Creusa My son, light that in thy mother’s eye outshinest yonder sun,— I know the god will pardon me,—in my arms I hold thee, whom I never hoped to find, for I thought thy home was in that nether world, among the ghosts with Queen Persephone.
Ion Ah, dear mother mine! within thy arms I rest, the dead now brought to light, and dead no more.
Creusa Hail, thou broad expanse of bright blue sky! What words can I find to utter my joy aloud? Whence comes to me such unexpected rapture? To what do I owe this bliss?
Ion This is the last thing that ever would have occurred to me, mother, that I was thy child.
Creusa With fear I tremble still.
Ion Dost thou doubt my reality?
Creusa Far from me had I banished these hopes. Whence, O whence, lady, didst thou take my babe into thy arms? Who carried him to the courts of Loxias?
Ion ’Tis a miracle! Oh! may we for the rest of our career be happy, as we were hapless heretofore.
Creusa In tears wert thou brought forth, my child, and with sorrow to thy mother didst thou leave her arms; but now I breathe again as I press my lips to thy cheek, in full enjoyment of happiness.
Ion Thy words express our mutual feelings.
Creusa No more am I of son and heir bereft; my house is stablished and my country hath a prince; Erechtheus groweth young again; no longer is the house of the earth-born race plunged in gloom, but lifts its eyes unto the radiant sun.
Ion Mother mine, since my father too is here, let him share the joy I have brought to thee.
Creusa My child, my child, what sayst thou? How is my sin finding me out!
Ion What meanest thou?
Creusa Thou art of a different, for different stock.
Ion Alas for me! Am I a bastard, then, born in thy maiden days?
Creusa Nor nuptial torch nor dance, my child, ushered in my wedding and thy birth.
Ion O mother, mother! whence do I draw my base origin?
Creusa Be witness she who slew the Gorgon,
Ion What meanest thou?
Creusa She that on my native rocks makes the olive-clad hill her seat.
Ion Thy words to me are but as cunning riddles. I cannot read them.
Creusa Hard by the rock with nightingales melodious, Phoebus,
Ion Why dost thou mention Phoebus?
Creusa Forced on me his secret love.
Ion Say on; for thy story will crown me with fame and fortune.
Creusa And as the tenth month came round I bore a child to Phoebus in secret.
Ion Oh! thy happy tidings, if thy story is true.
Creusa And about thee as swaddling-clothes I fastened this my maiden work, the faulty efforts of my loom. But to my breast I never held thy lips, or suckled or washed thee with a mother’s care; but in a desert cave wert thou cast out to die, for taloned kites to rend and feast upon.
Ion An awful deed! O mother!
Creusa Fear held me captive, and I cast thy life away, my child; I would, though loth, have slain thee too.
Ion Thou too wert all but slain by me most impiously.
Creusa O the horror of all I suffered then! O the horror of what is to follow now! To and fro from bad to good we toss, though now the gale is shifting round. May it remain steady! the past brought sorrows enough; but now hath a fair breeze sprung up, my son, to waft us out of woe.
Chorus
Let no man ever deem a thing past hoping for, when he turns an eye towards what is happening now.
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