Cre. 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.
Cre. 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.
Cre. 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.
Cre. My child, my child, what sayst thou? How is my sin finding me out!
Ion. What meanest thou?
Cre. Thou art of a different, far different stock.
Ion. Alas for me! Am I a bastard, then, born in thy maiden days?
Cre. Nor nuptial torch nor dance, my child, ushered in my wedding and thy birth.
Ion. O mother, mother! whence do I draw my base origin?
Cre. Be witness she who slew the Gorgon,
Ion. What meanest thou? Cre. She that on my native rocks makes the olive-clad hill her seat.
Ion. Thy words to me are but as cunning riddles. I cannot read them.
Cre. Hard by the rock with nightingales melodious, Phœbus,
