Cre. There be serpents, too, with jaws of gold, an old-world symbol.[1]
Ion. Is that Athena's gift, bidding[2] her race grow up under their guardianship?
Cre. Yes, to copy our ancestor Erichthonius.
Ion. What is their object? what the use of these golden gauds? pray, tell.
Cre. Necklaces for the new-born babe to wear, my child.
Ion. Lo! here they lie. Yet would I know the third sign.
Cre. 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!
Cre. 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.
Cre. 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.
Cre. With fear I tremble still.
Ion. Dost thou doubt my reality?
