[The soldiers advance and surround the people; they seize PHOCION. ION rushes from the back of the stage, and throws himself between ADRASTUS 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[To ADRASTUS.] My sovereign, I implore thee, do not stain This sacred place with blood; in Heaven's great name I do conjure thee-and in hers, whose shade

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 thy state? Sue to the gods for life,
The common life which every slave endures,
And meanly clings to? 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, ČRYTHES and Soldiers. Ion. (who stands apart leaning on a pedestal). 'Tis seal'd!

Me.

Let us withdraw, and strive

By sacrifice to pacify the gods!

(MEDON, AGENOR, and Councillors, retire: they leave CTESIPHON, PHOCION, and ION. IoN still stands apart, as rapt in meditation.

Ctes. 'Tis well: the measure of his guilt is fill’d. Where shall we meet at sunset?

Pho

In the grove,

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-overgrown 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?

Pho.

At sunset we will meet.-With arms?

Ctes.

[Pointing to IoN.

His nature is too gentle.

A knife

At sunset!

One sacrificial knife will serve.

Pho.

[Exeunt CTESIPHON and PHOCION severally. ION comes forward.

Ion. Owretched King, 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,
Which 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!

[Exrt.

ACT III.

SCENE I-A Terrace of the Temple.

CLEMANTHE, ION.

Cle. 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 imageOne 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 guilty.

Ion. No, my fair one, The gloom that wrongs thy love is unredeemed By generous sense of others' woe: too sure It rises from dark presages within,

And will not from me.

Cle.
Then it is most groundless!
Hast thou not won the blessings of the perishing
By constancy, the fame of which shall live

While a heart beats in Argos?—hast thou not
Upon one agitated bosom pour'd

The sweetest peace? 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 experiences; I dream no more
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 me instinct with a frightful life
That drew me into fellowship with them,

As conscious marble; while their ponderuos lips-
Fit organs of eternity-unclosed,

And, as I live to tell thee, murmur'd "Hail!
Hail! ION THE DEVOTED!"

Cle.

These are fancies,

Which thy soul, late expanded with 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;-how beautiful thou art!— My pulse throbs now as it was wont;Which owns so fair a glass to mirror it, Cannot show darkly.

-a

being,

Cle.
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!

Cle. Yes; for no empty talk of public wrongs Assails him now; keen hatred and revenge

Are roused to crush him.

Ion.

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,

When, with unswerving hand and piteous eye,
He stops the brief life of the innocent kid
Bound with white fillets to the altar; so
Enwreathed by fate the royal victim heaves,
And soon his breast shall shrink beneath the knife
Of the selected slayer!

Cle.

'Tis thyself

Whom thy strange language pictures-Ion ! thou-
Ion. She has said it! Her pure lips have spoken out
What all things intimate ;-did'st thou not mark
Me for the office of avenger-me?

Cle. No;-save from the wild picture that 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 thought has grown familiar with me— Could I escape it?

Cle.

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.

Cle.

Let me

Go with thee. O, how often hand in hand
In such a lovely light have we roamed 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!

Cle.

[Exit ION.

Farewell then!

How fearful disproportion shows in one
Whose life hath been all harmony! He bends
Towards that thick covert where in blessed hour