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  • The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mosada, by William Butler Yeats
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  • Title: Mosada
  • A dramatic poem
  • Author: William Butler Yeats
  • Release Date: August 14, 2010 [EBook #33430]
  • Language: English
  • *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA ***
  • Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed
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  • TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
  • Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in this
  • text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of this
  • document.
  • MOSADA.
  • A Dramatic Poem.
  • BY
  • W. B. YEATS.
  • WITH A
  • Frontispiece Portrait of the Author
  • By J. B. YEATS.
  • _Reprinted from the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY REVIEW._
  • DUBLIN:
  • PRINTED BY SEALY, BRYERS, AND WALKER,
  • 94, 95 AND 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET.
  • 1886.
  • [Illustration]
  • MOSADA.
  • "_And my Lord Cardinal hath had strange days in his youth._"
  • _Extract from a Memoir of the Fifteenth Century._
  • MOSADA, A Moorish Lady.
  • EBREMAR, A Monk.
  • COLA, A Lame Boy.
  • MONKS AND INQUISITORS.
  • SCENE I.
  • _A Little Moorish Room in the Village of Azubia.
  • In the centre of the room a chafing dish._
  • _Mosada._ [_alone_] Three times the roses have grown less and less,
  • As slowly Autumn climbed the golden throne
  • Where sat old Summer fading into song,
  • And thrice the peaches flushed upon the walls,
  • And thrice the corn around the sickles flamed,
  • Since 'mong my people, tented on the hills,
  • He stood a messenger. In April's prime
  • (Swallows were flashing their white breasts above
  • Or perching on the tents, a-weary still
  • From waste seas cross'd, yet ever garrulous)
  • Along the velvet vale I saw him come:
  • In Autumn, when far down the mountain slopes
  • The heavy clusters of the grapes were full,
  • I saw him sigh and turn and pass away;
  • For I and all my people were accurst
  • Of his sad God; and down among the grass
  • Hiding my face, I cried long, bitterly.
  • Twas evening, and the cricket nation sang
  • Around my head and danced among the grass;
  • And all was dimness till a dying leaf
  • Slid circling down and softly touched my lips
  • With dew as though 'twere sealing them for death.
  • Yet somewhere in the footsore world we meet
  • We two before we die, for Azolar
  • The star-taught Moor said thus it was decreed
  • By those wan stars that sit in company
  • Above the Alpujarras on their thrones,
  • That when the stars of our nativity
  • Draw star to star, as on that eve he passed
  • Down the long valleys from my people's tents,
  • We meet--we two.
  • [_She opens the casement--the mingled sound of the voices and
  • laughter of the apple gatherers floats in._]
  • How merry all these are
  • Among the fruit. But yon, lame Cola crouches
  • Away from all the others. Now the sun--
  • A-shining on the little crucifix
  • Of silver hanging round lame Cola's neck--
  • Sinks down at last with yonder minaret
  • Of the Alhambra black athwart his disk;
  • And Cola seeing, knows the sign and comes.
  • Thus do I burn these precious herbs whose smoke
  • Pours up and floats in fragrance o'er my head
  • In coil on coil of azure.
  • [_Enter Cola._] All is ready.
  • _Cola._ Mosada, it is then so much the worse.
  • I will not share your sin.
  • _Mosada._ It is no sin
  • That you shall see on yonder glowing cloud
  • Pictured, where wander the beloved feet
  • Whose footfall I have longed for, three sad summers--
  • Why these new fears?
  • _Cola._ The servant of the Lord,
  • The dark still man, has come, and says 'tis sin.
  • _Mosada._ They say the wish itself is half the sin.
  • Then has this one been sinned full many times,
  • Yet 'tis no sin--my father taught it me.
  • He was a man most learned and most mild,
  • Who, dreaming to a wondrous age, lived on
  • Tending the roses round his lattice door.
  • For years his days had dawned and faded thus
  • Among the plants; the flowery silence fell
  • Deep in his soul, like rain upon a soil
  • Worn by the solstice fierce, and made it pure.
  • Would he teach any sin?
  • _Cola._ Gaze in the cloud
  • Yourself.
  • _Mosada._ None but the innocent can see.
  • _Cola._ They say I am all ugliness; lame-footed
  • I am; one shoulder turned awry--why then
  • Should I be good? But you are beautiful.
  • _Mosada._ I cannot see.
  • _Cola._ The beetles, and the bats,
  • And spiders, are my friends, I'm theirs, and they are
  • Not good; but you are like the butterflies.
  • _Mosada._ I cannot see! I cannot see! but you
  • Shall see a thing to talk on when you're old,
  • Under a lemon tree beside your door;
  • And all the elders sitting in the sun,
  • Will wondering listen, and this tale shall ease
  • For long, the burthen of their talking griefs.
  • _Cola._ Upon my knees I pray you, let it sleep,
  • The vision.
  • _Mosada._ You're pale and weeping, child.
  • Be not afraid, you'll see no fearful thing.
  • Thus, thus I beckon from her viewless fields--
  • Thus beckon to our aid a Phantom fair
  • And calm, robed all in raiment moony white.
  • She was a great enchantress once of yore,
  • Whose dwelling was a tree-wrapt island, lulled
  • Far out upon the water world and ringed
  • With wonderful white sand, where never yet
  • Were furled the wings of ships. There in a dell
  • A lily blanchèd place, she sat and sang,
  • And in her singing wove around her head
  • White lilies, and her song flew forth afar
  • Along the sea; and many a man grew hushed
  • In his own house or 'mong the merchants grey,
  • Hearing the far off singing guile and groaned,
  • And manned an argosy and sailing died.
  • In the far isle she sang herself asleep
  • At last. But now I wave her to my side.
  • _Cola._ Stay, stay, or I will hold your white arms down.
  • Ah me, I cannot reach them--here and there
  • Darting you wave them, darting in the vapour.
  • Heard you? Your lute upon the wall has sounded!
  • I feel a finger drawn across my cheek!
  • _Mosada._ The phantoms come; ha ha! they come, they come!
  • I wave them hither, my breast heaves with joy.
  • Ah! now I'm eastern-hearted once again,
  • And while they gather round my beckoning arms,
  • I'll sing the songs the dusky lovers sing,
  • Wandering in sultry palaces of Ind,
  • A lotus in their hands--
  • [_The door is flung open. Enter the Officers of the Inquisition._]
  • _First Inquisitor._ Young Moorish girl
  • Taken in magic. In the Church's name
  • I here arrest thee.
  • _Mosada._ It is Allah's will.
  • Touch not this boy, for he is innocent.
  • _Cola._ Forgive! for I have told them everything.
  • They said I'd burn in hell unless I told
  • Them all, and let them find you in the vapour.
  • [_She turns away--he clings to her dress._]
  • Forgive me!
  • _Mosada._ It was Allah's will.
  • _Second Inquisitor._ Now cords.
  • _Mosada._ No need to bind my hands. Where are ye, sirs,
  • For ye are hid with vapours?
  • _Second Inquisitor._ Round the stake
  • The vapour is much thicker.
  • _Cola._ God! the stake!
  • Ye said that ye would fright her from her sin--
  • No more; take me instead of her, great sirs.
  • She was my only friend; I'm lame you know--
  • One shoulder twisted, and the children cry
  • Names after me.
  • _First Inquisitor._ Lady--
  • _Mosada._ I come.
  • _Cola_ [_following._] Forgive.
  • Forgive, or I will die.
  • _Mosada_ [_stooping and kissing him_]. 'Twas Allah's will.
  • SCENE II.
  • _A Room, the building of the Inquisition of Granada, lit by stained
  • window, picturing St. James of Spain._
  • _Monks and Inquisitors._
  • _First Monk._ Will you not hear my last new song?
  • _First Inquisitor._ Hush, hush!
  • So she must burn you say.
  • _Second Inquisitor._ She must in truth.
  • _First Inquisitor._ Will he not spare her life? How would one matter
  • When there are many?
  • _Second Monk._ Ebremar will stamp
  • This heathen horde away. You need not hope;
  • And know you not she kissed that pious child
  • With poisonous lips, and he is pining since?
  • _First Monk._ You're full of wordiness. Come, hear my song.
  • _Second Monk._ In truth an evil race; why strive for her,
  • A little Moorish girl?
  • _Second Inquisitor._ Small worth.
  • _First Monk._ My song--
  • _First Inquisitor._ I had a sister like her once my friend.
  • [_Touching the first Monk on the shoulder._]
  • Where is our brother Peter? When you're nigh,
  • He is not far. I'd have him speak for her.
  • I saw his jovial mood bring once a smile
  • To sainted Ebremar's sad eyes. I think
  • He loves our brother Peter in his heart.
  • If Peter would but ask her life--who knows?
  • _First Monk._ He digs his cabbages. He brings to mind
  • That song I've made--is of a Russian tale
  • Of Holy Peter of the Burning Gate:
  • A saint of Russia in a vision saw
  • [_Sings_]
  • A stranger new arisen wait
  • By the door of Peter's gate,
  • And he shouted Open wide
  • Thy sacred door, but Peter cried,
  • No, thy home is deepest hell,
  • Deeper than the deepest well.
  • Then the stranger softly crew
  • Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo!
  • Answered Peter: Enter in
  • Friend; but 'twere a deadly sin
  • Ever more to speak a word
  • Of any unblessed earthly bird.
  • _First Inquisitor._ Be still, I hear the step of Ebremar.
  • Yonder he comes; bright-eyed, and hollow-cheeked
  • From fasting--see, the red light slanting down
  • From the great painted window wraps his brow,
  • As with an aureole.
  • [_Ebremar enters--they all bow to him._]
  • _First Inquisitor._ My suit to you--
  • _Ebremar._ I will not hear; the Moorish girl must die.
  • I will burn heresy from this mad earth,
  • And--
  • _First Inquisitor._ Mercy is the manna of the world.
  • _Ebremar._ The wages of sin is death.
  • _Second Monk._ No use.
  • _First Inquisitor._ My lord, if it must be, I pray descend
  • Yourself into the dungeon 'neath our feet
  • And importune with weighty words this Moor,
  • That she foreswear her heresies and save
  • Her soul from seas of endless flame in hell.
  • _Ebremar._ I speak alone with servants of the Cross
  • And dying men--and yet--but no, farewell.
  • _Second Monk._ No use.
  • _Ebremar._ Away! [_They go._] Hear oh! thou enduring God,
  • Who giveth to the golden-crested wren
  • Her hanging mansion. Give to me, I pray,
  • The burthen of thy truth. Reach down thy hands
  • And fill me with thy rage, that I may bruise
  • The heathen. Yea, and shake the sullen kings
  • Upon their thrones. The lives of men shall flow
  • As quiet as the little rivulets
  • Beneath the sheltering shadow of thy Church,
  • And thou shalt bend, enduring God, the knees
  • Of the great warriors whose names have sung
  • The world to its fierce infancy again.
  • SCENE III.
  • _The dungeon of the Inquisition. The morning of the Auto-da-Fe dawns
  • dimly through a barred window. A few faint stars are shining. Swallows
  • are circling in the dimness without._
  • _Mosada._ Oh! swallows, swallows, swallows, will ye fly
  • This eve, to-morrow, or to-morrow night
  • Above the farm-house by the little lake
  • That's rustling in the reeds with patient pushes,
  • Soft as a long dead footstep whispering through
  • The brain. My brothers will be passing down
  • Quite soon the cornfield, where the poppies grow,
  • To their farm-work; how silent all will be.
  • But no, in this warm weather, 'mong the hills,
  • Will be the faint far thunder-sound as though
  • The world were dreaming in its summer sleep;
  • That will be later, day is scarcely dawning.
  • And Hassan will be with them--he was so small,
  • A weak, thin child, when last I saw him there.
  • He will be taller now--'twas long ago.
  • The men are busy in the glimmering square.
  • I hear the murmur as they raise the beams
  • To build the circling seats, where high in air
  • Soon will the churchmen nod above the crowd.
  • I'm not of that pale company whose feet
  • Ere long shall falter through the noisy square,
  • And not come thence--for here in this small ring,
  • Hearken, ye swallows! I have hoarded up
  • A poison drop. The toy of fancy once,
  • A fashion with us Moorish maids, begot
  • Of dreaming and of watching by the door
  • The shadows pass; but now, I love my ring,
  • For it alone of all the world will do
  • My bidding.
  • [_Sucks poison from the ring._]
  • Now 'tis done, and I am glad
  • And free--'twill thieve away with sleepy mood
  • My thoughts, and yonder brightening patch of sky
  • With three bars crossed, and these four walls my world,
  • And yon few stars, grown dim like eyes of lovers
  • The noisy world divides. How soon a deed
  • So small makes one grow weak and tottering.
  • Where shall I lay me down? That question is
  • A weighty question, for it is the last.
  • Not there, for there a spider weaves her web.
  • Nay here, I'll lay me down where I can watch
  • The burghers of the night fade one by one,
  • ... Yonder a leaf
  • Of apple blossom circles in the gloom,
  • Floating from yon barred window. New comer,
  • Thou'rt welcome. Lie there close against my fingers.
  • I wonder which is whitest, they or thou.
  • 'Tis thou, for they've grown blue around the nails.
  • My blossom, I am dying, and the stars
  • Are dying too. They were full seven stars;
  • Two only now they are, two side by side.
  • Oh! Allah, it was thus they shone that night,
  • When my lost lover left these arms. My Vallence,
  • We meet at last, the ministering stars
  • Of our nativity hang side by side,
  • And throb within the circles of green dawn.
  • Too late, too late, for I am near to death.
  • I try to lift mine arms--they fall again.
  • This death is heavy in my veins like sleep.
  • I cannot even crawl along the flags
  • A little nearer those bright stars. Tell me,
  • Is it your message, stars, that when death comes
  • My soul shall touch with his, and the two flames
  • Be one? I think all's finished now and sealed.
  • [_After a pause enter Ebremar._]
  • _Ebremar._ Young Moorish girl, thy final hour is here,
  • Cast off thy heresies and save thy soul
  • From dateless pain. She sleeps--
  • [_Starting._]
  • Mosada--thou--
  • Oh God!--awake, thou shalt not die. She sleeps.
  • Her head cast backward in her unloosed hair.
  • Look up, look up, thy Vallence is by thee.
  • A fearful paleness creeps across her breast
  • And out-spread arms.
  • [_Casting himself down by her._]
  • Be not so pale, dear love.
  • Oh! can my kisses bring a flush no more
  • Upon thy face. How heavily thy head
  • Hangs on my breast. Listen, we shall be safe.
  • We'll fly from this before the morning star.
  • Dear heart, there is a secret way that leads
  • Its paven length towards the river's marge,
  • Where lies a shallop in the yellow reeds.
  • Awake, awake, and we will sail afar,
  • Afar along the fleet white river's face--
  • Alone with our own whispers and replies--
  • Alone among the murmurs of the dawn.
  • Among thy nation none shall know that I
  • Was Ebremar, whose thoughts were fixed on God,
  • And heaven, and holiness.
  • _Mosada._ Let's talk and grieve,
  • For that's the sweetest music for sad souls.
  • Day's dead, all flame-bewildered, and the hills
  • In list'ning silence gazing on our grief.
  • I never knew an eve so marvellous still.
  • _Ebremar._ Her dreams are talking with old years. Awake,
  • Grieve not, for Vallence kneels beside thee--
  • _Mosada._ Vallence,
  • 'Tis late, wait one more day; below the hills
  • The foot-worn way is long, and it grows dark.
  • It is the darkest eve I ever knew.
  • _Ebremar._ I kneel by thee--no parting now--look up.
  • She smiles--is happy with her wandering griefs.
  • _Mosada._ So you must go; kiss me before you go.
  • Oh! would the busy minutes might fold up
  • Their thieving wings that we might never part.
  • I never knew a night so honey sweet.
  • _Ebremar._ There is no leave taking. I go no more.
  • Safe on the breast of Vallence is thy head
  • Unhappy one.
  • _Mosada._ Go not. Go not. Go not.
  • For night comes fast; look down on me, my love,
  • And see how thick the dew lies on my face.
  • I never knew a night so dew-bedrowned.
  • _Ebremar._ Oh! hush the wandering music of thy mind.
  • Look on me once. Why sink your eyelids so?
  • Why do you hang so heavy in my arms?
  • Love, will you die when we have met? One look
  • Give to thy Vallence.
  • _Mosada._ Vallence--he has gone
  • From here, along the shadowy way that winds
  • Companioning the river's pilgrim torch.
  • I'll see him longer if I stand out here
  • Upon the mountain's brow.
  • [_She tries to stand and totters. Ebremar supports her, and
  • she stands pointing down as if into a visionary valley._]
  • Yonder he treads
  • The path o'er-muffled with the leaves--dead leaves,
  • Like happy thoughts grown sad in evil days.
  • He fades among the mists; how fast they come,
  • And pour upon the world! Ah! well a day!
  • Poor love and sorrow with their arms thrown round
  • Each other's necks, and whispering as they go,
  • Still wander through the world. He's gone, he's gone.
  • I'm weary--weary, and 'tis very cold.
  • I'll draw my cloak around me; it is cold.
  • I never knew a night so bitter cold.
  • [_Dies._]
  • _Ebremar._ Mosada! Oh, Mosada!
  • [_Enter Monks and Inquisitors._]
  • _First Inquisitor._ My lord, you called.
  • _Ebremar._ Not I. This maid is dead.
  • _First Monk._ From poison, for you cannot trust these Moors.
  • You're pale, my lord.
  • _First Inquisitor._ [_aside_] His lips are quivering.
  • The flame that shone within his eyes but now
  • Has flickered and gone out.
  • _Ebremar._ I am not well.
  • 'Twill pass. I'll see the other prisoners now,
  • And importune their souls to penitence,
  • So they escape from hell. But pardon me.
  • Your hood is threadbare--see that it be changed
  • Before we take our seats above the crowd.
  • _First Monk._ I always said you could not trust these Moors.
  • [_They go._]
  • W. B. YEATS.
  • Printed by
  • SEALY, BRYERS AND WALKER,
  • 94, 95, AND 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET,
  • DUBLIN.
  • TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
  • Page 5: "my friend," amended to "my friend."
  • Page 6: "First Inqusitor" amended to "First Inquisitor"
  • Page 10: "kn ewa" amended to "knew a"
  • End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mosada, by William Butler Yeats
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