How happy, by my mother's side,
When some dear friend became a bride,
To shine beyond the rest I tried,
In gay embroidery drest;

Vain of my drapery's rich brocade,
I loved my flowing locks to braid,
Taught them my blushing cheek to shade,
And lived, how calmly blest!

EURIP. ION. 82.

ARGUMENT.

IoN, the son of Apollo, but yet ignorant of his origin, had been brought up from infancy in the temple of Delphi, which it was his daily task to keep free from pollution. The following Ode is his Morning Song.

EURIP. ION. 82.

DRAWN by flaming steeds, the Sun
Now again the heavens hath won,
Now again the starry choir,
Shrinking from his car of fire,
To the holy night retire ;
Now upon Parnassus' head,
Where no foot profane may tread,
Glow his chariot's burning wheels :
Earth his genial influence feels:
Phoebus' shrine in vapour dense
Wraps the kindled frankincense.
From the tripod's holy seat,
Hear the Delphian maid repeat,
Prompted by the unerring seer,
Strains that thousands press to hear.

Delphians that with Phoebus dwell, To Castalia's silvery well

Speed your limbs at dawn to lave

In the

pure and dewy wave :
Hushed be each profaner word,
Let no random voice be heard;
Only keep an answer meet
Pious worshippers to greet.
I the while my task will ply,
Task I loved from infancy:
With the bay unfading crowned,
Hung with sacred chaplets round,
Thus I deck the porch and door,
Sprinkle thus the holy floor;

Thus with bow and arrows chase
From the shrine the feathered race.
Who my mother, who my sire,
Vainly might I now enquire;
All to filial duty owed
Give I to this blest abode,
That its kindly shelter spread
O'er the houseless orphan's head.
Come, assist me, fairest spray
Of the freshly-budding bay,
Thou, that every speck and stain
Sweepest from Apollo's fane;
In immortal gardens first

Was thine infant verdure nurst,