University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

The Great Square of the City—on one side a throne of state prepared,—on the other an altar,—the statues hung with garlands.
Enter Ctesiphon and Cassander.
CTESIPHON.
Do not vex me 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,
Whose blood he boasts, unless some honest arm
Should shed it first.

CASSANDER.
Hast thou forgot the time
When thou thyself delighted to foretell
His manhood's glory from his childish virtues?
Let me not think thee one of those fond prophets,
Who are well pleas'd still to foretell success,
So it remain their dream.

CTESIPHON.
Thou dost forget
What has chill'd fancy and delight within me—
[Music at a distance.
Hark!—servile trumpets speak his coming—watch,
How power will change him.

[They stand aside.
The Procession. Enter Medon, Agenor, Phocion, Timocles, Cleon, Sages and People; Ion last, in royal robes. He advances amidst shouts, and speaks.
ION.
I thank you for your greetings—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?

MEDON.
Let me, thy earliest friend,
Whom thou hast honour'd with the name of father,
Conduct thee to thy throne;—and thus fulfil
My fondest vision.

ION.
Thou art still most kind—

MEDON.
Nay, do not think of me—my son! my son!
Thou art deadly pale, when thou shouldst share the joy
Thou wilt bestow on Argos.

ION.
Am I pale?
It is a solemn office—yet thus aided,
With great Apollo's blessing, I embrace it.
[Sits on the throne.
Stand forth, Agenor!

AGENOR.
I await thy will.

ION.
To thee I look as to the wisest friend
Of this afflicted people;—may I ask thee,
Forsaking the dear quiet of thy age,
To rule our councils; fill the seats of justice,
Too long abused, with men as little frail
As men can be who know what frailty is;
And order my sad country.

AGENOR.
Pardon me—

ION.
Nay, I will promise thee to ask no more;
Thou never yet refused me what I sought
In boyish wantonness, and shalt not grudge
Thy strength and wisdom to me now. Remember
Thou hast all power from me, here or abroad,
Alive or dead.

AGENOR.
Dead! I am old, my Lord.

ION.
Death is not jealous of thy mild decay,
And will not hasten it;—the sight of youth
Inspires its icy finger to be quick,
And grasp its prey in noontide. Let me see
The captain of the guard.

CRYTHES.
Thy humblest servant
Implores thy favour as the friend of him
Whose rightful heir thou art.

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 learn'd the need of luxury. I grant
For thee and thy brave comrades, ample share
Of such rich treasure as the palace holds,
To grace thy passage to some distant land,
Where, if thy valour seek an honest cause,
I wish thee glorious victories; but here
We shall not need thee longer.

CRYTHES.
Dost intend
To banish the firm troops before whose valour
Barbarian millions tremble, and to 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;—every freeborn child
Shall be prepared to guard his country's peace
By well-nerved arm, nor ask for her defence
One selfish passion, or one venal sword.
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 this be done, Agenor,
Ere night.

CRYTHES.
My Lord—

ION.
No more—my word is pass'd.
Medon, there is no office I can add
To those thou hast grown old in; thou wilt guard
The shrine of Phœbus, and within thy home—
Thy most delightful home—befriend the stranger
As thou didst me;—there thou wilt sometimes think
On thy spoil'd inmate.

MEDON.
Think of thee, my Lord?
We shall revere thee in thy glorious reign—

ION.
No more of that. Argives! there is a boon
I fain would crave of you;—when I am dust,
Be gentle to the memory of my father,
For ye who saw him in his full blown pride
Knew little of the inward man, nor guess'd
The wrongs which frenzied him; yet not again
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 sovereignty:—our narrow space,
So beautiful, so bounded, so compact,
Needs not the magic of a single name
Which wider regions may require to draw
Their interests into one; but, circled in
Like a bless'd family by simple laws,
May tenderly be govern'd; all degrees
Blent into one harmonious frame may glow
A living form of beauty, free to smile
In generous peace, or flash with courage bright,
If tyranny should threaten. Swear to me
That ye will do this!

MEDON.
Wherefore ask this now?—
Thou shalt live long;—thy face, that late so pale
Appall'd me, now is flush'd with radiant joy,
And speaks a reign of glory.

ION.
Looks, alas!
May prove deceitful. Promise, if I leave
No issue, that the sovereign power shall live
In the affections of the people's soul,
And in our sages' wisdom.

MEDON
and others.
We will swear it!

ION.
Hear and record the oath, immortal powers!
Now give me leave a moment to approach
That altar unattended.
[He goes to the altar.
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 conscious being, full of life and love
For my dear country's welfare. Let this blow
End all her sorrows!
[Stabs himself, and falls. Ctesiphon rushes to catch him.]
Ctesiphon, thou art
Avenged, and wilt forgive me.

CTESIPHON.
Thou hast pluck'd
The poor disguise of hatred from my soul,
And made me feel how low and base a thing
Is vengeance. Could I die to save thee!

Clemanthe rushes forward.
CLEMANTHE.
Hold!
Let me support him—stand away—indeed
I have best right, although ye know it not,
To cling to him in death.

ION.
This is a joy
I did not hope for—this is sweet indeed.—
Bend thine eyes on me!

CLEMANTHE.
And for this it was
Thou wouldst have weaned me from thee! Couldst thou think
I would be so divorced?

ION.
Thou art right, Clemanthe,—
It was a shallow and an idle thought;
'Tis past; we have no show of coldness now,
No vain disguise, my girl. Yet thou wilt think
On that which, in my feigning, I said truly—
Wilt thou not, sweet one?

CLEMANTHE.
I will treasure all.

Enter Irus.
IRUS.
I bring you glorious tidings—Ha! no joy
Can enter here.

ION.
Yes—is it as I hope?

IRUS.
The pestilence abates.

Ion.
[Springs to his feet.]
Do ye not hear?
Why shout ye not?—ye are strong—think not of me;
Hearken! the curse my ancestry had spread
O'er Argos is dispell'd!—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—Argos lives again—
The offering is accepted—all is well!

[Dies.