Suchen und Finden
SCENE: BEFORE THE TEMPLE OF APOLLO AT DELPHI.
The sun is about to rise. MERCURY enters.)
MERCURY Atlas, that on his brazen shoulders rolls
Yon heaven, the ancient mansion of the gods,
Was by a goddess sire to Maia; she
To supreme Jove bore me, and call’d me Hermes;
Attendant on the king, his high behests
I execute. To Delphi am I come,
This land where Phoebus from his central throne
Utters to mortals his high strain, declaring
The present and the future; this is the cause;
Greece hath a city of distinguish’d glory,
Which from the goddess of the golden lance
Received its name; Erechtheus was its king;
His daughter, call’d Creusa, to the embrace
Of nuptial love Apollo strain’d perforce,
Where northward points the rock beneath the heights
Crown’d with the Athenian citadel of Pallas,
Call’d Macrai by the lords of Attica.
Her growing burden, to her sire unknown
(Such was the pleasure of the god), she bore,
Till in her secret chamber to a son
The rolling months gave birth: to the same cave,
Where by the enamour’d god she was compress’d,
Creusa bore the infant: there for death
Exposed him in a well-compacted ark
Of circular form, observant of the customs
Drawn from her great progenitors, and chief
From Erichthonius, who from the Attic earth
Deriv’d his origin: to him as guards
Minerva gave two dragons, and in charge
Consign’d him to the daughters of Aglauros:
This rite to the Erechthidae hence remains,
Mid serpents wreathed in ductile gold to nurse
Their children. What of ornament she had
She hung around her son, and left him thus
To perish. But to me his earnest prayer
Phoebus applied, “To the high-lineaged sons
Of glorious Athens go, my brother; well
Thou know’st the city of Pallas; from the cave
Deep in the hollow rock a new-born babe,
Laid as he is, and all his vestments with him;
Bring to thy brother to my shrine, and place
At the entrance of my temple; of the rest
(For, know, the child is mine) I will take care.”
To gratify my brother thence I bore
The osier-woven ark, and placed the boy
Here at the temple’s base, the wreathed lid
Uncovering, that the infant might be seen.
It chanced, as the orient sun the steep of heav’n
Ascended, to the god’s oracular seat
The priestess entering, on the infant cast
Her eye, and marvelled, deeming that some nymph
Of Delphi at the fane had dared to lay
The secret burden of her womb: this thought
Prompts her to move it from the shrine: but soon
To pity she resign’d the harsh intent;
The impulse of the god secretly acting
In favour of the child, that in his temple
It might abide; her gentle hand then took it,
And gave it nurture; yet conceived she not
That Phoebus was the sire, nor who the mother
Knew aught, nor of his parents could the child
Give information. All his youthful years
Sportive he wandered round the shrine, and there
Was fed: but when his firmer age advanced
To manhood, o’er the treasures of the god
The Delphians placed him, to his faithful care
Consigning all; and in this royal dome
His hallow’d life he to this hour hath pass’d.
Meantime Creusa, mother of the child,
To Xuthus was espoused, the occasion this:-
On Athens from Euboean Chalcis roll’d
The waves of war; be join’d their martial toil,
And with his spear repell’d the foe; for this
To the proud honour of Creusa’s bed
Advanc’d; no native, in Achaea sprung
From Aeolus, the son of Jove. Long time
Unbless’d with children, to the oracular shrine
Of Phoebus are they come, through fond desire
Of progeny: to this the god hath brought
The fortune of his son, nor, as was deem’d,
Forgets him; but to Xuthus, when he stands
This sacred seat consulting, will he give
That son, declared his offspring; that the child,
When to Creusa’s house brought back, by her
May be agnized; the bridal rites of Phoebus
Kept secret, that the youth may claim the state
Due to his birth, through all the states of Greece
Named Ion, founder of the colonies
On the Asiatic coast. The laurell’d cave
Now will I visit, there to learn what fortune
Is to the boy appointed, for I see
This son of Phoebus issuing forth to adorn
The gates before the shrine with laurel boughs.
First of the gods I hail him by the name
Of Ion, which his fortune soon will give him.
(MERCURY vanishes. ION and the attendants of the temple enter.)
ION(chanting) Now flames this radiant chariot of the sun
High o’er the earth, at whose ethereal fire
The stars into the sacred night retreat:
O’er the Parnassian cliffs the ascending wheels
To mortals roll the beams of day; the wreaths
Of incense-breathing myrrh mount to the roof
Of Phoebus’ fane; the Delphic priestess now
Assumes her seat, and from the hallow’d tripod
Pronounces to the Greeks the oracular strains
Which the god dictates. Haste, ye Delphic train,
Haste to Castalia’s silver-streaming fount;
Bathed in its chaste dews to the temple go;
There from your guarded mouths no sound be heard
But of good omen, that to those who crave
Admission to the oracle, your voice
May with auspicious words expound the answers.
My task, which from my early infancy
Hath been my charge, shall be with laurel boughs
And sacred wreaths to cleanse the vestibule
Of Phoebus, on the pavement moistening dews
To rain, and with my bow to chase the birds
Which would defile the hallow’d ornaments.
A mother’s fondness, and a father’s care
I never knew: the temple of the god
Claims then my service, for it nurtured me.
(The attendants leave. ION busies himself before the temple as he continues to sing.)
Haste, thou verdant new-sprung bough,
Haste, thy early office know;
Branch of beauteous laurel come,
Sweep Apollo’s sacred dome,
Cropp’d this temple’s base beneath,
Where the immortal gardens breathe,
And eternal dews that round
Water the delicious ground,
Bathe the myrtle’s tresses fair.
Lightly thus, with constant care,
The pavement of the god I sweep,
When over the Parnassian steep
Flames the bright sun’s mounting ray;
This my task each rising day.
Son of Latona, Paean, Paean, hail!
Never, O never may thy honours fail!
Grateful is my task, who wait
Serving, Phoebus, at thy gate;
Honouring thus thy hallow’d shrine,
Honour for the task is mine.
Labouring with unwilling hands,
Me no mortal man commands:
But, immortal gods, to you
All my pleasing toil is due.
Phoebus is to me a sire;
Grateful thoughts my soul inspire;
Nurtured by thy bounty here,
Thee, Apollo, I revere;
As a father’s I repeat.
Son of Latona, Paean, Paean, hail!
Never, O never may thy honours fail!
Now from this labour with the laurel bough
I cease; and sprinkling from the golden vase
The chaste drops which Castalia’s fountain rolls,
Bedew the pavement. Never may I quit
This office to the god; or, if I quit it,
Be it, good Fortune, at thy favouring call!
But see, the early birds have left their nests,
And this way from Parnassus wing their flight.
Come not, I charge you, near the battlements,
Nor near the golden dome. Herald of Jove,
Strong though thy beak beyond the feather’d kind,
My bow shall reach thee. Towards the altar, see,
A swan comes sailing: elsewhere wilt thou move
Thy scarlet-tinctured foot? or from my bow
The lyre of Phoebus to thy notes attuned
Will not protect thee; farther stretch thy wings;
Go, wanton, skim along the Delian lake,
Or wilt thou steep thy melody in blood.
Look, what strange bird comes onwards; wouldst thou fix
Beneath the battlements thy straw-built nest?
My singing bow shall drive thee hence; begone,
Or to the banks of Alpheus, gulfy stream,
Or to the Isthmian grove; there hatch thy young;
Mar not these pendent ornaments, nor soil
The temple of the god: I would not kill you:
‘Twere pity, for to mortal man you bear
The message of the gods; yet my due...
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