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Ion
O father Cephissus, with the bull-shaped head, what a viper is this thy child, or dragon with fiery eyes that dart a murderous gleam, in whose heart is throned incarnate daring,
noxious as those Gorgon drops of venom wherewith she sought to compass my death. Seize her, that the peaks of Parnassus may card the flowing tresses of her hair, for thence shall she be hurled headlong amid the rocks. My lucky star hath kept me
1265
from going to
Athens
, there to fall beneath the power of a step-mother. For I have gauged thy feelings towards me—the full extent of thy bitter hostility—whilst yet amongst my friends; for hadst thou once shut me tip within thy house, my road to Hades’ halls had led direct from thence.
1270
This altar shall not save thee, nor yet Apollo’s courts, for that pity thou implorest cries out more loudly for me and my mother, who, though absent in the flesh, is never in name far from me.
1275
Behold this cursed woman, see the web of trickery she hath woven! yet comes she cowering to Apollo’s altar, thinking to escape the punishment of her misdeeds.
1280
O father Cephissus, with the bull-shaped head, what a viper is this thy child, or dragon with fiery eyes that dart a murderous gleam, in whose heart is throned incarnate daring,
noxious as those Gorgon drops of venom wherewith she sought to compass my death. Seize her, that the peaks of Parnassus may card the flowing tresses of her hair, for thence shall she be hurled headlong amid the rocks. My lucky star hath kept me
1265
from going to
Athens
, there to fall beneath the power of a step-mother. For I have gauged thy feelings towards me—the full extent of thy bitter hostility—whilst yet amongst my friends; for hadst thou once shut me tip within thy house, my road to Hades’ halls had led direct from thence.
1270
This altar shall not save thee, nor yet Apollo’s courts, for that pity thou implorest cries out more loudly for me and my mother, who, though absent in the flesh, is never in name far from me.
1275
Behold this cursed woman, see the web of trickery she hath woven! yet comes she cowering to Apollo’s altar, thinking to escape the punishment of her misdeeds.
1280
Ion. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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