whether my soul Bear " Ion" or " Adrastus" burnt within it As my soul's owner % Ion tyrant 1 No ! Grant me a moment's pleading with his heart, Which has not known a selfish throb till now, And thou shalt see him smile this greatness from him. Ctcs. Go teach the eagle when in azure heaven He upward darts to seize his madden'd prey, Shivering through the death-circle of its fear, To pause and let it 'scape, and thou mayst win Man to forego the sparkling round of power, When it floats airily within his grasp ! J'lw. Why thus sevei'e % Our nature's common wrongs Affect thee not ; and that which touch'd thee nearly Is well avenged. Ctcs. Not while the son of him Who smote my father reigns ! I little guess'd Thou wouldst require a prompter to awake The memory of the oath so freshly sworn, Or of the place assign'd to thee by lot, Should our first champion fail to crush the race — Mark me ! — "the race" of him my arm has dealt with. Now is the time, the palace all confused, And the prince di'zzy with strange turns of fortune, To do thy part. Pho. Have mercy on my weakness ! If thou hadst known this comrade of my sports, One of the same small household whom his mirth Unfailing gladden'd ;— if a thousand times Thou hadst, by strong prosperity made thoughtless, Touched his unfathered nature in its nerve 66 ION. [Act 1^. Of agony, and felt no chiding glance ; — Hadst thou beheld him overtax his strength To serve the wish his genial instinct guessed, Till his dim smile the weariness betrayed, Which it would fain dissemble ; hadst thou known In sickness the sweet magic of his care, Thou couldst not ask it. — Hear me, Ctesiphon ! I had a deadly fever once, and slaves Fled me : he watched, and glided to my bed, And soothed my dull ear with discourse which grew By i:iice degi'ees to ravishment, till pain Seem'd an heroic sense, which made me kin To the great deeds he pictured, and the brood Of dizzy weakness flickering through the gloom Of my small curtain'd prison, caught the hues Of beauty spangling out in glorious change, And it became a luxury to lie And faintly listen. Canst thou bid me slay him Ctcs. The deed be mine ! Thou'lt not betray me 1 [Going. P/io. Hold! If by our dreadful compact he must fall, I will not smite him with my coward thought Winging a distant arm ; I will confront him Arm'd with delicious memories of our youth, And pierce him through them all. Ctes. Be speedy, then ! Pho. Fear not that I shall prove a laggard, charged With weight of such a purpose. Fate commands, And I live now but to perform her bidding. [Exeunt Ctesiphon, r. Phocion, l. Scene III. — A Terrace in the Garden of the Palace—^ onoonliglit. Pinter Ion and Agenor, c. Agen. Wilt thou not in to rest % Ion. My rest is here — Beneath the greatness of the heavens, which awea My spirit, tossed by sudden change, and tora By various passions, to repose. Yet age Scene III.] ION. 67 Requires more genial nourishment — pray seek it — I will but stay thee to inquire once more If any symptom of returning health Bless the wan city 1 Agen. No : the perishing Lift up their painful heads to bless thy name, And their eyes kindle as they utter it ; But still they perish. loyi. So ! — give instant order, The rites which shall confirm me in my throne, Be solemnized to-morrow. Agen. How ! so soon, While the more sacred duties to the dead Remain unpaid % Ion. Let them abide my time — They will not tarry long. I see thee gaze With wonder on me — do my bidding now, And trust me till to-morrow. Pray go in. The night will chill thee else. Agen. Farewell, my lord ! \^xit, R. Ion. Now all is stillness in my breast — how soon To be displaced by more profound repose, In which no thread of consciousness shall live To feel how calm it is ! — O lamp serene, Do I lift up to thee undazzled eyes For the last time % Shall I enjoy no more Thy golden haziness, which seemed akin To my young fortune's dim felicity ] And when it coldly shall embrace the urn That shall contain my ashes, will no thought Of all the sweet ones cherish'd by thy beams, Awake to tremble with them ? Vain regret ! The pathway of my duty lies in sunlight. And I would tread it with as firm a step, Though it should terminate in cold oblivion. As if Elysian pleasures at its close Gleam'd palpable to sight as things of earth. Who passes there ? ^nter Phocion, u. e. l. tolio strikes at Ion with a dagger. Pho. This to the king of Argos ! [Ion struggles with him, seizes the dagger, which he throws away. 68 ION. [Act IV. Ion. I will not fall by thee, poor wavering novice In the assassin's trade ! — thy arm is feeble. [He confronts Phocion. Phocion ! — Was this well aim'd 1 thou didst not mean — Pho. I meant to take thy life, urged by remembrance Of yesterday's great vow. Ion, And couldst thou think I had forgotten ] Pho. thou? Ion. Couldst thou believe, That one, whose nature had been arm'd to stop The life-blood's current in a fellow's veins, Would hesitate when gentler duty turn'd His steel to nearer use ! To-morrow's dawn Shall see me wield the sceptre of my fathers : Come, watch beside my throne, and, if I fail In sternest duty which my country needs, My bosom will be open to thy steel, As now to thy embi'ace ! Pho. Thus let me fall Low at thy feet, and kneeling, here receive Forgiveness ! do not crush me with more love Than lies in the word " pardon." Ion. And that word I will not speak ; — what have I to forgive ? A devious fancy, and a muscle raised Obedient to its impulse ! Dost thou think The tracings of a thousand kindnesses. Which taught me all I guessed of brotherhood, Are in the rashness of a moment lost \ Pho. I cannot look upon thee : let me go And lose myself in darkness. Inn. Nay, old playmate. We part not thus : — the duties of my state Will shortly end our fellowship : but spend A few short minutes with me. Dost remember How in a night like this we climb'd yon walls — Two vagrant urchins, and with tremulous joy Skimm'd through these statue-border'd walks, that gleam'd In bright succession 1 Let us tread them now ; And think we are but older by a day, Scene I.] ION. 69 And that the pleasant walk of yester-night We are to-night retracing. Come, my friend ! What, drooping yet ! thou wert not wont to seem So stubborn. Cheei'lly, my Phocion — come ! [Exeunt, r. END OF ACT IV. AC T V. Scene I. — The terrace of ilie Palace. — Time, the morning of the second day. Two Soldiers 07i guard. 1 Sol. A stirring season, comrade ! our new prince Has leap'd as eagerly into his seat, As he had languished an expectant heir Weary of nature's kindness to old age. He was esteem'd a modest stripling : strange That he should, with such reckless huiTy, seize The gaudy shows of power ! 2 Sol. 'Tis honest nature; The royal instinct was but smouldering in him, And now it blazes forth. I pray the gods He may not give us cause to mourn his sire. 1 Sol. No more : he comes. Enter Ion, c. Ion. Why do ye loiter here % Are all the statues deck'd with festal wreaths As I commanded % 1 Sol. We have been on guard Here, by Agenor's order, since the nightfall. Ion. On guard ! Well, hasten now, and see it done. I need no guards. [Exeunt Soldiers. The awful hour draws near — [ am composed to meet it. — Phocion comes : He will unman me ; yet he must not go, Thinking his presence painful. 70 ION. [Act V Enter Phocion, l. Friend, good morrow ! Thou play'st the courtier early, Pko. Canst thou speak In that old tone of common cheerfulness, That blithely promises delightful years, And hold thy mouraful pui-pose 1 Ion. I have drawn From the selectest fountain of repose A blessed calm : — when 1 lay down to rest, I fear'd lest bright remembrances of childhood Should with untimely visitation mock me ; But deep and dreamless have my slumbers been. If sight of thee renews the thoughts of life Too busily — I prize the love that wakes them. P/io. Oh ! cherish them, and let them plead with thee To grant my prayer, — that thou wouldst live for Argos, Not die for her ; — thy gracious life shall win, More than thy death, the favour of the gods, And charm the marble aspect of giim Fate Into a blessed change: I, who am vow'd. And who so late was arm'd Fate's minister, Implore thee ! Ion. Speak to me no more of life ! There is a dearer name I would recall — Thou understand'st me — Enter Agenor, l. Agcn. Thou hast forgot to name Who shall be bidden to this evening's feast. Ion. The feast ! most true ; I had forgotten it. Bid whom thou wilt ; but let there be large store, If our sad walls contain it, for the ^\Tetched Whom hunger palsies. It may be few else Will taste it with a relish. [ Exit Agenor, l. (Ion resumes his address to Phocion, and continues it, hro- ken h]j the interruptions which foUoic.) I would speak A word of her who yester-morning rose To her light duties with as blithe a heart As ever yet its equal beating veil'd In moveless alabaster; — ^plighted now, Scene I.] ION. 71 In liberal hour, to one whose destiny Shall freeze the sources of enjoyment in it, And make it heavy with the life-long pang A widow'd spirit bears ! — Enter Cleon, l. Cleon. The heralds wait To learn the hour at which the solemn games Shall be proclaim'd, Ion. The games ! — yes, I remember That sorrow's darkest pageantries give place To youth's robustest pastimes — Death and Life Embracing : — at the hour of noon. Cleon. The wrestlers Pray thee to ci'own the victor. Ion. If I live, Their wish shall govern me. [Exit Cleon, l. Could I recall One hour, and bid thy sister think of me With gentle soiTow, as a playmate lost, I should escape the guilt of having stopp'd The pulse of hope in the most innocent soul That ever passion ruffled. Do not talk Of me as I shall seem to thy kind thoughts. But harshly as thou canst ; and if thou steal From thy rich store of popular eloquence Some bittei" charge against the faith of kings, 'Twill be an honest treason. Enter Cassander, r. Cass. Pardon me, If I entreat thee to permit a few Of thy once cherished fi-iends to bid thee joy Of that which swells their pride. Ion. They '11 madden me. — Dost thou not see me circled round with care ? Urge me no more. [As Cassander is going. Ion leaves Pmocion, and comes to him. Come back, Cassander ! see How greatness frets the temper. Keep this ring — It may remind thee of the pie i-iant hours That we have spent together, ere our fortunes 7Q ION. [Act V. Grew separate ; and with tliy gracious speech Excuse me to our friends. - [Exit Cassander, r. Pho. 'Tis time we seek The temple. Ion. Phocion ! must I to the temple 1 Pko. There sacrificial rites must be perform'd Before thou art enthroned. lofi. Then I must gaze On things which will arouse the struggling thoughts I had subdued — perchance may meet -with her Wliose name I dare not utter. I am ready. [Exeunt, L. Scene II. — T/ie Teinple. Clemanthe and Abra, discovered. Ahra. Be comforted, dear lady ; — he must come To sacrifice. Clevi. Recall that churlish word, That subborn " must" that bounds my living hopes, As with an iron circle. He must come ! How piteous is affection's state, that cleaves To such a wi'etched prop ! I had flown to him Long before this, but that I fear'd my presence Might prove a burthen, — and he sends no word, No token that he thinks of me ? Art sure That he must come % The hope has torture in it j Yet it is all my bankrupt heart hath left To feed upon. Ahra. I see him now with Phocion Pass through the inner court. Clem. He will not come This way, then, to the place for sacrifice. I can endure no more ; speed to him, Abra; And bid him, if he holds Clemanthe's life Worthy a minute's loss, to seek me here. Ahra. Dear lady ! — Olem. Do not answer me, but run, Or I shall give yon crowd of sycophants To gaze upon my sorrow. [Exit Abra, l. It is hard ; Yet I must strive to bear it, and find solace Scene II.] ION. 73 In that hiffh fortune which has made him st.-anofe. He bends this way — but slowly — mournfully. O, he is ill ; how has my slander wronged him ! Enter Ion, l. Ton. What wouldst thou with me, lady ? Clem. Is it so ] Nothing, my lord, save to implore thy pardon, That the departing gleams of a bright dream. From which I scarce had waken'd, made me bold To crave a word with thee ; — but all ai"e fled — And I have naught to seek. Ion. A goodly dream ; But thou ait right to think it was no more, And study to forget it. Clem. To forget it l Indeed, my lord, I cannot wish to lose What, being past, is all my future hath, All I shall live for : do not grudge me this, The brief space I shall need it. Ion. Speak not, fair one. In tone so mournful, for it makes me feel Too sensibly the hapless wretch I am. That troubled the deep quiet of thy soul In that pure fountain which reflected heaven, For a brief taste of rapture Clem. Dost thou yet Esteem it rapture, then 1 My foolish heart, Be still ! Yet wherefore should a crown divide us 1 Oh, my dear Ion ! let me call thee so This once at least — it could not in my thoughts Increase the distance that there was between us, When, rich in spirit, thou to strangers' eyes Seem'd a poor foundling. Ion. It must separate us ! Think it no harmless bauble, but a curse Will freeze the current in the veins of youth, And from familiar touch of genial hand, From household pleasures, from sweet daily tasks, From airy thought, free wanderer of the heavens, For ever banish me ! 74> ION. [Act V. Clem. Thou dost accuse Thy state too hardly. It may give some room, Some little space, amid its radiant folds, For love to make its nest in ! Ion. Not for me : My pomp must be most lonesome, far removed From that sweet fellowship of human kind The slave rejoices in ; my solemn robes Shall wrap me as a panoply of ice. And the attendants who may throng around me Shall want the flatteries which may basely warm The sceptral thing they circle. Dark and cold Stretches the path, which, when I wear the crown, I needs must enter ; — the gi'eat gods forbid That thou should'st follow in it ! Clem. Oh, unkind ! And shall we never see each other ? Ion. (after a pause.) Yes ! I have asked that dreadful question of the hills That look eternal ; of the flowing streams That lucid flow for ever ; of the stars, Amid whose fields of azure my raiseH spirit Hath trod in glory : all were dumb ; but now, While I thus gaze upon thy living face, I feel the love that kindles through its beauty. Can never wholly perish ; — we shall meet Again, Clemanthe ! Clem. Bless thee for that name ; Call me that name again ! thy words sound strangely. Yet they breathe kindness. Shall we meet indeed ] Think not I would intrude upon thy cares. Thy councils, or thy pomps ; — to sit at distance, To weave, with the nice labour which preserves The rebel pulses even, from gay threads Faint records of thy deeds, and sometimes catch The falling music of a gi-acious word. Or the sti'ay sunshine of a smile, will be Comfort enough ; — do not deny me this ; Or, if stern fate compel thee to deny, Kill me at once ! Ion, No J thou must live, my fair one ; SCEITE III.] ION. 75 There afe a thousand joyous things in life, Which pass unheeded in a Ufe of joy As thine hath been, till breezy sorrow comes To ruffle it ; and daily duties paid Hardly at first, at length will bring repose To the sad mind that studies to perform them. Thou dost not mark me. Cl^m. Oh, I do ! I do ! Ion. If for thy brother's and thy father's sake Thou art content to live, the healer Time Will reconcile thee to the lovely things Of this delightful world, — and if another, A happier — no, I cannot bid thee love Another ! — I did think I could have said it. But 'tis in vain. Clem. Thou art mine own, then, still ? Ion. I am thine own ! thus let me clasp thee ; nearer! Oh, joy too thrilling and too short ! Enter Agenor, r. Agen. My lord. The sacrificial rites await thy presence. Ion. I come. — One more embrace — the last, the last In this world ! Now farewell ! \^Exeunt Agenor and Ion. Clem. The last embrace ! Then he has cast me off'! — No, 'tis not so ; Some mournful secret of his fate divides us : I'll struggle to bear that, and snatch a comfort From seeing him uplifted. I will look Upon him on his throne ; Minerva's shrine Will shelter me from vulgar gaze : I'll hasten, And feast my sad eyes with his greatness there ! [JExit, R. Scene III. — The great Square of the city, — on the l. a throne of state prepared, — on the R. an altar, — the statues decorated with garlands. Enter Ctesiphon and Cassander, r. u. e. Ctes. Vex me no more, by telling me, Cassander, Of his fair speech ; I prize it at its worth : Thou'lt see how he will act when seated firm Upon the throne the craven tyrant fill'd, 76 ION. [Act V. Whose blood he boasts, unless some honest arm Should shed it first. Cas. Hast thou forgot the time When thou thyself wert eager to foretell His manhood's gloiy from his childish virtues ? Let me not think thee one of those fond prophets, Who are well pleased still to foretell success, So it remain their dream. Ctes. Thou dost forget What has chill'd fancy and delight within me — [Alusic at a distance. Hark ! — serv-ile trumpets speak his coming — watch, How power will change him. [ They stand aside. The Procession. - Enter v. e. r. Medon, Agenor, Pho- cioN, Timocles, Cleon, Sages and People — Ion last in royal robes. He advances amidst shouts. Ion. I thank you for your greeting — Shout no more, But in deep silence raise your hearts to Heaven, That it may strengthen one so young and frail As I am, for the business of this hour. Must I sit here 1 Medon. Permit thy earliest friend, Who has so often propp'd thy tottering steps, To lead thee to thy throne, — and thus fulfil His fondest vision. Ion. Thou art still most kind — Medon. Nay, do not think of me — my son ! my son ! What ails thee ] When thou should'st reflect the joy Of Argos, the strange paleness of the grave Marbles thy face. Io7i. Am I indeed so pale ] It is a solemn office I assume ; Yet thus, with Phoebus' blessing, I embrace it. \^Sits on the throne. Stand forth, Agenor ! Agen. I await thy will. Ion. To thee I look as to the wisest friend Of this afflicted people — thou must leave Awhile the quiet which thy life hath earn'd. To rule our councils ; fill the seats of justice Scene III.] ION. 77 With good men — not so absolute in goodness, As to forget what human frailty is ;— ■ And order my sad country. Agen. Pardon me — Ion. Nay, I will jiromise 'tis my last request : Thou never couldst deny me what I sought In boyish wantonness, and shalt not grudge Thy wisdom to me, till our state revive From its long anguish ; — -it will not be long Jf Heaven approve me here. Thou hast all power Whether I live or die. Agen. Die ! I am old — Ion. Death is not jealous of thy mild decay, Which gently wins thee his ; exulting Youth Provokes the ghastly monarch's sudden stride, And makes his horiid fingers quick to clasp His shivering prey at noontide. Let me see The captain of the guard. Cry. I kneel to crave Plumbly the favour which thy sire bestow'd On one who loved him well. Ion. I cannot thank thee. That wakest the memory of my father's weakness ; But I will not forget that thou hast shared The light enjoyments of a noble spirit, And learned the need of luxury. I grant For thee and thy brave comrades, ample share Of such rich treasures as my stores contain, To grace thy passage to some distant land, Where, if an honest cause engage thy sword, May glorious laurels wreath it ! In our realm, We shall not need it longer. Cry. Dost intend To banish the firm troops before whose valour Barbarian milli(ms shrink appall'd, and leave Our city naked to the first assault Of reckless foes ? Ion. No, Crythes ! — in ourselves, In our own honest hearts and chainless hands ' Will be our safeguard ; — while we seek no use Of arms, we would not have our children blend 78 .^ ION. [AciY. With their first innocent wishes ; while the love Of Argos and of justice shall be one To their young reason ; while their sinews grow Firm 'midst the gladness of heroic sports, — We shall not ask, to guard our country's peace, One selfish passion, or one venal swoi'd. I would not grieve thee ; — but thy valiant troop—- For I esteem them valiant — must no more, With luxury which suits a desperate camp, Infect us. See that they embark, Agenor, Ere night. Cnj. My lord — Ion. No more — my word hath pass'd. Medon, there is no office I can add To those thou hast grown old in ; — thou wilt guard The shrine of Phoebus, and within thy home — Thy too delightful home — befriend the stranger As thou didst me ; — there sometimes waste a thought On thy spoil'd inmate ! Medon. Think of tliee, my lord 1 Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign — Ion. Prithee no more. Argives ! I have a boon To crave of you ; — whene'er I shall I'ejoin In death the father from whose heart in life Stern fate divided me, think gently of him ! For ye, who saw him in his full-blown pride, Knew little of affections crush'd within. And wrongs which frenzied him ; yet never more Let the great interests of the state depend Upon the thousand chances that may sway A piece of human frailty ! Swear to me That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves The means of sovereign rule : — our narrow space, So happy in its confines, so compact, Needs not the magic of a single name Which wider regions may require to draw Their interests into one ; but, circled thus, Like a bless'd family by simple laws. May tenderly be governed ; ail degrees Moulded together as a single form Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords Scene IIIJ ION. 71^ Of sympathy pervading shall suffuse In times of quiet with one bloom, and fill With one resistless impulse, if the hosts Of foreign power should threaten. Swear to me That ye will do this ! Medon. Wherefore ask this now ] Thou shalt live long ! The paleness of thy face, Which late appalled me, is grown radiant now, And thine eyes kindle with the prophecy Of lustrous years. Ion. The gods approve me, then ! Yet will I use the function of a king. And claim obedience. Promise, if I leave No issue, tliat the sovereign power shall live In the affections of the general heart, And in the wisdom of the best. Mcdon and others (kneeling). We swear it ! Ion. Hear and record the oath, immortal powers ! Now give me leave a moment to approach That altar, unattended. [iiZe goes to the aitaf. Gracious gods ! In whose mild service my glad youth was spent, Look on me now ; and if there is a Power,-— As at this solemn time I feel there is,— Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes The spirit of the beautiful that lives In earth and heaven :— to ye I offer up This cortscious being, full of life and love, For my dear country's welfare. Let this blow End all her sorrows ! [Stabs himself and falls. CxESt- PHON rushes to support him. Ctesiphon, thou art Avenged, and wilt forgive me. Ctes. Thou hast pluck'd The poor disguise of hatred from my soul, And made me feel how sliallow is the wish Of vengeance. Could I die to save thee ! Clemanthe rushes forwards Clem. Hold! Let me support him — stand away ! indeed 80 ION. [Act V. I have best right, although ye know it not, To eling to him in death. Ion. This is a joy T did not hope for — this is sweet indeed ! Bend thine eyes on me ! Clein. And for this it was Thou wouldst have weaned me from thee ? Couldst thou think I would be so divorced 1 Ion. Thou art right, Clemanthe : It was a shallow and an idle thought — 'Tis past ! No show of coldness frets us now, No vain disguise, my love. Yet thou wilt think On that, which, when I feign'd, I truly said — Wilt thou not, sweet one 1 Clem. I will treasure all. , 'Enter luus, l. Irus. I bring you glorious tidings — Ha ! no joy Can enter here. Ion. Yes — is it as I hope 1 Irus. The pestilence abates. Ion (springs on his feet). Da ye not hearl Why shout ye not ] — ye are strong — think not of me. Hearken ! the curse my ancestry had spread O'er Argos, is dispelled — Agenor, give This gentle youth his freedom, who hath brought Sweet tidings that I shall not die in vain ! — • And Medon ! cherish him as thou hast one Who, dying, blesses thee ; — my own Clemanthe ! Let this console thee also — Argos lives — The offering is accepted — all is well ! f Vies. 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