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Mosada A dramatic poem   By: (1865-1939)

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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... Continue reading book >>




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