PAUL.
Alas! 'tis he; all Rome attests his worth,
Hide not his memory, kindly Mother Earth!
'Tis but his memory that I adore
The past is past--and I can say no more.
All gifts save one had he--yes, Fortune held her hand,
And I, as Fortune's slave, obeyed my sire's command.

STRAT.
Ah! I must wish that love the day had won!

PAUL.
Which duty lost--then had I been undone;
Though duty gave, yet duty healed, my pain;
Yet say not that my love was weak or vain!
Our tears fell fast, yet ne'er bore our distress
The fatal fruit of strife and bitterness.
Then, then, I left my hero, hope and Rome,
And, far from him, I found another home;
While he, in his despair, sought sure relief
In death, the only end to life's long grief!
You know the rest:--you know that Polyeucte's eye
Was caught,--his fancy pleased; his wife am I.
Once more by counsel of my father led,
To Armenia's greatest noble am I wed;
Ambition, prudence, policy his guide
Yet only duty made Pauline his bride;
Love might have bound me to Severus' heart,
Had duty not enforced a sterner part.