Of a pale sunbeam, breaking o'er the face
Of the wild waters in their hour of warfare.
At those who do not feel the majesty—
By Heaven! I'd almost said the holiness—
That circles round a fair and virtuous woman :
There is a gentle purity that breathes
In such a one, mingled with chaste respect,
And modest pride of her own excellence—
A shrinking nature, that is so adverse
To aught unseemly, that I could as soon
Forget the sacred love I owe to Heaven,
As dare, with impure thoughts, to taint the air
Inhaled by such a being-than whom, my liege,
Heaven cannot look on any thing more holy,
Or earth be proud of any thing more fair.
Death on the Battle-field.
Death comes in- -on the bloody battle-field;
When with each gush of black and curdling life,
A curse was uttered—when the prayers I've poured
Have been all drowned with din of clashing arms;
And shrieks, and shouts, and loud artillery,
That shook the slippery earth, all drunk with gore;
I've seen it, swollen with subtle poison, black
And staring with concentrate agony;
When every vein hath started from its bed,
And wreathed, like knotted snakes, around the brows
Which, frantic, dashed themselves in tortures down
Upon the earth.
I've seen life float away
On the faint sound of a far-tolling bell;
Leaving its late warm tenement as fair,
As though 'twere th' incorruptible that lay
Before me; and all earthly taint had vanished
With the departed spirit.
The Oracle at Delphi had announced that the vengeance which the misrule of the Race of Argos had brought on the People, in the form of a Pestilence, could only be disarmed by the Extirpation of the guilty Race; and IoN (Son of ADRASTUS, late King of Argos), on assuming the Crown, resolves to sacrifice himself to save his Country. ION is installed in his royal dignity, attended by the High Priests and Senators, &c. The People receive him with shouts.
ION, MEDON, AGENOR, CRYTHES, IRUS.
Ion. I thank you for your greetings-shout no more.
But in deep silence raise your hearts to Heaven,
That it may strengthen one so young and frail
As I am for the business of this hour.
Must I sit here?
Medon. My son! my son!
What ails thee?
When thou shouldst reflect the joy
Of Argos, the strange paleness of the grave
Marbles thy face.
Ion. Am I indeed so pale!
It is a solemn office I assume,
Which well may make me falter; yet, sustained
By thee and by the gods I serve, I take it.
Stand forth, Agenor.
Agenor. I await thy will.
Ion. To thee I look as to the wisest friend
Of this afflicted people; thou must leave
Awhile the quiet which thy life has earned
To rule our councils; fill the seats of justice
With good men, not so absolute in justice
As to forget what human frailty is;
And order my sad country.
Agenor. Pardon me—
Ion. Nay, I will promise 'tis my last request;
Grant me thy help till this distracted state
Rise tranquil from her griefs-'twill not be long,
If the great gods smile on us now. Remember,
Meanwhile, thou hast all power my word can give,
Whether I live or die.
Agenor. Die! Ere that hour,
May even the old man's epitaph be moss-grown!
Ion. Death is not jealous of the mild decay
That gently wins thee his; exulting youth
Provokes the ghastly monarch's sudden stride,
And makes his horrid fingers quick to clasp
His prey benumbed at noontide.
The captain of the guard.
Crythes. I kneel to crave
Humbly the favour which thy sire bestowed
On one who loved him well.
Ion. I cannot mark thee,
That wakest the memory of my father's weakness,
But I will not forget that thou hast shared
The light enjoyments of a noble spirit,
And learned the need of luxury. I grant
For thee and thy brave comrades ample share
Of such rich treasure as my stores contain,
Το grace thy passage to some distant land,
Where, if an honest cause engage thy sword,
May glorious issues wait it. In our realm
We shall not need it longer.
To banish the firm troops before whose valor
Barbarian millions shrink appalled, and leave
Our city naked to the first assault
Ion. No, Crythes; in ourselves,
In our honest hearts and chainless hands
Will be our safeguard; while we do not use
Our power towards others, so that we should blush
To teach our children; while the simple love
Of justice and their country shall be born
With dawning reason; while their sinews grow
Hard midst the gladness of heroic sports,
We shall not need, to guard our walls in peace,
One selfish passion, or one venal sword.
I would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop—
For I esteem them valiant-must no more
With luxury, which suits a desperate camp,
See that they embark, Agenor,
Crythes. My lord—
Ion. No more-my word hath passed.
Medon, there is no office I can add
To those thou hast grown old in: thou wilt guard
The shrine of Phoebus, and within thy home
Thy too delightful home-befriend the stranger
As thou didst me; there sometimes waste a thought On thy spoiled inmate.
Medon. Think of thee, my lord?
Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign.
lon. Prithee no more. Argives! I have a boon
To crave of you. Whene'er I shall rejoin
In death the father from whose heart in life
Stern Fate divided me, think gently of him!
Think that beneath his panoply of pride
Were fair affections crushed by bitter wrongs
Which fretted him to madness; what he did,
Alas! ye know; could you know what he suffered,
Ye would not curse his name. Yet never more
Let the great interests of the state depend
Upon the thousand chances that may sway
A piece of human frailty; swear to me
That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves
The means of sovereignty; our country's space,
So happy in its smallness, so compact,
Needs not the magic of a single name,
Which wider regions may require to draw
Their interest into one; but, circled thus,
Like a blest family, by simple laws
May tenderly be governed-all degrees,
Not placed in dexterous balance, not combined
By bonds of parchment, or by iron clasps,
But blended into one-a single form
Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest cords
Of sympathy pervading, shall endow
With vital beauty; tint with roseate bloom
In times of happy peace, and bid to flash
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