PAUL. Tyrant, why leave thy butchery half done? Come, slay thy daughter, thou hast slain thy son! For, hear!--His villainy--or worth--is mine! Why stay thy hand while I my neck incline? Thy sword in me shall find a kindred food, I too am new baptized, baptized in blood! These drops that fell from off the murderous knife, Have made the martyr's widow a true wife. I see!--I feel!--I know! My darkest night Is o'er--to break in purest heavenly light. I too, at last, am Christ's: that word says all, Those hands were pierced for me--I hear His call: Death--lovely death--thy beckoning hand I hail! Oh, help my passage, or thy schemes may fail! Dread Decius! Fear Severus! Fear thy fall! Oh, speed me to my lord--my love--my all! My husband calls me to his happier land-- See!--there Nearchus at his side doth stand! Lead me to these--the gods by thee confest, Some shrines spared Polyeucte, I will break the rest! There, there the gods thou fearest I will brave, Oh, bare thy knife!--no other gift I crave. _Thou_ hast my master been: another Lord Claims my obedience now; yes, raise thy sword! Revolt is holy when for Christ we fight,-- My day has dawned, the day that knows no night! Once more I cry--'Christ only has my heart!' Thy bliss and mine secure! Let me depart! Keep thou thy kingdom! Safe its treasure hold! My kingdom there--with Christ--within the fold! (Enter Severus) SEV. Unnatural sire, whose craft leads to the grave, The slaves of fear themselves alone enslave. Yes, Polyeucte is slain, and slain by thee,-- A sacrifice to greed and treachery. I offered rescue from the opening tomb, Base doubts enthralled thee, didst seal his doom; I prayed, I threatened, thou wouldst not believe, Deceiver thou, so must all men deceive. Thou thoughtst me coward, liar--thou shalt see All oaths Severus swears fulfilled shall be. Poor moth! I might have saved thee--nay, I planned to save, Thy perfidy the torch that marks thee for the grave. Drench earth in blood,--for Jove pour forth malignant zeal, The strokes that thou hast dealt redoubled shalt thou feel! I go: the storm shall break o'er this devoted land, From Jove the bolt?--maybe--but I direct his hand.