by Euripides
It might abide; her gentle hand then took it,
And gave it nurture; yet conceived she not
That Phoebus was the sire, nor who the mother
Knew aught, nor of his parents could the child
Give information. All his youthful years
Sportive he wandered round the shrine, and there
Was fed: but when his firmer age advanced
To manhood, o’er the treasures of the god
The Delphians placed him, to his faithful care
Consigning all; and in this royal dome
His hallow’d life he to this hour hath pass’d.
Meantime Creusa, mother of the child,
To Xuthus was espoused, the occasion this:-
On Athens from Euboean Chalcis roll’d
The waves of war; be join’d their martial toil,
And with his spear repell’d the foe; for this
To the proud honour of Creusa’s bed
Advanc’d; no native, in Achaea sprung
From Aeolus, the son of Jove. Long time
Unbless’d with children, to the oracular shrine
Of Phoebus are they come, through fond desire
Of progeny: to this the god hath brought
The fortune of his son, nor, as was deem’d,
Forgets him; but to Xuthus, when he stands
This sacred seat consulting, will he give
That son, declared his offspring; that the child,
When to Creusa’s house brought back, by her
May be agnized; the bridal rites of Phoebus
Kept secret, that the youth may claim the state
Due to his birth, through all the states of Greece
Named Ion, founder of the colonies
On the Asiatic coast. The laurell’d cave
Now will I visit, there to learn what fortune
Is to the boy appointed, for I see
This son of Phoebus issuing forth to adorn
The gates before the shrine with laurel boughs.
First of the gods I hail him by the name
Of Ion, which his fortune soon will give him.
(MERCURY vanishes. ION and the attendants of the temple enter.)
ION (chanting) Now flames this radiant chariot of the sun
High o’er the earth, at whose ethereal fire
The stars into the sacred night retreat:
O’er the Parnassian cliffs the ascending wheels
To mortals roll the beams of day; the wreaths
Of incense-breathing myrrh mount to the roof
Of Phoebus’ fane; the Delphic priestess now
Assumes her seat, and from the hallow’d tripod
Pronounces to the Greeks the oracular strains
Which the god dictates. Haste, ye Delphic train,
Haste to Castalia’s silver-streaming fount;
Bathed in its chaste dews to the temple go;
There from your guarded mouths no sound be heard
But of good omen, that to those who crave
Admission to the oracle, your voice
May with auspicious words expound the answers.
My task, which from my early infancy
Hath been my charge, shall be with laurel boughs
And sacred wreaths to cleanse the vestibule
Of Phoebus, on the pavement moistening dews
To rain, and with my bow to chase the birds
Which would defile the hallow’d ornaments.
A mother’s fondness, and a father’s care
I never knew: the temple of the god
Claims then my service, for it nurtured me.
(The attendants leave. ION busies himself before the temple as he continues to sing.)
Haste, thou verdant new-sprung bough,
Haste, thy early office know;
Branch of beauteous laurel come,
Sweep Apollo’s sacred dome,
Cropp’d this temple’s base beneath,
Where the immortal gardens breathe,
And eternal dews that round
Water the delicious ground,
Bathe the myrtle’s tresses fair.
Lightly thus, with constant care,
The pavement of the god I sweep,
When over the Parnassian steep
Flames the bright sun’s mounting ray;
This my task each rising day.
Son of Latona, Paean, Paean, hail!
Never, O never may thy honours fail!
Grateful is my task, who wait
Serving, Phoebus, at thy gate;
Honouring thus thy hallow’d shrine,
Honour for the task is mine.
Labouring with unwilling hands,
Me no mortal man commands:
But, immortal gods, to you
All my pleasing toil is due.
Phoebus is to me a sire;
Grateful thoughts my soul inspire;
Nurtured by thy bounty here,
Thee, Apollo, I revere;
As a father’s I repeat.
Son of Latona, Paean, Paean, hail!
Never, O never may thy honours fail!
Now from this labour with the laurel bough
I cease; and sprinkling from the golden vase
The chaste drops which Castalia’s fountain rolls,
Bedew the pavement. Never may I quit
This office to the god; or, if I quit it,
Be it, good Fortune, at thy favouring call!
But see, the early birds have left their nests,
And this way from Parnassus wing their flight.
Come not, I charge you, near the battlements,
Nor near the golden dome. Herald of Jove,
Strong though thy beak beyond the feather’d kind,
My bow shall reach thee. Towards the altar, see,
A swan comes sailing: elsewhere wilt thou move
Thy scarlet-tinctured foot? or from my bow
The lyre of Phoebus to thy notes attuned
Will not protect thee; farther stretch thy wings;
Go, wanton, skim along the Delian lake,
Or wilt thou steep thy melody in blood.
Look, what strange bird comes onwards; wouldst thou fix
Beneath the battlements thy straw-built nest?
My singing bow shall drive thee hence; begone,
Or to the banks of Alpheus, gulfy stream,
Or to the Isthmian grove; there hatch thy young;
Mar not these pendent ornaments, nor soil
The temple of the god: I would not kill you:
‘Twere pity, for to mortal man you bear
The message of the gods; yet my due task
Must be perform’d, and never will I cease
My service to the god who nurtured me.
(The CHORUS enters. The following lines between ION and the CHORUS are chanted responsively as they gaze admiringly at the decorations on the temple.)
CHORUS The stately column, and the gorgeous dome
Raised to the gods, are not the boast alone
Of our magnificent Athens; nor the statues
That grace her streets; this temple of the god,
Son of Latona, beauteous to behold,
Beams the resplendent light of both her children.
ION Turn thine eyes this way; look, the son of Jove
Lops with his golden scimitar the heads
Of the Lernean Hydra: view it well.
CHORUS I see him.
ION And this other standing nigh, Who snatches from the fire the blazing brand.
CHORUS What is his name? the subject, on the web
Design’d, these hands have wrought in ductile gold.
ION The shield-supporting Iolaus, who bears
The toils in common with the son of Jove.
View now this hero; on his winged steed
The triple-bodied monster’s dreadful force
He conquers through the flames his jaws emit.
CHORUS I view it all attentiv
ely.
ION Observe
The battle of the giants, on the walls
Sculptured in stone.
CHORUS Let us note this, my friends.
ION See where against Enceladus she shakes
Her gorgon shield.
CHORUS I see my goddess, Pallas.
ION Mark the tempestuous thunder’s flaming bolt
Launch’d by the hand of Jove.
CHORUS The furious Mimas
Here blazes in the volley’d fires: and there
Another earth-born monster falls beneath
The wand of Bacchus wreathed with ivy round,
No martial spear. But, as ’tis thine to tend
This temple, let me ask thee, is it lawful,
Leaving our sandals, its interior parts
To visit?
ION Strangers, this is not permitted.
CHORUS Yet may we make inquiries of thee?
ION Speak;
What wouldst thou know?
CHORUS Whether this temple’s site
Be the earth’s centre?
ION Ay, with garlands hung,
And gorgons all around.
CHORUS So fame reports.
ION If at the gate the honey’d cake be offer’d,
Would you consult the oracle, advance
To the altar: till the hallow’d lamb has bled
In sacrifice, approach not the recess.
CHORUS I am instructed: what the god appoints
As laws, we wish not to transgress: without
Enough of ornament delights our eyes.
ION Take a full view of all; that is allow’d.
CHORUS To view the inmost shrine was our lord’s order.
ION Who are you call’d? Attendants on what house?
CHORUS Our lords inhabit the magnific domes
Of Pallas.-But she comes, of whom thou askest.
(CREUSA and attendants enter.)
ION Lady, whoe’er thou art, that liberal air
Speaks an exalted mind: there is a grace,
A dignity in those of noble birth,
That marks their high rank. Yet I marvel much
That from thy closed lids the trickling tear
Water’d thy beauteous cheeks, soon as thine eye
Beheld this chaste oracular seat of Phoebus.
What brings this sorrow, lady? All besides,
Viewing the temple of the god, are struck
With joy; thy melting eye o’erflows with tears.
CREUSA Not without reason, stranger, art thou seized
With wonder at my tears: this sacred dome
Awakes the sad remembrance of things past.
I had my mind at home, though present here.
How wretched is our sex! And, O ye gods,
What deeds are yours! Where may we hope for right,
If by the injustice of your power undone?
ION Why, lady, this inexplicable grief?
CREUSA It matters not; my mind resumes its firmless:
I say no more; cease thy concern for me.
ION But say, who art thou? whence? what country boasts
Thy birth? and by what name may we address thee?
CREUSA Creusa is my name, drawn from Erechtheus
My high-born lineage; Athens gave me birth.
Illustrious is thy state; thy ancestry
So noble that I look with reverence on thee.
CREUSA Happy indeed is this, in nothing farther.
ION But tell me, is it true what fame has blazon’d?
CREUSA What wouldst thou ask? Stranger, I wish to know.
ION Sprung the first author of thy line from the earth?
CREUSA Ay, Erichthonius; but my race avails not.
ION And did Minerva raise him from the earth?
CREUSA Held in her virgin hands: she bore him not.
ION And gave him as the picture represents?
CREUSA Daughters of Cecrops these, charged not to see him.
ION The virgins ope’d the interdicted chest?
CREUSA And died, distaining with their blood the rock.
ION But tell me, is this truth, or a vain rumour?
CREUSA What wouldst thou ask? I am not scant of time.
ION Thy sisters did Erechtheus sacrifice?
CREUSA He slew the virgins, victims for their country.
ION And thou of all thy sisters saved alone?
CREUSA I was an infant in my mother’s arms.
ION And did the yawning earth swallow thy father?
CREUSA By Neptune’s trident smote; and so he perish’d.
ION And Macrai call you not the fatal place?
CREUSA Why dost thou ask? What thoughts hast thou recall’d?,
ION Does Phoebus, do his lightnings honour it?
CREUSA Honour! Why this? Would I had never seen it!
ION Why? Dost thou hate the place dear to the god?
CREUSA No: but for some base deed done in the cave.
ION But what Athenian, lady, wedded thee?
CREUSA Of Athens none, but one of foreign birth.
ION What is his name? Noble he needs must be.
CREUSA Xuthus, by Aeolus derived from Jove.
ION How weds a stranger an Athenian born?
CREUSA Euboea is a state neighbouring on Athens.
ION A narrow sea flows, I have heard, between.
CREUSA Joining the Athenian arms, that state he wasted.
ION Confederate in the war, thence wedded thee?
CREUSA The dowral meed of war, earn’d by his spear.
ION Comest thou with him to Delphi, or alone?
CREUSA With him, gone now to the Trophonian shrine.
ION To view it, or consult the oracle?
CREUSA Both that and this, anxious for one response.
ION For the earth’s fruits consult you, or for children?
CREUSA Though wedded long, yet childless is our bed.
ION Hast thou ne’er borne a child, that thou hast none?
CREUSA My state devoid of children Phoebus knows.
ION Bless’d in all else, luckless in this alone.
CREUSA But who art thou? Bless’d I pronounce thy mother.
ION Call’d as I am the servant of the god.
CREUSA Presented by some state, or sold to this?
ION I know not aught save this, I am the god’s.
CREUSA And in my turn, stranger, I pity thee.
ION As knowing not my mother, or my lineage.
CREUSA Hast thou thy dwelling here, or in some house?
ION The temple is my house, ev’n when I sleep.
CREUSA A child brought hither, or in riper years?
ION An infant, as they say, who seem to know.
CREUSA What Delphian dame sustain’d thee at her breast?
ION I never knew a breast. She nourish’d me.
CREUSA Who, hapless youth? Diseased, I find disease.
ION The priestess: as a mother I esteem her.
CREUSA Who to these manly years gave thee support?
ION The altars, and the still-succeeding strangers.
CREUSA Wretched, whoe’er she be, is she that bore thee.
ION I to some woman am perchance a shame.
CREUSA Are riches thine? Thou art well habited.
ION Graced with these vestments by the god I serve.
CREUSA Hast thou made no attempt to trace thy birth?
ION I have no token, lady, for a proof.
CREUSA Ah, like thy mother doth another suffer.
ION Who? tell me: shouldst thou help me, what a joy
CREUSA One for whose sake I come before my husband.
ION Say for what end, that I may serve thee, lady.
CREUSA To ask a secret answer of the god.
ION Speak it: my service shall procure the rest.
CREUSA Hear then the tale: but Modesty restrains me.
ION Ah, let her not; her power avails not here.
CREUSA My friend then says that to t
he embrace of Phoebus-
ION A woman and a god! Say not so, stranger.
CREUSA She bore a son: her father knew it not.
ION Not so: a mortal’s baseness he disdains.
CREUSA This she affirms; and this, poor wretch, she suffer’d.
ION What follow’d, if she knew the god’s embrace?
CREUSA The child, which hence had birth, she straight exposed.
ION This exposed child, where is he? doth he live?
CREUSA This no one knows; this wish I to inquire.
ION If not alive, how probably destroyed?
CREUSA Torn, she conjectures, by some beast of prey.
ION What ground hath she on which to build that thought?
CREUSA Returning to the place she found him not.
ION Observed she drops of blood distain the path?
CREUSA None, though with anxious heed she search’d around.
ION What time hath pass’d since thus the child was lost?
CREUSA Were he alive, his youth were such as thine.
ION The god hath done him wrong: the unhappy mother-
CREUSA Hath not to any child been mother since.
ION What if in secret Phoebus nurtures him!
CREUSA Unjust to enjoy alone a common right.
ION Ah me! this cruel fate accords with mine.
CREUSA For thee too thy unhappy mother mourns.
ION Ah, melt me not to griefs I would forget!
CREUSA I will be silent: but impart thy aid.
ION Seest thou what most the inquiry will suppress?
CREUSA And to my wretched friend what is not ill?
ION How shall the god what he would hide reveal?
CREUSA As placed on the oracular seat of Greece.
ION The deed must cause him shame: convict him not.
CREUSA To the poor sufferer ’tis the cause of grief.
ION It cannot be; for who shall dare to give
The oracle? With justice would the god,
In his own dome affronted, pour on him
Severest vengeance, who should answer thee.
Desist then, lady: it becomes us ill,
In opposition to the god, to make
Inquiries at his shrine; by sacrifice
Before their altars, or the flight of birds,
Should we attempt to force the unwilling gods
To utter what they wish not, ‘twere the excess
Of rudeness; what with violence we urge
‘Gainst their consent would to no good avail us:
What their spontaneous grace confers on us,
That, lady, as a blessing we esteem.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS How numberless the ills to mortal man,
And various in their form! One single blessing
By any one through life is scarcely found.
CREUSA Nor here, nor there, O Phoebus, art thou just
To her; though absent, yet her words are present.