Act III: Scene I

PAUL.Cares--clouded and confused--oppress, obscureIn 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 foeIn 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 frameThat 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 hateAnd 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 theyMistake 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!