Polyuecte [2]
PAUL. There is something that thou dar'st not name. Oh, on my knees I supplicate, I pray, Remove my darkness!--turn my night to day!
POLY. Oh, dreams are naught!
PAUL. Yet, when they tell of thee, I needs must listen, for I love! Ah, me!
POLY. Take courage, dear one, 'tis but for an hour, Thy love must draw me back, for love hath power O'er all in earth and heaven. My soul's delight, I can no more! My only safety--flight!
(Exeunt Polyeucte and Nearchus.)
PAUL. Yes, go, despise my prayer--my agony; Go, ruthless--meet thy fate--forewarned by me; Chase thy pursuer, herald thine own doom; Go, kiss the murderer's hand, and hail the tomb! Ah, Stratonice! for our boasted power As sovereigns o'er man's heart! Poor regents of an hour! Faint, helpless, moonbeam--light was all I gave, The sun breaks forth--his queen becomes his slave! Wooed? Yes; as other queens I held my court Won--but to lose my crown, and be the sport Of proud, absorbing and imperious man!
STRAT. Ah, man does what he wills--we, what we can; He loves thee, lady!
PAUL. Love should mate with trusts; He leaves me!
STRAT. Lady, 'tis because he must! He loves thee with a love will never die, Then, if he leave thee, reason not the why: Give him thy trust! Oh, thou shalt have reward, For thee he hides the secret! Let him guard Thy life beloved--in fullest liberty. The wife who wholly trusts alone is free! One heart for thee and him--one purpose sure, Yet this heart beats to dare--and to endure. The wife's true heart must o'er the peril sigh Which meets his heart moved but to purpose high; Thy pain his pain, but not his terror thine: He is Armenian, thou of Roman line. We, of Armenia, mock thy dreams to scorn, For they are born of night, as truth of morn; While Romans hold that dreams are heaven-sent, And spring from Jove for man's admonishment.
PAUL. Though this thy faith--if thou my dream shouldst hear-- My grief must needs be thine, thy fear my fear, And, that the horror thou may'st fully prove, Know that I--his dear wife--did once another love! Nay, start not, shrink not, 'tis no tale of shame, For though in other years the heavenly flame Descended, kindled, scorched--it left me pure With courage to resign--with strength to endure. He touched my heart, but never stained the soul That gained this hardest conquest--self-control. At Rome--where I was born--a soldier's eye Marked this poor face, from which must Polyeucte fly; Severus was his name:--Ah! memory May spare love linked with death a tear, a sigh!
STRAT. Say, is it he who, at the risk of life, Saved Decius from his foes and endless strife? Who, dying, dealt to Persia stroke of death, And shouted 'Victory!' with his latest breath? His whitening bones, amid the nameless brave, Lie still unfound, unknown, without a grave; Unburied lies his dust amid the slain, While Decius rears an empty urn in vain!
PAUL. Alas! 'tis he; all Rome attests his worth, Hide not his memory, kindly Mother Earth! 'Tis but his memory that I adore The past is past--and I can say no more. All gifts save one had he--yes, Fortune held her hand, And I, as Fortune's slave, obeyed my sire's command.
STRAT. Ah! I must wish that love the day had won!
PAUL. Which duty lost--then had I been undone; Though duty gave, yet duty healed, my pain; Yet say not that my love was weak or vain! Our tears fell fast, yet ne'er bore our distress The fatal fruit of strife and bitterness. Then, then, I left my hero, hope and Rome, And, far from him, I found another home; While he, in his despair, sought sure relief In death, the only end to life's long grief! You know the rest:--you know that Polyeucte's eye Was caught,--his fancy pleased; his wife am I. Once more by counsel of my father led, To Armenia's greatest noble am I wed; Ambition, prudence, policy his guide Yet only duty made Pauline his bride; Love might have bound me to Severus' heart, Had duty not enforced a sterner part. Yes, let these fears attest, all trembling for his life, That I am his for aye--his faithful, loving wife.
STRAT. Thy new love true and tender