Mosada: A dramatic poem
William Yeats




William Butler Yeats

Mosada: A dramatic poem





MOSADA




"And my Lord Cardinal hath had strange days in his youth."


Extract from a Memoir of the Fifteenth Century







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 andlaughter 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




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