About thy brow I bound an olive-wreath that day, plucked from the tree Athena first made grow on her own rock. If haply that is there, it hath not lost its verdure yet, but still is fresh, for it came from the stock that grows not old. Ion Mother, dearest mother, with what rapture I behold thee, as on thy cheeks, that share my joy, I press my lips! Creusa My son, light that in thy mother’s eye outshinest yonder sun,— I know the god will pardon me,—in my arms I hold thee, whom I never hoped to find, for I thought thy home was in that nether world, among the ghosts with Queen Persephone. Ion Ah, dear mother mine! within thy arms I rest, the dead now brought to light, and dead no more. Creusa Hail, thou broad expanse of bright blue sky! What words can I find to utter my joy aloud? Whence comes to me such unexpected rapture? To what do I owe this bliss? Ion This is the last thing that ever would have occurred to me, mother, that I was thy child. Creusa With fear I tremble still. Ion Dost thou doubt my reality? Creusa Far from me had I banished these hopes. Whence, O whence, lady, didst thou take my babe into thy arms? Who carried him to the courts of Loxias? Ion ’Tis a miracle! Oh! may we for the rest of our career be happy, as we were hapless heretofore. Creusa In tears wert thou brought forth, my child, and with sorrow to thy mother didst thou leave her arms; but now I breathe again as I press my lips to thy cheek, in full enjoyment of happiness. Ion Thy words express our mutual feelings. Creusa No more am I of son and heir bereft; my house is stablished and my country hath a prince; Erechtheus groweth young again; no longer is the house of the earth-born race plunged in gloom, but lifts its eyes unto the radiant sun. Ion Mother mine, since my father too is here, let him share the joy I have brought to thee. Creusa My child, my child, what sayst thou? How is my sin finding me out! Ion What meanest thou? Creusa Thou art of a different, for different stock.