[Ion's tent. Ion chained, in an attitude of deep despair, upon a miserable couch. He does not see the entrance of Zuleika and Hassan.]
Zuleika. Stand thou without as watch, good Hassan, and warn me if any shall approach. [Exit Hassan.] Young Greek, despair not; hope is nigh.
Ion [starting up]. Bright vision, whence comest thou? Art thou the phantom of a dream, or some blest visitant from that better land, come to bear me hence? What art thou?
Zuleika. I am no vision, but a mortal maiden, come to bring thee consolation.
Ion. Consolation! ah, then indeed thou art no mortal; for unto grief like mine there is no consolation, save that which cometh from above.
Zuleika. Nay, believe it not. Human hearts are at this moment hoping, and human hands are striving earnestly to spare thee the agony thou dost dread.
Ion. Are there then hearts to feel for the poor Greek? I had thought I was alone,—alone 'mid mine enemies. Sure, those fetters are no dream, this dark cell, the words "Thy father dies!" No, no! it is a dread reality. The words are burned into my brain.
Zuleika. Is death, then, so dread a thing unto a warrior? I had thought it brought him fame and glory.
Ion. Death! Oh, maiden! To the soldier on the battle-field, fighting for his father-land 'mid the clash of arms, the fierce blows of foemen, the shouts of victory; 'neath the banner of his country, the gratitude of a nation, the glory of a hero round his brow,—death were a happy, ay, a welcome friend. But alone, 'mid foes, disgraced by fetters, dragged to a dishonored grave, with none to whisper of hope or comfort, death is a cruel, a most bitter foe.
Zuleika. Mine errand is to take from that death the bitterness thou dost mourn, to give a parting joy to the life now passing.