Felix. 
     With reason greater than they know.  Ah, me! 
     Thought surges upon thought, and has its will,
     Care, gnawing upon care, my soul must kill;
     Love—­hate—­fear—­pain:  I am of each the prey,
     I grope for light, but never find the day! 
     Oh, what I suffer thou canst not conceive,
     Each passion rages, but can ne’er relieve;
     For I have noble thoughts that die still-born,
     And I have thoughts so base my soul I scorn. 
     I love the foolish wretch who is my son,
     I hate the folly which hath all undone;
     I mourn his death,—­yet, if I Polyeucte save,
     I see of all my hopes the cruel grave! 
     ’Gainst Gods and Emperor too sore the strife,
     For my renown I fear,—­fear for my life. 
     I must myself undo to save my son,
     For, should I spare him, then am I undone!

     Albin. 
     Decius a father is, and must excuse
     A father’s love—­oh, he will not refuse!

     Felix. 
     His edict is most clear:—­’All Christians are my foes.’ 
     The higher be their rank the more the evil grows. 
     If birth and state be high, their crime shows more notorious,
     If he who shield be great, his fall the more inglorious;
     And if I give Nearchus to the flame
     Yet stoop to shield my own—­thrice damned my name!

     Albin. 
     If by thy fiat he cannot escape the grave,
     Implore of Decius’ grace the life thou canst not save.

     Felix. 
     So would Severus work my ruin quite—­
     I fear his power, his wrath,—­for might is right—­
     If crime with punishment I do not mate. 
     How high soe’er, worth what it may, I fear his hate,
     For he is man, and feels as man, and I
     Once spurned his suit with base indignity. 
     Yes, he at Decius’ ear would work may woe,
     He loves Pauline, thus Polyeucte is his foe: 
     All weapons possible to love and war,
     And those who let them rust but laggards are. 
     I fear—­and fear doth give our vision scope—­
     E’en now he cherisheth a tender hope;
     He sees his rival prostrate in the dust,
     So, as a man he hopes—­because he must. 
     Can dark despair to love and hope give place
     To save the guilty from deserved disgrace? 
     And were his worth so matchless, so divine,
     As to forbear all ill to me and mine
     Still I must own the base, the coward hope,
     ’Gainst which my strength is all too weak to cope,
     That hope whose phoenix ashes yet enthrall
     The wretch who rises but once more to fall;
     Ambition is my master, iron Fate,
     I feel, obey, adore thee, while I hate! 
     Polyeucte was once my guard, my pride, my shield,
     Yet can I, by Severus, weapons wield,
     Should he my daughter wed, more tried, more true: 
     What wills Severus—­that will Decius do. 
     Upheld by him, e’en Fortune I defy
     And yet I shrink!—­for them, thrice base were I!