ACT III--PAULINE

PAUL.
Cares--clouded and confused--oppress, obscure
In changeful forms, my eye, my heart, my mind:
My soul finds room for every guest save one;
Fair hope has flown,--no star can pierce my night:
Each tyrant rages 'gainst opposing foe
In deadly fight--yet brings to light no friend:
In travail sore hope comes not to the birth--
Fear hydra-headed terror still begets;--
All fancies grim I see, and straight embrace,
At hope I clutch, who still eludes my grasp;
Her rainbow hues adored are but a frame
That serve by contrast to make fear more dark.
Severus haunts me--oh, I know his love,
Yet hopeless love must mate with jealousy,--
While Polyeucte, who has won what he has lost,
Can meet no rival with an equal eye.
The fruit of rivalry is ever hate
And envy; both must still engender strife:
One sees that rival hand has grasped his prize,
The other yearns for prize himself has missed.
Weak reason naught, when headlong passion reigns,
For valour seeks a sword, and love--revenge.
One fears to see the prize he gained impaired,
The other would that wrested prize regain;