Ion
What is that—hovering above the roof?
A face bright as the sun!
Mother—let’s flee!
We must not look on gods—
unless it is right we should.

Athena
Do not run. I am no enemy.
I am your friend—here and in Athens.
I am Pallas Athena,
after whom your land is named.

Apollo sent me in haste,
for he would not appear himself—
lest his presence stir reproaches for the past.
He sends me to speak his words:

This woman is your mother,
and Apollo is your father.
And you—he gives you,
not to the man who begot you,
but to a noble house,
that you may rule with honor.

Athena
When this truth came to light,
Apollo feared bloodshed—
your hand against your mother,
hers against you.

So he kept the secret,
meaning later to reveal it in Athens,
naming her as your mother
and you as his son.

But now I end the matter
and fulfill his oracle.
Hear me:

Creusa, take this boy
and go to Cecrops’ land.
Seat him on the throne of his ancestors.
He is sprung from Erechtheus’ line
and has the right to rule.

His fame will spread through Hellas.
From him will spring four tribes—
four branches from one root:
Teleon, Hopletes, Argades, and Aegicores,
named for my aegis.

Their children will found new homes
on islands and coasts,
strengthening Athens across two continents—
Europe and Asia.

They will bear his name—Ionians—
and win renown.

From Xuthus and you will come another line:
Dorus, father of the Dorian race;
and Achaeus, who will rule the land of Pelops
and give his name to the Achaeans.

Thus Apollo has acted well:
first, he delivered you of your child without pain,
so none knew;
then, when you bore him and laid him in swaddling clothes,
he sent Hermes to carry him here
and rear him, saving him from death.

Now keep silence about his true parentage,
that Xuthus may rejoice in his belief,
and you, lady, enjoy your blessing.

Farewell!
I bring you tidings of joy
after long affliction.

Ion
O Pallas, daughter of Zeus,
we accept your words.
I believe—
I am the son of Loxias and this lady.
Even before, it was not beyond belief.

Creusa
Hear me:
My blame of Phoebus turns now to praise,
for he restores the child he once denied.

These gates I hated—
I now embrace.
This oracle I cursed—
I now salute.

Athena
I commend your change
and your fair words.
Heaven’s justice may tarry,
but it comes at last, undiminished.

Creusa
My son, let us go home.

Athena
Go—I will follow.

Ion
A guide we well may prize.

Creusa
And one who loves our city.

Athena
Go—sit upon the throne of your fathers.

Ion
It is my heritage—
and I will honor it.

Chorus
All hail, Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto!
It is just that those beset with sorrow
should keep faith with the gods.
For at the last,
the righteous find their reward,
and the wicked never prosper.

(Athena ascends in light. Ion and Creusa walk hand in hand toward the road to Athens as the Chorus sings of hope restored.)