Polemius. 
I, in listening to thy raving,
Scarce can calm the wrath thou ’rt braving. 
Dead ere now thou sure wouldst lie,
Didst thou not desire to die.

Chrysanthus. 
Father, if the death I ’m craving . . .

Polemius. 
Speak not thus:  no son I know.

Chrysanthus. 
Not to thee I spoke, for though
Humanly thou hast that name,
Thou hast forfeited thy claim: 
I that sweet address now owe
Unto him whose holier aim
Kindled in my heart a flame
Which shall there for ever glow,
Woke within me a new soul
That thou ’rt powerless to control—­
Generated a new life
Safe against thy hand or knife: 
Him a father’s name I give
Who indeed has made me live,
Not to him whose tyrant will
Only has the power to kill. 
Therefore on this dear one dead,
On this pallid corse laid low,
Lying bathed in blood and snow,
By this lifeless lodestone led,
I such bitter tears shall shed,
That my grief . . .

Polemius. 
                     Ho! instantly
Tear him from it.

Daria (aside). 
                   Thus to be
By such prodigies surrounded,
Leaves me dazzled and confounded.

Polemius. 
Hide the corse.

Escarpin. 
                 Leave that to me
(The head and body are concealed).

Polemius. 
Bear Chrysanthus now away
To a tower of darksome gloom
Which shall be his living tomb.

Chrysanthus. 
That I hear with scant dismay,
Since the memory of this day
With me there will ever dwell. 
Fair Daria, fare thee well,
And since now thou knowest who
Died for love of thee, renew
The sweet vow that in the dell
Once thou gav’st me, Him to love
After death who so loved thee.

Polemius. 
Take him hence.

Daria. 
                 Ah! suddenly
Light descendeth from above
Which my darkness doth remove. 
Now thy shadowed truth I see,
Now the Christian’s faith profess. 
Let thy bloody lictors press
Round me, racking every limb,
Let me only die with him,
Since I openly confess
That the gods are false whom we
Long have worshipped, that I trust
Christ alone—­the True—­the Just—­
The One God, whose power I see,
And who died for love of me.

Polemius. 
Take her too, since she in this
Boasts how dark, how blind she is.

Daria. 
Oh! command that I should dwell
With Chrysanthus in his cell. 
In our hearts we long are mated,
And ere now had celebrated
Our espousals fond and true,
If the One same God we knew.

Chrysanthus. 
This sole bliss alone I waited
To die happy.

Polemius. 
               How my heart
Is with wrath and rage possest!—­
Hold thy hand, present it not,
For I would not have thy lot
By the least indulgence blest;
Nor do thou, if thy wild brain
Such a desperate course maintain,
Hope to have her as thy bride—­
Trophy of our gods denied:—­
Separate them.