

ION ; A TRAGEDY. 



Of rne his master, that I slew the boy. 

 'Tis false ! One summer's eve, below a crag 

 Which, in his wilful mood, he strove to climb, 

 He lay a mangled corpse. 



Ion. Did they dare 



Accuse thee? 



Adrastus. Not in open speech : they felt 



I should have seized the miscreant by the throat, 

 And crush'd the lie half spoken with the life 

 Of the base speaker; but the tale look'd out 

 From the stolen gaze of coward eyes, which shrank 

 When mine have met them ; murmur'd through the crowd 

 That at the sacrifice, or feast, or game 

 Stood distant from me ; burnt into my soul 

 When I beheld it in my father's shudder ! 

 Ion. Didst not declare thy innocence ? 



Adrastus. To whom ? 



To parents who could doubt me ? To the ring 

 Of grave impostors, or their shallow sons, 

 Who should have studied to prevent my wish 

 Before it grew to language ; hail'd my choice 

 To serve as a prize to wrestle for ; 

 And whose reluctant courtesy I bore, 

 Pale with proud anger, till from lips compress'd 

 The blood has started ? To the common herd, 

 The vassals of our ancient house, the mass 

 Of bones and muscles framed to till the soil 

 A few brief years, then rot unnamed beneath it, 

 Or, deck'd for slaughter at their master's call, 

 To smite and to be smitten, and lie crush'd 

 In heaps to swell his glory or his shame ? 

 Answer to them : No ! though my heart had burst, 

 As it was nigh to bursting! To the mountains 

 I fled, and on their pinnacles of snow 

 Breasted the icy wind, in hope to cool 

 My spirit's fever struggled with the oak 

 In search of weariness, and learn'd to rive 

 Its stubborn boughs, till limbs once lightly strung 

 Might mate in cordage with its infant stems ; 

 Or on the sea-beat rock tore off the vest 

 Which burnt upon my bosom, and to air 

 Headlong committed, clove the water's depth 

 Which plummet never sounded; but in vain. 

 Ion. Yet succour came to thee ? 



Adrastus. A blessed one ! 



Which the strange magic of thy voice revives, 

 And thus unlocks my soul. My rapid steps 

 Were in a wood-encircled valley stayed 

 By the bright vision of a maid, whose face 

 Most lovely more than loveliness reveal'd, 

 In touch of patient grief, which dearer seem'd 

 Than happiness to spirit sear'd like mine. 

 With feeble hands she strove to lay in earth 

 The body of her aged sire, whose death 

 Left her alone. I aided her sad work, 

 And soon two lonely ones by holy rites 

 Became one happy being. Days, weeks, months, 

 In streamlike unity flow'd silent by us 



