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He death embraces--as doth all his sect.
Is't thus a father pleads for his own son?
FELIX.
Who wills his death is by himself undone.
PAUL.
He cannot see!
FELIX.
Because he chooses night.
Who loves the darkness hateth still the light.
PAUL.
O, by the G.o.ds--
FELIX.
Nay, daughter, save thy breath; Spurned--outraged--'tis the G.o.ds demand his death.
PAUL.
They hear our prayers--
FELIX.
Nay, then let Polyeucte pray!
PAUL.
Since Decius gives thee power,--that word unsay!
FELIX.
He gives me power, Pauline, to do his will Against his foes--'gainst all who work him ill.
PAUL.
Is Polyeucte his foe?
FELIX.
All Christians rebels are.
PAUL.
Thy son shall plead more loud than policy or war.
For mine is thine; O father, save thine own--
FELIX.
The son who is a traitor I disown!
For treason is a crime without redress, 'Gainst which all else sinks into nothingness.
PAUL.
Too great thy rigour!
FELIX.
Yet more great his guilt.
PAUL.
Too true my dream! Must his dear blood be spilt?
With Polyeucte, I too--thy child--shall fall!
FELIX.
The G.o.ds--the Emperor--rule over all.
PAUL.
O hear our dying supplication--hear!
FELIX.
Not Jove alone, but Decius I fear:-- But why antic.i.p.ate a doom so sad?
Shall this--his blindness--make thy Polyeucte mad?
Fresh Christian zeal remains not always new, The sight of death compels a saner view.
PAUL.
O, if thou lov'st him still, all hope forsake!
In one day can he two conversions make?
Not this the Christians' mould: they never change; His heart is fixed--past power of man to estrange.
This is no poison quaffed all unawares, What martyrs do and dare--that Polyeucte dares; He saw the lure by which he was enticed, He thinks the universe well lost for Christ.
I know the breed; I know their courage high, They love the cross,--so, for the cross, they die.
We see two stakes of wood, the felon's shame, They see a halo round one matchless Name.
To powers of earth, and h.e.l.l, and torture blind, In death, for Him they love, they rapture find.
They joy in agony,--our gain their loss, To die for Christ they count the world but dross: Our rack their crown, our pain their highest pleasure, And in the world's contempt they find their treasure.
Their cherished heritage is--martyrdom!
FELIX.
Let then this heir into his kingdom come! No more!--
PAUL.
O father!
(Enter Albin.)
FELIX.
Albin, is it done?
ALBIN.
It is,--Nearchus' frantic race is run!
FELIX.
And with what eye saw Polyeucte the sight?
ALBIN.
With envious eye,--as one who sees a light That lures him, moth-like, to devouring flame.
His heart is fixed, his mind is still the same.
PAUL.
'Tis as I said--oh, father, yet once more If thou hast ever loved me,--I implore!
