University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An opening in a deep wood—in front an old grey 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
That 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
Echo my steps with melancholy sound
As ye were conscious of a guilty presence?
The lovely light of even 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 humorous, look terrible
As if about to start to serpent life
And hiss around me;—whither shall I turn—
Where fly?—I see the myrtle-cradled spot
Where human love instructed by divine
Found and embraced me first; I'll cast me down
Upon that earth as on a mother's breast,
In hope to feel myself again a child.

[Ion goes into the wood.
Enter Ctesiphon, Cassander, and other Argive youths.
CTESIPHON.
Sure this must be the place that Phocion spoke of;—
The twilight deepens, yet he does not come.
O, if instead of idle dreams of freedom,
He knew the sharpness of a grief like mine,
He would not linger thus!

CASSANDER.
The sun's broad disk
Of misty red, a few brief minutes since,
Sunk 'neath the leaden wave; but night steals on
With rapid pace to veil us, and thy thoughts
Are eager as the ominous darkness.

Enter Phocion.
CTESIPHON.
Welcome!
Thou knowest all here.

PHOCION.
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.

CTESIPHON.
I bring you glorious news. There is a soldier
Who, in his reckless boyhood, was my comrade,
And though by taste of luxury subdued
Even to brook the tyrant's service, burns
With generous anger to avenge that grief
I bear above all others. He has made
The retribution sure. From him I learnt
That when Adrastus reach'd his palace court,
He paused, to struggle with some mighty throe
Of awful passion; then, as if resolved
To conquer thought, 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 watching 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, are scatter'd through the courts
Unarm'd and cautionless. The eastern 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 sure hand within completes the doom
Which Heaven pronounces. Nothing now remains,
But that as all would share this action's glory,
We join in one great vow, and choose one arm
Our common minister. O, should my sorrows
Confer on me the office to return
Upon the tyrant's shivering heart the blow
Which crushed my father's spirit, I will leave
To him who cares for toys—the patriot's laurel
And the applause of ages!

PHOCION.
Let the gods
By the old course of lot reveal the name
Of the predestined champion. For myself,
Here do I solemnly devote all powers
Of soul and body to that glorious purpose
We live but to fulfil.

CTESIPHON.
And I!

CASSANDER.
And I!

ION.
[Who has advanced from the wood, rushes to the altar and exclaims]
And I!

PHOCION.
Ion! thou art most welcome; sure the gods
In prompting thy unspotted soul to join
Our bloody councils, sanctify and bless them!

ION.
Yes; they have prompted 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 a fellowship which makes all clear.
Wilt trust me, Ctesiphon?

CTESIPHON.
Yes; but we waste
The precious minutes in vain talk; if lots
Must guide us, have ye scrolls?

PHOCION.
Cassander has them;
The flickering light of yonder glade will serve him
To inscribe them with our names. Be quick, Cassander!

CTESIPHON.
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 helmet and gives it to Cassander, who retires with it.]
PHOCION
[to Ctesiphon].
He whose name
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 imperfect.

CTESIPHON.
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.
CTESIPHON.
Now gods decide!

[Ctesiphon draws a lot from the helmet.
PHOCION.
The name? Why dost thou pause?

CTESIPHON.
'Tis Ion!

ION.
Well, I knew it would be mine!

[Ctesiphon draws another lot.
CTESIPHON.
Phocion! it will be thine to strike him dead
If he should prove faint-hearted.

PHOCION.
With my life
I'll answer for his constancy.

CTESIPHON.
[to Ion.
Thy hand!
'Tis cold as death.

ION.
Yes; but it is as firm.
What ceremony next?

[Ctesiphon leads Ion to the altar and gives him a knife.
CTESIPHON.
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.

CTESIPHON.
Such words
The god hath used who never speaks in vain.

PHOCION.
There were old rumours of an infant born
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,
Crimes grow unpunish'd which the pirates' 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 whose branches, stifling virtue,
Shed poison-dews on joy.
[Ion approaches the altar, and, lifting up the knife, speaks.
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 for ever; 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! O keep me pityless,
Expel all human weakness from my frame,
That this keen weapon shake not when his heart
Should feel its point; and if he has a child
Whose blood is needful to the sacrifice
My country asks, harden my soul to shed it!—
Was not that thunder?

CTESIPHON.
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
Surround us unprepared. Be that thy duty.

[To Phocion.
PHOCION.
I am to second Ion if he fail.

CTESIPHON.
He cannot fail;—I shall be nigh. What, Ion!

ION.
Who spake to me? Where am I? Friends, your pardon;
I am prepared; yet grant me for a moment,
Only a moment, to be left alone.

CTESIPHON.
Be brief then, or the season of revenge
Will pass. At yonder thicket we'll expect thee.

[Exeunt all but Ion.
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 ought to hide
From any human eye. [He conceals the knife in his vest.

Enter Clemanthe.
Clemanthe here!

CLEMANTHE.
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 more 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, sayest thou? Death?
Is it not righteous when the gods decree it?
And brief its sharpest agony? Yet, fairest,
It is no theme for thee. Prithee go in,
And think of it no more.

CLEMANTHE.
Not without thee.
Indeed thou art not well; thy hands are marble,
Thy eyes are fix'd; let me support thee, love,—
Ha! what is that gleaming within thy vest?
A knife! Tell me its purpose, Ion!

ION.
No;
My oath forbids.

CLEMANTHE.
An oath! O gentle Ion,
What can have link'd thee to a cause which needs
A stronger cement than a good man's word?
Hast not install'd me in thy soul's high palace,
And wilt thou keep one churlish corner from me?

ION.
Alas, I must. Thou wilt know all full soon—
[Voices call Ion!]
Hark, I am call'd!

CLEMANTHE.
Nay, do not leave me thus.

ION.
'Tis very sad [voices again]
—I dare not stay—farewell!

[Exit.
CLEMANTHE.
It must be to Adrastus that he hastes!
'Tis fit the tyrant die, but not by him;
For black remembrance of the deed will 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.