Euripides Ion 112

Ion

Lo! the sun-god is e’en now turning towards the earth his chariot-car resplendent; before yon fire the stars retire

to night’s mysterious gloom from forth the firmament; the peaks of Parnassus, where no man may set foot, are all ablaze and hail the car of day for mortal’s service. Up mounts the smoke of myrrh, offering of the desert;

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to Phoebus’ roof; there on the holy tripod sits the Delphian priestess, chanting to the ears of Hellas in numbers loud, whate’er Apollo doth proclaim. Ye Delphians, votaries of Phoebus, away!

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to Castalia’s gushing fount as silver clear, and, when ye have bathed you in its waters pure, enter the shrine; and keep your lips in holy silence that it may be well, careful to utter words of good omen amongst yourselves

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to those who wish to consult the oracle; while I with laurel-sprays and sacred wreaths and drops of water sprinkled o’er the floor will purify the entrance to the shrine of Phoebus,

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my task each day from childhood’s hour; and with my bow will I put to flight the flocks of feathered fowls that harm his sacred offerings;

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for here in Phoebus’ shrine, which nurtured me, I minister, an orphan, fatherless and motherless.

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Ion

Come, thou tender laurel-shoot, gathered from gardens divine to wait upon the glorious god,

thou that sweepest clean the altar of Phoebus hard by his shrine, where holy founts, that ever gush with ceaseless flow,

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bedew the myrtle’s hallowed spray wherewith I cleanse the temple-floor the livelong day, so soon as the swift sun-god wings his flight on high, in my daily ministration.

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Hail Paean, prince of healing! blest, ah! doubly blest be thou, child of Latona!

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Ion

Fair the service that I render to thee, Phoebus, before thy house,

honouring thy seat of prophecy; a glorious task I count it, to serve not mortal man but deathless gods; wherefore I never weary

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of performing holy services. Phoebus is to me as the father that begot me, for as such I praise the god that gives me food. Whom I call by that helpful name of father,

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Tis Phoebus, who dwelleth in the temple, Hail Paean, healing god, good luck to thee and blessing, child of Latona!

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Ion

My task is nearly done

of sweeping with the laurel broom, so now from a golden ewer will I sprinkle o’er the ground water from Castalia’s gushing spring, scattering the liquid dew

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with hands from all defilement free. Oh may I never cease thus to serve Phoebus, or, if I do, may fortune smile upon me!

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Ha! they come, the feathered tribes,

leaving their nests on Parnassus. I forbid ye to settle on the coping or enter the gilded dome. Thou herald of Zeus, that masterest the might of other birds with those talons of thine,

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once more shall my arrow o’ertake thee.

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Lo! another comes sailing towards the altar, a swan this time; take thy bright plumes elsewhere; the lyre that Phoebus tuneth to thy song shall never

save thee from the bow; so fly away, and settle at the Delian mere, for if thou wilt not hearken, thy blood shall choke the utterance of thy fair melody.

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Ha! what new bird comes now? Does it mean to lodge a nest of dry straw for its brood beneath the gables? Soon shall my twanging bow drive thee away. Dost not hear me?

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Away and rear thy young amid the streams of swirling Alpheus, or get thee to the woody Isthmian glen, that Phoebus’ offerings and his shrine may take no hurt. I am loth to slay ye,

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ye messengers to mortal man of messages from heaven; still must I serve Phoebus, to whose tasks I am devoted, nor will I cease to minister to those that give me food.

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(First) Chorus

It is not in holy Athens

only that there are courts of the gods with fine colonnades, and the worship of Apollo, guardian of highways; but here, too, at the shrine of Loxias, son of Latona, shines the lovely eye of day on faces twain.

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(Second) Chorus

Just look at this! here is the son of Zeus killing with his scimitar of gold the watersnake of Lerna. Do look at him, my friend!

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(First) Chorus

Yes, I see. And close to him stands another

with a blazing torch uplifted; who is he? Can this be the warrior Iolaus whose story is told on my broidery, who shares with

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the son of Zeus his labours and helps him in the moil?

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(Third) Chorus

Oh! but look at this! a man mounted on a winged horse, killing a fire-breathing monster with three bodies.

(First) Chorus

I am turning my eyes in every direction. Behold the rout of the giants carved on these walls of stone.

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(Fourth) Chorus

Yes, yes, good friends, I am looking.

(Fifth) Chorus

Dost see her standing over Enceladus brandishing her shield with the Gorgon’s head?

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(Sixth) Chorus

I see Pallas, my own goddess.

(Seventh) Chorus

Again, dost see the massy thunderbolt all aflame in the far-darting hands of Zeus?

(Eighth) Chorus

I do; ’tis blasting with its flame Mimas, that deadly foe.

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(Ninth) Chorus

Bromius too, the god of revelry, is slaying another of the sons of Earth with his thyrsus of ivy, never meant for battle.

(First) Chorus

Thou that art stationed by this fane, to thee I do address me,

may we pass the threshold of these vaults, with our fair white feet?

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Ion

Nay, ye must not, stranger ladies.

(Tenth) Chorus

May I ask thee about something I have heard?

Ion

What wouldst thou ask?

(Eleventh) Chorus

Is it really true that the temple of Phoebus stands upon the centre of the world?

Ion

Aye, there it stands with garlands decked and gorgeous all around.

(Twelfth) Chorus

E'en so the legend saith.

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Ion

If ye have offered a sacrificial cake before the shrine and have aught ye wish to ask Phoebus, approach the altar; but enter not the inmost sanctuary, save ye have sacrificed sheep.

(Thirteenth) Chorus

I understand; but we have ho mind to trespass against the god’s law; the pictures here without will amuse us.

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Ion

Feast your eyes on all ye may.

(Fourteenth) Chorus

My mistress gave me leave to see these vaulted chambers.

Ion

Whose handmaids do ye avow yourselves?

(Fifteenth) Chorus

The temple, where Pallas dwells, is the nursing-home of my lords. But lo! here is she of whom thou askest.

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