his that tears
my heart.

Ion. The purer the victim the more acceptable the sacrifice. But fear
not, dear father. The Turk is yet a man; 'tis 'gainst thee he wars, and
he will not wreak his vengeance on a child. He may relent, and for my
love's sake, pardon mine offence.

Cleon. Child, thou knowest not Mohammed. He pardons none; all fall
before him, with relentless hand,--all strew his pathway unto victory.
Will he then spare and pity thee? Nay, sire and son must fall! [_Stands
sorrowfully._ Ion _suddenly sees_ Zuleika's _ring upon his hand, and
springs forward_.]

Ion. Father, thou shalt yet breathe the air of freedom, shall clasp my
mother to thy heart; once more shall lead thy gallant band onward to
victory.

Cleon. Raise not bright hopes to crush them at their birth; wake not to
dreams of triumph the heart that hath striven to drive hence all save
the solemn thoughts meet for one so soon to pass away.

Ion [_pointing to the door_]. See, the gray morning 'gins to glimmer in
the east. 'Tis no time for despair. Haste, Father, freedom is near!

Cleon. What doth thus move thee, Ion? Dost thou forget these chains,
the guards, the perils at each step? Thou art dreaming!

Ion. I tell thee 'tis no dream. Thou shalt be free. This mantle will
disguise thee; this ring open a pathway through the guards; these stars
shall be thy silent guide. Wilt thou go?

Cleon. 'Tis strange! Whence then that ring? How dost thou, a captive,
wander thus freely, and offer liberty with such a bounteous hand?

Ion. A solemn oath doth forbid me to reveal to living man the secret of
this hour; but if ever angels do leave their homes to minister to
suffering souls, 'twas one most bright and beautiful who hath this night
led me unto thee, and placed in mine hand the power to set thee free.

Cleon. Truth speaketh in thine earnest eye and pleading voice, and yet I
dare not listen to thy tale.

Ion. Oh, Father, heed not thy fears, thy doubts! Take thy liberty,
believing it heaven-sent. No oath binds thee to Mohammed; thou art no
rightful prisoner of war,--neither duty nor honor doth demand thy stay.
Thy country calls, and Heaven doth point the way.

Cleon. 'Tis true; no oath doth bind me to the Turk, and yet to fly--My
soldier's spirit doth ill brook such retreat.

Ion. Then stay not, my father, but whilst thou may, depart.

Cleon. Bright hopes call me hence. Life, love, fame, beckon me away.