10 ION; A TRAGEDY. 



To this great peril, and I will not stay thec. 



When wilt thou be prepared to seek it? 

 Ion. Now. 



Only before I go, thus, on my knee, 



Let "me in one word thank thee for a life 



Made by thy love a cloudless holiday ; 



And O, my more than father ! let me look 



Up to thy face as if indeed a father's, 



And give me a son's blessing. 

 Medon. Bless thee, son ! 



I should be marble now ; let 's part at once. 

 Ion. If I should not return, bless Phocion from me ; 



And, for Clemanthe may I speak one word, 



One parting word with my fair playfellow ? 

 Medon. If thou wouldst have it so, thou shalt. 



Ion. Farewell then ! 



Your prayers wait on my steps. The arm of Heaven 



I feel in life or death will be around me. 



His parting interview with Clemanthe, the Priest's daughter, the 

 beloved companion of his youth, is throughout very beautiful ; but we 

 cannot trust ourselves to extract all that is beautiful for fear of tres- 

 passing on the Reviewer's licence. The haughty Adrastus, the too 

 confident descendant " of a great race of kings, along whose line the 

 eager mind lives aching," is introduced in the secondAct ; andjo him 

 Ion, supported by the strength of heaven and the nation's good cause, 

 pleads for the people of Argos, and warns the tyrant of his speedily 

 approaching hour of doom. As this scene contributes more than any 

 to develope the plot of this noble Tragedy, and at the same time will 

 give an excellent idea of the Poet's descriptive powers, we hesitate 

 not to give a large portion of it to our readers. 



Ion. King Adrastus, 



Mail'd as thy heart is with the usages 

 Of pomp and power, a few short summers since 

 Thou wert a child, and canst not be relentless. 



! if maternal love embrac'd thee then, 

 Think of the mothers who with eyes unwet 



Glare o'er their perishing children : hast thou shared 

 The glow of a first friendship, which is born 

 Midst the rude sports of boyhood, think of youth 

 Smitten amidst its playthings ; let the spirit 

 Of thy own innocent childhood whisper pity ! 



Adrastus. In every word thou dost but steel my soul. 



My youth was blasted ; parents, brother, kin 

 All that should people infancy with joy 

 Conspired to poison mine ; despoiled my life 

 Of innocence and hope all but the sword 

 And sceptre dost thou wonder at me now ? 

 Ion. I knew that we should pity 



Adrasttis. Pity! dare 



To speak that word again, and torture waits thee ! 



1 am yet king of Argos. Well, go on 

 Thy time is short, and I am pledged to hear. 



Ion. If thou hast ever loved 

 Adrastus. Beware ! beware ! 



Ion. Thou hast ! I see thou hast ! Thou art not marble, 



