PAUL.
Cares—clouded and confused—oppress, obscure
In changeful forms, my eye, my heart, my mind:
My soul finds room for every guest save one;
Fair hope has flown,—no star can pierce my night:
Each tyrant rages 'gainst opposing foe
In deadly fight—yet brings to light no friend:
In travail sore hope comes not to the birth—
Fear hydra-headed terror still begets;—
All fancies grim I see, and straight embrace,
At hope I clutch, who still eludes my grasp;
Her rainbow hues adored are but a frame
That serve by contrast to make fear more dark.
Severus haunts me—oh, I know his love,
Yet hopeless love must mate with jealousy,—
While Polyeucte, who has won what he has lost,
Can meet no rival with an equal eye.
The fruit of rivalry is ever hate
And envy; both must still engender strife:
One sees that rival hand has grasped his prize,
The other yearns for prize himself has missed.
Weak reason naught, when headlong passion reigns,
For valour seeks a sword, and love—revenge.
One fears to see the prize he gained impaired,
The other would that wrested prize regain;
While patience, duty, conscience, vail their heads
'Fore obstinate defence and fierce attack.
Such steeds no charioteer controls—for they
Mistake both curb and reign for maddening whip.
Ah! what a base, unworthy fear is mine!
How ill I read these fair, these noble souls,
Whose virtue must all common snares o'erleap!
Their gold unstained by dross or mean alloy!
As generous foes so will they—must they meet!
Yet are they rivals—this the thought that kills!
Not even here—at home—is Polyeucte safe,
The eagle wings of Rome reach over all.
Oh, if my father bow to Roman might,
If he repent the choice that he hath made,—
At this one thought hope's flame leaps up to die!
Or—if new-born—dies ere she see the light.
Hope but deceived,—my fear alone I trust,
Heaven grant such confidence be false—be vain!

(Enter Stratonice.)

Nay, let me know the worst! What, girl!—no word?
The rites are o'er? What hast thou seen—what heard?
They met in amity?—In peace they part?

STRAT.
Alas! Alas!

PAUL.
Nay, soothe my aching heart!
I would have comfort,—but this face of woe—
A quarrel?

STRAT.
Polyeucte—Nearchus—go—
The Christians—

PAUL.
What of them?

STRAT.
Ah, how to speak—

PAUL.
They on my father would their vengeance wreak?

STRAT.
Oh, fear whate'er thou wilt—that fear too small!

PAUL.
The Christians rise?

STRAT.
Oh, would that this were all!
Thy dream, Pauline, is true; Polyeucte is——

PAUL.
Dead?

STRAT.
Ah, no, he lives—yet every hope is fled;
That courage once so high, that noble name
Sunk in the mire of everlasting shame!
He lives,—who once was lovely in thy sight—
As monster foul—his every breath a blight;
The foe of Heaven, of Jove, of all our race,
His kisses poison, and his love—disgrace!
Wretch, coward, miscreant, steeped in infamy,
O worse than every name!—a Christian he!

PAUL.
Nay, that one word's enough! There needed not abuse.

STRAT.
My words fit well their guilt;—with evil make no truce.

PAUL.
If he be Nazarene—he must an outcast be!
But insult to my lord is insult unto me!

STRAT.
Think only that he hails the Cross, the badge of shame.

PAUL.
My plighted faith, my troth, my duty still the same!

STRAT.
When twined about thy breast, the hideous serpent slay!
Who mocks the Gods on high will his own wife betray!

PAUL.
If he be false, yet I will still be true,
The ties that bind me I will ne'er undo:
Let fate—Severus—passion—all combine
Against him!—I am his, and he is mine.
Yes, mine to guide, lead, win, forgive, and save!
I seek his honour tho' he court the grave.
Let Polyeucte be Christ's slave!—For woe, for weal,
He is my lord; the bond I owe I seal;
I fear my father,—all his vengeance, dread.

STRAT.
Fierce burns his rage o'er that devoted head;
Yet embers of old love still faintly glow,
And through his wrath some weak compassion show;
'Gainst Polyeucte biting words alone he speaks
But on Nearchus fullest vengeance wreaks!

PAUL.
Nearchus lured him on?

STRAT.
The tempter he;
Such friendship leads to death, or infamy.
Oh, cursed friend, who, in dear love's despite,
Has torn him from thine arms—his neophyte!
He dragged him to the front;—baptized, annealed—
He fights for Christ!—The secret is revealed.

PAUL.
Which I would know—and straightway had thy blame!

STRAT.
Ah! I foresaw not this—their deed of shame!

PAUL.
Ere dull despair o'ermaster all my fears,
Oh, let me gauge the worth of woman's tears!
For, if the daughter lose, the wife may gain,—
Or Felix may relent, if Polyeucte mock my pain;
If both are adamant unto my prayer,
Then—then alone—take counsel from despair!
How passed the temple sacrifice? Hide naught, my friend, tell all!

STRAT.
The horror and the sacrilege must I, perforce, recall?
To say the words, to think the thoughts, seems blasphemy and shame;
Yet will I tell their infamy,—their deed without a name.
To silence hushed, the people knelt, and turned them to the East;
Then impious Polyeucte and his friend mock sacrifice and priest.
They every holy name invoked jeer with unbridled tongue,
To laughter vile the incense rose—'tis thus our hymn was sung;
Both loud and deep the murmurs rang, and Felix' face grew pale,
Then Polyeucte mad defiance hurls, while all the people quail.
'Vain are your gods of wood and stone!' his voice was stern
and high—
'Vain every rite, prayer, sacrifice' so ran his blasphemy.
'Your Jupiter is parricide, adulterer, demon, knave,
'He cannot listen to your cry, not his to bless or save.
'One God—Jehovah—rules alone, supreme o'er earth and heaven,
'And ye are His—yes, only His—to Him your prayers be given!
'He is our source, our life, our end,—no other god adore,
'To Him alone all prayer is due, then serve Him evermore!
'Who kneels before a meaner shrine, by devil's power enticed,
'Denies his Maker and his King, denies the Saviour Christ.
'He is our source, our guide, our end, our prophet, priest and
king;
'Twas He that nerved Severus' arm,—His praise let Decius sing.
'Jehovah rules the battle-field ye call the field of Mars,
'He only grants a glorious peace, 'tis He guides all our wars.
'He casts the mighty from his seat, He doth the proud abase,—
'They only peace and blessing know who love and seek His face.
'His sword alone is strong to strike, His shield our only guard.
'He will His bleeding saints avenge, He is their sure reward.
'In vain to Jove and feeble Mars your full libations pour—
'Oh, kneel before the might ye spurn, the God ye mock—adore!'
Then Polyeucte the shrine o'erthrows, the holy vessels breaks,
Nor wrath of Jove, nor Felix' ire, his fatal purpose shakes.
Foredoomed by Fate, the Furies' prey—they rush, they rend,
they tear,
The vessels all to fragments fly—all prone the offerings fair;
And on the front of awful Jove they set their impious feet,
And order fair to chaos turn, and thus their work complete.
Our hallowed mysteries disturbed, our temple dear profaned,
Mad flight and tumult dire let loose, proclaim a God disdained.
Thus pallid fear broods over all, presaging wrath to come,
While Felix—but I mark his step!—'tis he shall speak the doom.

PAUL.
How threatening, how dark his mien! How lightning-fraught his eye!
Where wrath and grief, revenge and pain, do strive for mastery!

(Enter Felix.)

FELIX.
O insolence undreamed!—Before my very eyes!—
Before the people's gaze! It is too much!—he dies!

PAUL.
O father!—on my knees!
(Kneels.)
Unsay that word!

FELIX.
Nearchus' doom I spe