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.