16 ION ; A TRAttEDY. 



Ion. The gods approve me then ! 



Yet I will use the function of a king, 

 And claim obedience. Promise, if I leave 

 No issue, that the sovereign power shall live 

 In the affections of the general heart, 

 And in the wisdom of the best. 

 Medon and others. We swear it ! 



Ton. 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 -nay 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.] 



The death of Ion, the last of the race of Adrastus, we need scarcely 

 add, propitiates the anger of Phoebus ; and health and prosperity 

 are restored to Argos. 



The citations that we have made are somewhat copious: more so 

 than is usual with Reviewers. The only apology, if apology be 

 needed, that can be offered, is that this plan seemed on the whole 

 better than that of expatiating on the particular points of beauty our- 

 selves, where no corresponding sensation could be felt by those of our 

 readers who had not read or seen the Tragedy. Though our re- 

 marks come forth with less pretence of criticism, we doubt not that 

 we have as faithfully developed the beauties of Mr. Talfourd's play 

 as those more ambitious writers who in papers, miscalled Reviews, 

 express their own opinions with a boldness and dogmatism that con- 

 cealment alone could sanction, and indulge a malicious spite or 

 tedious garrulity, instead of fairly showing the merits and demerits of 

 the work on which they are called to pass judgment. In reading the 

 Tragedy of Ion, we have been so frequently reminded of the " Anti- 

 gone and OEdipus Tyrannus of Sophocles" that we have been tempted 

 to look into those Plays in order, if possible, to detect imitation. 

 That the learned author has formed his style on the classic model 

 there can be no doubt ; and as little, we apprehend, that he has par- 

 ticularly studied the poetic mind of Sophocles : but with some dili- 

 gence in the examination we have not been able to ground a sus- 

 picion, much less to substantiate a charge, of want of original genius 

 in the author of Ion. That some envious eyes will search and seem 

 to find passages to suit their purpose, in other poets of old and 

 modern days, we cannot doubt : for if Shakspeare and Milton, and all 

 their followers, met with such detractors, the works of a modern bard 

 will not be treated with more respect. The play of Ion is not, we 

 think, destined to the ephemeral existence of the pigmy poetry of the 

 present generation. Its sterling qualities overflowing, as it does, 

 with deep emotion and intense passion, expressed as truly and deli- 

 cately as the most vivid fancy could paint them, must secure for it a 

 high and permanent station amidst the poetic literature of England, 

 as well as win for the author the unanimous praises of the candid and 

 competent judges of dramatic poetry in his own day. 



