Is it by his command thou keepest these relics, or why?Pythian PriestessLoxias put in my heart that day—IonWhat purpose? Oh! speak, finish thy story.Pythian PriestessTo preserve what I had found until the present time.IonWhat weal or woe doth this import to me?Pythian PriestessHerein were laid the swaddling-clothes in which thou wert enwrapped.IonThese relics thou art producing may help me to find my mother.Pythian PriestessYes, for now the deity so wills it, though not before.IonHail! thou day of visions blest to me!Pythian PriestessTake then the relics and seek thy mother diligently. This line is assigned to Ion in the Greek.And when thou hast traversed Asia and the bounds of Europe, thou wilt learn this for thyself; for the god’s sake I reared thee, my child, and now to thee do I entrust these relics, which he willed that I should take into my safe keeping, without being bidden; why he willed it I cannot tell thee. For no living soul wist that I had them in my possession, nor yet their hiding-place. And now farewell! as a mother might her child, so I greet thee. The starting-point of thy inquiry for thy mother must be this; first, was it a Delphian maid that gave birth to thee, and exposed thee in this temple; next, was it a daughter of Hellas at all? That is all that I and Phoebus, who shares in thy lot, can do for thee. [Exit Pythian Priestess.IonAh me! the tears stream from my eyes when I think of the day my mother bore me, as the fruit of her secret love, only to smuggle her babe away privily, without suckling it; nameless I led a servant’s life in the courts of the god. His service truly was kindly, yet was my fortune heavy; for just when I ought to have lain softly in a mother’s arms, tasting somewhat of the joys of life, was I deprived of a fond mother’s fostering care. Nor less is she a prey to sorrow that bare me, seeing she hath suffered the self-same pang in losing all the joy a son might bring. Now will I take and bear this ark unto the god as an offering, that herein I may discover naught that I would rather not. For if haply my mother proves to be some slave-girl, ’twere worse to find her out than let her rest in silence. O! Phoebus, to thy temple do I dedicate this ark. Yet why? this is to war against the god’s intention, who saved these tokens of my mother for my sake. I must undo the lid and bear the worst. For that which fate ordains, I may ne’er o’erstep. O! hallowed wreaths and fastenings, that have kept so safe these relics dear to me; why, ah! why were ye hidden from me? Behold the covering of this rounded ark! No signs of age are here, owing to some miracle; decay hath not touched these chaplets; and yet ’tis long enough since these were stored away.