 | Ion |  |
SCENE I.
A Terrace of the Palace.ADRASTUS, CRYTHES.
ADRASTUS.
The air breathes freshly after our long night
Of glorious revelry. I'll walk awhile.
CRYTHES.
It blows across the town; dost thou not fear
It bear infection with it?
ADRASTUS.
Fear! dost talk
Of fear to me? I deem'd even thy poor thoughts
42
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?
CRYTHES.
My liege, of human might all know thee fearless,
But may not heroes shun the elements
When sickness taints them?
ADRASTUS.
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 heriter
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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 wish,
If such unkingly yielding might avert it.
CRYTHES.
Thou art ever royal in thy thoughts.
ADRASTUS.
No more—
I would be private.
[Exit Crythes.
Grovelling parasite!
Why should I waste these fate-environ'd hours,
And pledge my high defiance to despair
With flatterers such as thou;—as if my joys
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. Let weakness seek
Companionship: I'll henceforth feast alone.
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SOLDIER.
My liege, forgive me.
ADRASTUS.
Well! Speak out at once
Thy business, and retire.
SOLDIER.
I have no part
In the presumptuous message that I bear.
ADRASTUS.
Tell it, or go. There is no time to waste
On idle terrors.
SOLDIER.
Thus it is, my lord:—
As we were burnishing our arms, a man
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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 besought
Our startled band to lead him to the king,
That he might urge a message which the sages
Had charged him to deliver.
ADRASTUS.
Ha! the greybeards
Who, mid the altars of the gods, conspire
To cast the image of supernal power
From earth, which it ennobles. What old rebel
Is so resolved to play the orator
That he would die for't?
SOLDIER.
He is but a youth,
Yet urged his prayer with a sad constancy
Which could not be denied.
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O bravely plann'd
This is sedition worthy of the herd
Of sophist traitors; brave to scatter fancies
Of discontent midst sturdy artisans,
Whose honest sinews they direct 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,
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.
SOLDIER.
We have already told him of the fate
Which waits his daring; courteously he thank'd us,
But still with solemn accent urged his suit.
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Tell him once more, if he persists, 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 birthplace,
To veil my setting glories. He is warn'd;
And if he cross yon threshold, he shall die.
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CRYTHES.
The king!
ADRASTUS.
Stranger, I bid thee welcome;
We are about to tread the same dark passage,
Thou almost on the instant.—Is the sword
[To Crythes.
Of justice sharpen'd, and the headsman ready?
CRYTHES.
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.
ADRASTUS.
[To Ion.]
Dost thou see them?
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I do.
ADRASTUS.
By Heaven, he does not change!
If, even now, thou wilt depart and leave
Thy traitorous thoughts unspoken, thou art free.
ION.
I thank thee for thy offer; but I stand
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 hear me
For them, I am content to speak no more.
ADRASTUS.
Thou hast thy wish then. Crythes! till yon dial
Cast its thin shadow on the approaching hour,
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Come without word and lead him to his doom.
Now leave us.
CRYTHES.
What, alone?
ADRASTUS.
Yes, slave! alone.
He is no assassin!
[Exit Crythes.
Tell me who thou art.
What generous source owns that heroic blood,
Which holds its course thus bravely? What great wars
Have nursed the courage that can look on death,
Certain and speedy death, with placid eye?
ION.
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 nerve me thus to speak
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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!
ADRASTUS.
I know it must; so mayst thou spare thy warnings;
The envious gods in me have doom'd a race,
Whose glories stream from 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.
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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 break out triumphant at thy fall;
But thou art gifted with a nobler sense—
I know thou art, my sovereign—sense of pain
Endured by myriad Argives, in whose souls,
And in whose fathers' souls, thou and thy fathers
Have kept their cherish'd state; whose heartstrings, still
The living fibres of thy rooted power,
Quiver with agonies thy crimes have drawn
From heavenly justice on them.
ADRASTUS.
How! my crimes?
ION.
Yes; 'tis the eternal law that where guilt is,
Sorrow shall answer it; and thou hast not
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Or in the narrow circle of his kinsmen
The penalties of evil, for in thine
A nation's fate is circled.—King Adrastus!
Mail'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.
O, if maternal love embraced thee then,
Think of the mothers who with eyes unwet
Glare o'er their perishing children: hast thou shared
The glow of a first friendship, 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!
ADRASTUS.
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
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ION.
I knew that we should pity—
ADRASTUS.
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—
ADRASTUS.
Beware! beware!
ION.
Thou hast! I see thou hast! Thou art not marble,
And thou shalt hear me!—Think upon the time
When the clear depths of thy yet lucid soul
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As if some unseen visitant from heaven
Touch'd the calm lake and wreath'd its images
In sparkling waves;—recall the dallying hope
That on the margin of assurance trembled,
As loth to lose in certainty too bless'd
Its happy being;—taste in thought again
Of the stolen sweetness of those evening walks,
When pansied turf was air to winged feet,
And circling forests by etherial 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!
ADRASTUS.
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,
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Of golden joy, ye come! your glories break
Through my pavilion'd spirit's sable folds!
Roll on! roll on!—Stranger, thou dost enforce me
To speak of things unbreathed by lip of mine
To human ear;—wilt listen?
ION.
As a child.
ADRASTUS.
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 young voice
Caught it to rive and mock 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 thundered from a thousand throats
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In the dark chamber where my mother lay,
Faint with the sense of pain-bought happiness,
Came forth, in heart-appalling 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 sorrow!”—Ere I grew
Of years to know myself a thing accursed,
A second son was born, to steal the love
Which fate had else scarce rifled: he became
My parents' hope, the darling of the crew
Who lived upon 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—God! I cannot bear
To speak it now—look'd freezingly upon me!
ION.
But thy brother—
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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, below a crag
Which, in his wilful mood, he strove to climb,
He lay a mangled corpse: the very slaves,
Whose cruelty had shut him from my heart,
Now coin'd their own injustice into proof
To brand me as his murderer.
ION.
Did they dare
Accuse thee?
ADRASTUS.
Not in open speech:—they felt
I should have seized the miscreant by the throat,
And crush'd the lie half-spoken with the life
Of the base speaker;—but the tale look'd out
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When mine has 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?
ADRASTUS.
To whom?
To parents who could doubt me? To the ring
Of grave impostors, or their shallow sons,
Who should have studied to prevent my wish
Before it grew to language; hail'd 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? To the common herd,
The vassals of our ancient house, the mass
Of bones and muscles framed to till the soil
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Or, deck'd for slaughter at their monarch's call,
To smite and to be smitten, and lie crush'd
In heaps to swell his glory or his shame?
Answer to them: No! though my heart had burst,
As it was nigh to bursting!—To the mountains
I fled, and on their pinnacles of snow
Breasted the icy wind, 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 burnt 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?
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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 grief, 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 streamlike unity flow'd silent by us
In our delightful nest. My father's spies—
Slaves, whom my nod should have consign'd to stripes
Or the swift falchion—track'd our sylvan home
Just as my bosom knew its second joy,
And, spite of fortune, I embraced a son.
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Commission'd by thy parents to avert
That dreadful prophecy?
ADRASTUS.
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 follow'd it
I would embrace him with my dying eyes,
And pardon destiny! While crysome 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;
Dash'd through the thicket to the beetling rock
'Neath which the deep wave eddies: I stood still
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Press'd by the rudeness of the murderers' 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 mother—
ADRASTUS.
She spake no word, but clasp'd 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.
ADRASTUS.
Why art thou here?
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The dial points the hour.
ADRASTUS.
Dost thou not see that horrid purpose past?
Hast thou no heart—no sense?
CRYTHES.
Scarce half an hour
Hath flown since the command on which I wait.
ADRASTUS.
Scarce half an hour!—years—years have roll'd since then.
Begone; remove that pageantry of death—
It blasts my sight—and harken! Touch a hair
Of this brave youth, or look on him as now
With thy cold hangman's eye, and yonder band
Shall not desire a spectacle in vain.
Hence without word.
[Exit Crythes.
What wouldst thou have me do?
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Let thy awaken'd heart speak its own language;
Convene thy sages;—frankly, nobly meet them;
Explore with them the pleasure of the gods,
And, at however high a cost, perform it.
ADRASTUS.
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.
ADRASTUS.
Yet stay—he's gone—his spell is on me yet;
What have I promised him? To meet the men
Who from my living head would strip the crown
And sit in judgment on me?—I must do it—
Yet shall my band be ready to o'erawe
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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 again a king!
| Ion | |