This play was found too uninteresting for presentation, and was left unfinished, but is here given as a specimen of what the young authors considered very fine writing.

The drama was, of course, to end well. Cleon, being free, at once assembles a noble army, returns to conquer Mohammed and release Ion, who weds the lovely Zuleika, becomes king, and "lives happily forever after."

CHARACTERS

Mohammed The Turk.

Cleon Prince of Greece.

Ion Son of Cleon.

Adrastus A Priest.

Hafiz Turkish Envoy.

Hassan A Slave.

Murad A Slave.

Abdallah A Slave.

Iantha Wife of Cleon.

Zuleika Daughter of Mohammed.

Medon A Slave.

Selim A Slave.

ION

SCENE FIRST

[Room in the palace of Cleon. Iantha and Adrastus.]

Iantha. How wearily the days wear on, and the heavy hours so fraught with doubt press like death upon my aching heart. To the young, the fair, the happy, life is a blissful dream, filled with bright joys; for hope like a star beams on their pathway. But to the grief-worn heart, worn with weary watching, vexed with sad cares, whose hours are filled with fear, and ever thronging sorrows, whose star burns with a dim uncertain light, – oh, weary, weary is the pilgrimage; joyless the present, dark the future; and the sooner all is o'er, the better.

Adrastus. Daughter, thou hast forgot. The radiant star may pale and fade, but He who giveth it its light still liveth. Turn unto Him thy worn and bleeding heart, and comfortless thou shalt not be.

Iantha. Father, I cannot. When I would pray for resignation, words fail me, and my soul is filled with murmuring, while round me throng visions of battle-fields and death. Ever comes before me the form of Cleon, – no longer bright and beautiful as when, burning with hope and confidence in his high calling, he went forth to conquer or to die; but fallen, bleeding, perhaps dead, or a captive in the dungeon of the pagan, doomed to waste in hopeless misery the long years of his manhood. And my boy, – what will be his fate? Father, can I think on this and pray?

Adrastus. 'Tis hard, Iantha; but to His aid alone canst thou look up to save thy husband from the horrors of a bloody war. Call on Him, and He, the merciful, will in thy great need be near thee.

[Enter Medon.

Medon. A stranger craveth audience.

Iantha [rushing forward]. A stranger! Cometh he from my lord?

Medon. I know not, lady; but as a messenger is he clad, and with great haste demandeth speech of thee, saying he bore tidings of great import.

Iantha. Admit him instantly. [Exit Medon.] Father, do thou follow, and speed him hither.

Adrastus. I hasten to obey thee. Bear a brave heart, my daughter. I feel that hope is near.

[Exit Adrastus.

Iantha [joyfully]. Hope, – thrice blessed word! – wilt thou indeed visit this doubting heart once more, and sweeten the cup thou hast so long forsaken? [Enter Hafiz.] Welcome! comest thou from my lord? Thy tidings speedily!

Hafiz. To the wife of Cleon, late commander of the rebel Greeks, am I sent to bear tidings of their defeat by Mohammed, now master of all Greece.

Adrastus. And my lord, – the noble Cleon?

Hafiz. Betrayed, defeated, and now lying under sentence of immediate death in the dungeon of the Sultan.

Iantha. Lost! lost! lost! [Falls fainting on a couch.]

[Enter Adrastus.

Adrastus. Daughter, look up! – there is yet hope. There is no time for rest. Up! rouse thy brave, till now, unconquered heart and cast off this spell. And thou, slave, hence, – away!

[Exit Hafiz.

Iantha [rousing]. Defeated, imprisoned, condemned, – words unto one heart fraught with such dire despair. Tell me, Father, oh, tell me truly, do I dream?

[Enter Ion, who stands listening.

Adrastus. 'Tis no dream. The rough soldier did but tell thee in rude speech, what I was hastening in more guarded words to bear thee. 'Tis true; thy lord is in Mohammed's power, a victim to the perfidy of pagans, and doomed unto a speedy death. Nay, Iantha, shrink not, but as a soldier's wife, glory in the death of thy brave knight, dying for his country; and in his martyrdom take to thy soul sweet comfort.

Iantha. Comfort! Oh, man, thou little knowest woman's heart! What to her is glory, when him she loveth is torn from her forever? What to the orphan is the crown of martyrdom, the hero's fame, the praise of nations, the homage of the great? Will they give back the noble dead, heal the broken heart, tear bitter memories from the wounded soul to whom earth is desolate? Nay, Father, nay. Oh, Cleon, would I could die with thee!

Adrastus. This mighty sorrow o'erpowers her reason and will destroy all hope. Iantha, daughter, rouse thyself; let the love thou dost bear thy lord now aid in his deliverance. From the wealth of thy heart's true affection, devise thou some way to save him.

Iantha. Aid me, Father; I have no power of thought. I will trust all to thee.

[Ion approaches.

Adrastus. I know not what to counsel thee; my life hath ill fitted me to deal with soldiers and with kings. But if some messenger —

Iantha. Nay, it will not serve. None will dare brave the anger of the pagan, and death were the doom of such as approach him other than as a slave. And yet, – perchance he might relent. Oh, were there some true heart, fearless and loving, to aid me now in mine hour of distress! Where can I look for help?

Ion [coming forward]. Here, Mother, —I will seek the camp of Mohammed.

Iantha. Thou! – my Ion, my only one. No, no; it may not be, – thy tender youth, thy gentle, untried spirit. 'Tis madness e'en to think on!

Ion. Mother, am I not a soldier's son, cradled 'mid warriors? Runs not the blood of heroes in these veins? Are not my father's deeds, his bright, untarnished name, my proud inheritance? What though this tender form is yet untried; what though these arms have never borne the knightly armor? No victor's laurels rest on this youthful brow, and I bear no honored name among the great and glorious of our land; yet, Mother, have I not a father, for whose dear sake I may yet purchase that knighthood for which this young heart glows? Am I not the son of Cleon?

Adrastus. Verily doth a spirit move the boy. Look on him now, Iantha, and let no weak, unworthy doubt of thine curb the proud spirit that proves him worthy of his sire.

Iantha. My son, my fair, young Ion, thou art all now left my widowed heart. How can I bid thee go! The barbarous pagan will doom thee to a cruel death. How canst thou, an unknown youth, move the fierce heart that hath slain thy sire?

Ion. Fear not, Mother; he who calls me to this glorious mission will protect me. Shall I stand weeping while my father still breathes the air of pagan dungeons; while the base fetters of the infidel rest on his limbs, and his brave followers lie unavenged in their cold, bloody graves; while my country's banner, torn, dishonored, is trampled in the dust, – and he the proud, the brave, till now unconquered defender of that country's honor, lies doomed to an ignominious death? Oh, Mother, bid me go!

Adrastus. Iantha, speak to the boy! Let him not say his mother taught him fear.

Iantha. My Ion, go, – strong in thine innocence and faith, go forth upon thy holy mission; and surely He who looketh ever with a loving face on those who put their trust in Him, will in His mercy guard and guide thee [girds on his sword]. Farewell! Go, – with thy mother's blessing on thee!

Ion. Now is my heart filled all anew with hope and courage, and I go forth trustingly. Father, thy blessing [kneels before Adrastus].

Adrastus. Go, thou self-anointed victim on the altar of thy love. Bless thy pure, faithful heart!

Ion [rising]. Farewell! Embrace me, Mother.

Iantha [pressing Ion to her breast]. Farewell, my Ion. And if the great Father wills it that I look not again on thee in life, into His care do I commit thee. Farewell!

Ion. Mother, farewell! And if I fall, mourn not, but glory that I died as best became the son of Cleon [draws his sword]. And now leap forth, my sword! – henceforth is there no rest nor honor till we have conquered. Father, I come, I come! [Ion rushes out; Iantha rushes to the window, tears off her veil and waves it to Ion.]

CURTAIN

SCENE SECOND

[Tent of Mohammed; maps and arms lying about. Mohammed and Hafiz.]

Moh'd. And spake they no word of ransom or of hostage?

Hafiz. None, sire. The lady lay as one struck dead; and the priest, foul Christian dog, bade me go hence, and tarry not.

Moh'd. And held you no speech with those about the princess. Sure, there were some to listen to thy master's word.

Hafiz. Great master, I sought in vain to set before them the royal will. At first it were as though a spell had fallen on them. Nay, some did turn aside and weep, rending their hair, as though all hope were lost. Then, when I strove to win them to some counsel, they woke to such an uproar, cursing thy perfidy, and vowing most dire and speedy vengeance on thee, clashing their weapons and crying, "Down with the pagan dogs!" Then, drawing forth their lances with fierce oaths, they drove me from the gates in such warlike manner, I could but strive with haste to make good mine escape, and without rest have I journeyed hither to bring thee tidings.

Moh'd. By the prophet! and is it thus they serve the royal messenger. But they shall rue it dearly. Cleon shall die. To-morrow's sun shall never shine for him. The proud Greeks shall learn to dread Mohammed's ire, and bend their haughty heads before him in the dust. I offer ransom, and they will not harken. I send them honorable terms, and they thrust my messenger rudely from their gates. They have dared to brave me, – they shall feel my power!

Hafiz. Mighty Mohammed, if thy poor slave might offer counsel, were it not wise to tarry till the Greeks on cooler thought shall seek thee with some treaty which may avail thee better than such hasty vengeance. How much more worthy were a heavy ransom than the life of a single miserable prince.

Moh'd. Peace, slave! I have said Cleon shall die, and, by Allah! so I have not word from these rebel dogs ere three days shall wear away, his body swung from the battlements shall bear them tidings of Mohammed's power. [Enter Selim.] What hath befallen, Selim, that thou comest in such haste?

Selim. Most mighty king, there waits without a youth, demanding speech of thee.

Moh'd. A youth! Who may he be, and what seeks he with us?

Selim. Most gracious sire, I know not. Our guard surprised him wandering without the camp, – alone, unarmed, save with a single sword; young, and I think a Greek. Abdallah seized him as a spy, and led him hither to await thy royal will. He doth refuse all question, demanding to be led before thee, where he will unfold his errand.

Moh'd. A Greek! Bring him before us, an he prove a spy he shall hang before the day waxeth older by an hour. Hence, – bring him hither! [Exit Selim.] By Allah! my proud foes have deigned to send us messengers, and seek to win the favor so rudely scorned. They know not Mohammed, and, so they humble not themselves, will sue in vain.

[Enter Selim, dragging Ion.

Selim. Your Mightiness doth behold the youth. [To Ion, who stands proudly.] Kneel, slave!

Ion. I kneel not unto tyrants.

Moh'd. How, bold stripling! Weigh with more care thy speech, and forget not before whom thou dost stand. [To Selim.] Go, slave, and stand without; see that none enter here unbidden. [Exit Selim.] Speak, boy! Who art thou, and why dost thou seek thus fearlessly the presence of thy foe? – and beware thou speakest truly if it is as a friend to treat in honorable fashion, or as a spy, thou now standest before us.

Ion. I am a Greek, son to the noble Cleon, now thy captive; I seek his rescue.

Moh'd. Son to Cleon! Now, by the Prophet, 'tis wondrous strange! And thou hast ventured alone into the camp amid thy deadly foes? Speak, boy, – thine errand!

Ion. To offer hostage; to treat with Mohammed for a father's life; to move to pity or to justice the heart that hath doomed a noble soldier unto an unjust death.

Moh'd. And where, my bold prince, are thy followers, thy slaves, thy royal train?

Ion. On yonder plain, cold in their graves.

Moh'd. Hast thou brought ransom? Where is thy gold?

Ion. In the coffers of the Turkish Mohammed, plundered from his slaughtered foes.

Moh'd. Thou spakest of hostage, – I see it not.

Ion. 'Tis here, – the son of Cleon.

Moh'd. Thou! and thinkest thou thy young, worthless life were a fit hostage for the leader of a rebel band, the enemy of all true followers, whose capture hath cost blood and slaves and gold? By Allah! boy, thou must name a higher price to win the life thou doth seek.

Ion. I have nought else to offer. Thy hand hath rent from me friends, followers, gold, a sire. But if this young life hath any worth to thee, if these arms may toil for thee, this form bear burdens to thy royalty, take them, – take all, O king, but render unto me that life without which Greece is lost.

Moh'd. Peace! Thy speech is vain; thy life is nought to me.

Ion. I will serve thee as a slave; in all things do thy bidding, – faithful, unwearied, unrepining. Grant but my boon, and monarch shall never have a truer vassal than I will be to thee. Great Mohammed, let me not plead in vain.

Moh'd. Peace, I say; anger me not.

Ion. O king, hast thou no heart? Think of the ruined home, the mourning people, the land made desolate by thee; of her who now counts the weary hours for tidings of those dear to her, – tidings fraught with life or death as thou shalt decree; of the son by thee doomed to see his honored sire, hero of a hundred battles dragged like a slave unto a shameful death. As thou wilt have mercy shown to thee, that mercy show thou unto me. Oh, say to me, "Thy father lives!"

Moh'd. Away! I will not listen.

Ion. Nay, I will kneel to thee. I who never knelt to man before, now implore thee with earnest supplication. 'Tis for a father's life.

Moh'd. Kneel not to me, – it is in vain. Thy father is my captive, my deadliest foe, whom I hate, and curse, – ay, and will slay. Boy, dost thou know to whom thou dost bow?

Ion [rising proudly]. To the pagan Mohammed, – he who with murderous hand hath bathed in blood the smiling plains of Greece; profaned her altars, enslaved her people, and filled the land with widows' tears and orphans' cries; he who by perfidy makes captives of his foes, refusing hostage and scorning honorable treaty; turns from all supplicants, closes his heart to mercy, and tramples under foot all pity and all justice, – the murderer, and the tyrant. Yes, king, I know to whom I plead.

Moh'd. [in great anger]. Ho, without there, guards! – Selim! [Enter Selim and soldiers.] Away with the prisoner! Bind him fast; see he escape not. Mohammed stands not to be braved by a beardless boy! Hence! [Guards approach with chains.]

Ion. Lay not hands upon me, – I am no slave! One more appeal: May a son look once more upon his father ere death parts them forever? May I but for an hour speak with Cleon?

Moh'd. Once more thou mayst look upon the rebel Greek. When he hangs from yonder battlement thou mayst gaze unbidden as thou will. Away! With to-morrow's sun, he dies.

Ion. So soon, O king! – nay, the son of Cleon kneels not to thee again [turns to go].

Moh'd. Stay, – yield up thy sword! Bend thy proud knee, and surrender unto me the arms thou art unworthy now to bear.

Ion [drawing his sword]. This, my sword, girded on by a mother's hand, pledged to the deliverance of a captive sire, dedicated to the service of my country, unstained, unconquered, —thus do I surrender thee. [He breaks the sword, and flings it down.]

Moh'd. Again dost thou brave me! Away with the rebel! Bind him hand and foot. He shall learn what it is to be Mohammed's slave. Hence, I say!

Ion. I am thy captive, but thy slave – never! Thou mayst chain my limbs, thou canst not bind my freeborn soul! Lead on, – I follow.

[Exit Ion and guards.

CURTAIN

SCENE THIRD

[Tent of Zuleika; guitar, ottoman, etc.]

Zuleika [pacing up and down]. Night draweth on apace, and ever nearer comes the fatal hour. With to-morrow's dawn all hope is o'er, for Mohammed hath sworn the Greek shall die, and when was he ere known to fail in his dread purpose? In vain have I wept before him, imploring him to have some mercy; in vain have I sought with golden promises to move the stony-hearted Hafiz, – all, all hath failed, and I am in despair. And that brave youth, his true heart filled with love's pure devotion, seeking by the sacrifice of his own life to save a father! And now each moment bringeth nearer the death-hour of that father, and he is mourning in solitude that he may not say farewell. Where can I turn for help? Ah, Hassan! my faithful slave. He is true, and loveth me like his own. He must aid me [claps her hands; enter Hassan]. Hassan, thou lovest me, and would not see me grieve?

Hassan. Allah, forbid! Thou art dear to old Hassan as the breath of life, and while life lingers he will serve thee.

Zuleika. Then must thou aid me in a deed of mercy. Who doth keep watch to-night before the tent of the young Greek?

Hassan. Mine is the watch. Wherefore dost thou seek to know?

Zuleika. Hassan, thou hast sworn to serve me. I have a boon to ask of thee.

Hassan. Speak, lady! thy slave doth listen.

Zuleika. Thou knowest that with the morning sun Mohammed hath sworn Cleon shall die. Such is the fierce anger he doth bear his foe he hath refused all mercy and scorned to listen to the prayers of the young prince who hath journeyed hither at peril of his own life to place himself in the power of the king as hostage for his father.

Hassan. It is indeed most true. Poor youth!

Zuleika. 'Tis of him I would speak to thee. Mohammed, angered at his boldness, hath, as thou knowest, guarded him in yonder tent, denying him his last sad prayer to speak once more in life with his father. Oh, Hassan, what must be the agony of that young heart to see the hours swift speeding by, and know no hope.

Hassan. What wouldst thou have me do?

Zuleika. Lead him to his father; give him the consolation of folding to his breast the beloved one to save whose life he hath sacrificed his own.

Hassan. Dear mistress, thou art dreaming, and cannot know the danger of so rash a deed. Bethink thee of Mohammed's anger, the almost certain doom of such as dare to brave his mighty will. I pray thee let not thy noble heart lead thee astray. Thou canst not save him, and will but harm thyself.

Zuleika. Hassan, thy love and true devotion, I well know, doth prompt thee to thus counsel, and in thy fear for me thou dost forget to think of mercy or of pity. I thank thee; but thou canst not move me from my firm resolve. Again I ask thee, Wilt thou aid me?

Hassan [falling at her feet]. Pardon, but I cannot. Heed, I implore thee, the counsel of thy faithful servant, and trust to the wisdom these gray hairs have brought. Thou art young and brave, but believe me, maiden, dangers of which thou dost not dream beset the path, and I were no true friend did I not warn thee to beware. Do not tempt me; I cannot aid thee to thy ruin.

Zuleika. Then will I go alone. I will brave the peril, and carry comfort to a suffering soul [turns to go; Hassan catches her robe].

Hassan. Maiden! once more let thy slave entreat. Thy father places faith in me. I am the captive's guard.

Zuleika. Peace, Hassan, peace; if life be then so dear to thee, and thy duty to thy king greater than that thou dost owe to thy fellow-man, Allah forbid that I should tempt thee to forget it. But did death look me in the face, I would not tarry now.

Hassan. And thou wouldst seek the captive's cell?

Zuleika. This very hour. Soon it will be too late.

Hassan. Thou knowest not the way, – soldiers guard every turn. Oh, tarry till the dawn, I do implore thee.

Zuleika. The darkness shall be my guide, Allah my guard; shrouded in yon dark mantle none will deem me other than a slave. Again I ask thee, Wilt thou go?

Hassan. I go. I were no true man to tremble when a woman fears not. I will guide thee, and may Allah in his mercy shield us both. Say thy prayers, Hassan, for thy head no longer rests in safety.

Zuleika. Come, let us on! The moments speed. The darkening gloom befriends us. First to the tent of the young prince, and while I in brief speech do acquaint him with mine errand, thou shalt keep guard without. Then will we guide him to his father, and unto Allah leave the rest [shrouds herself in dark mantle and veil]. Lead on, good Hassan. Let us away!

Hassan. Fold thy veil closer, that none may know the daughter of Mohammed walks thus late abroad. Come, and Allah grant we sleep not in paradise to-morrow!