Polyeucte is his foe:
All weapons possible to love and war,
And those who let them rust but laggards are.
I fear--and fear doth give our vision scope--
E'en now he cherisheth a tender hope;
He sees his rival prostrate in the dust,
So, as a man he hopes--because he must.
Can dark despair to love and hope give place
To save the guilty from deserved disgrace?
And were his worth so matchless, so divine,
As to forbear all ill to me and mine
Still I must own the base, the coward hope,
'Gainst which my strength is all too weak to cope,
That hope whose phoenix ashes yet enthrall
The wretch who rises but once more to fall;
Ambition is my master, iron Fate,
I feel, obey, adore thee, while I hate!
Polyeucte was once my guard, my pride, my shield,
Yet can I, by Severus, weapons wield,
Should he my daughter wed, more tried, more true:
What wills Severus--that will Decius do.
Upheld by him, e'en Fortune I defy
And yet I shrink!--for them, thrice base were I!

ALBIN.
Perish the word! It ne'er was made for thee,
But wilt thou deal just meed to treachery?

FELIX.
I go to Polyeucte's cell,--though my poor breath
Should there be spent in vain to avert his death;
Then, then my fated child her strength shall try.

ALBIN.
What wilt thou do if both he still defy?

FELIX.
O, press me not in agony so great!
To thee alone I turn--resistless Fate!

ACT IV--POLYEUCTE. CLEON. THREE OTHER GUARDS

POLY.
What is thy will?

CLEON.
Pauline would see my lord.

POLY.
Ah, how my heart quails at that single word!
Thee, Felix, I o'ercame within my cell,
Laughed at thy threats if death and torture fell;
Yet hast thou still one arm to rouse my fears,
The rest I scorn, but dread thy daughter's tears!
One only talisman remains; great God, 'tis mine,
Sufficient for my every need His strength divine!
O thou, dear saint, thy scars all healed, white-robed, in
glory crowned,
Plead that I too may victory win, thou who hast victory found!
Nearchus, who hast clasped in Heaven that dear, that pierced hand,
Plead that thy friend, who wrestles here, may safely by thee stand!
Ye Guards, one last kind service, I would ask,
Well may ye grant it, 'tis an easy task:
I do not