ghostly foe our souls abuse,
     And all beyond his force he gains by ruse;
     He hates the purpose fast he cannot foil,—
     Then he retreats—retreats but to recoil!
     In endless barricade obstruction piles,
     To-day 'tis tears impede, to-morrow—smiles!
     And this poor dream—his coinage of the night
     Gives place to other lures, all falsely bright:
     All tricks he knows and uses—threats and prayers
     Attacks in parley—as the Parthian dares.
     In chain unheeded weakest link must fail,
     So fortress yet unwon he'll mount and scale.
     O break his bonds! Let feeble woman weep!
     The heart that God has touched 'tis God must keep!
     Who looks behind to dally with his choice
     When Heaven demands—obeys another voice!

     POLY.
     Who loves thy Christ—say, must he love no other?

     NEAR.
     He may—he must! 'Tis Christ says, "Love thy brother,"
     Yet on the altar of the Heavenly King
     No rival place, no alien incense fling!
     Through Him—by Him—for Him—all goodness know!
     'Tis from the source alone each stream must flow.
     To please Him, wife, and wealth, and rank, and state
     Must be forsaken—strait the heavenly gate.
     Poor silly sheep! afar you err and stray
     From Him who is The Life, The Truth, The Way!
     My grief chokes utterance! I see your fate,
     As round the fold the hungry wolves of hate
     Closer and fiercer rage: from sword and flame
     One shelter for His flock—one only Name!
     The Cross alone our victor over fears,
     Not this thy strength,—thy plea—a woman's tears!

     POLY.
     I know thy heart! It is mine own—the tear
     My pity drops hath ne'er a taint of fear!
     Who dreads not torture, yet—to give relief
     To her he loves, perforce must ease her grief!
     If Heaven should claim my life, my death, my all,
     Then Heaven will give the strength to heed the call.
     The shepherd guides me surely to the fold,
     There, safe with Him, 'tis He will make me bold!

     NEAR.
     Be bold! O come!

     POLY.
     Yes, let thy faith be mine!
     There—at his feet—do I my life resign
     If but Pauline—my love—would give consent!
     Else heaven were hell, and home but banishment!

     NEAR.
     Come!—to return. Thrice welcome to her sight,
     To see thee safe will double her delight:
     As the pierced cloud unveils a brighter sun,
     So is her joy enhanced—thy glory won!
     O come, they wait!

     POLY.
     Appease her fear! Ah, this
     Alone will give her rest—her lover bliss.
     She comes!

     NEAR.
     Then fly!

     POLY.
     I cannot!

     NEAR.
     To deny would yield thine enemy the victory!
     He loves to kill, and knows his deadliest dart
     Finds friend within the fort—thy traitor heart!

     Enter Pauline and Stratonice

     POLY.
     I needs must go, Pauline! My love, good-bye!
     I go but to return—for thine am I!

     PAUL.
     Oh, why this haste to leave a loving wife?
     Doth honour call?—or fear'st thou for thy life?

     POLY.
     For more, a thousandfold!

     PAUL.
     Great Gods above!

     POLY.
     Thou hast my heart! Let this content thy love!

     PAUL.
     You love and yet you leave me. What am I?
     Not mine to solve the dreary mystery!

     POLY.
     I love thee more than self—than life—than fame
     But——

     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