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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33430-8.txt b/33430-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..acecffc --- /dev/null +++ b/33430-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,954 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mosada, by William Butler Yeats + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mosada + A dramatic poem + +Author: William Butler Yeats + +Release Date: August 14, 2010 [EBook #33430] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA *** + + + + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA *** + +***** This file should be named 33430-8.txt or 33430-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/4/3/33430/ + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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A Dramatic Poem, by W. B. Yeats.. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; text-indent: 1em;} + .noindent {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; text-indent: 0em;} + .frontend {text-align: center; font-size: 85%;} + .epigraph {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + margin-bottom: 1.5em; } + .transnote {margin: 2em 5% 1em 5%; font-size: 90%; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; + border: solid 1px silver;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: 70%; + text-align: right;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + img {border: 0;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mosada, by William Butler Yeats + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mosada + A dramatic poem + +Author: William Butler Yeats + +Release Date: August 14, 2010 [EBook #33430] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA *** + + + + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h3>Transcriber's Note</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in +this text. For a complete list, please see <a href="#transnote">the bottom of +this document</a>.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 242px;"> +<a href="images/img01.jpg"><img src="images/img01th.jpg" width="242" height="400" alt="" title="" /></a> +</div> + + + + +<h1>MOSADA.</h1> + +<h2>A Dramatic Poem.</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>W. B. YEATS.</h2> + +<h4><span class="smcap">with a</span></h4> + +<h2>Frontispiece Portrait of the Author</h2> + +<h3>By J. B. YEATS.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p class='center'><i>Reprinted from the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY REVIEW.</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p class='center'>DUBLIN:</p> + +<p class='frontend'>PRINTED BY SEALY, BRYERS, AND WALKER,<br /> +<span class="smcap">94, 95 and 96 Middle Abbey Street.</span></p> +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> +<p class='frontend'>1886.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 332px;"> +<a href="images/img02.png"><img src="images/img02th.png" width="332" height="400" alt="" title="" /></a> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>MOSADA.</h2> + + +<div class="epigraph"> +<p>"<i>And my Lord Cardinal hath had strange days in his youth.</i>"</p> + +<p class='right'><i>Extract from a Memoir of the Fifteenth Century.</i></p> +</div> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="cast"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mosada</span>,</td><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>A Moorish Lady.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ebremar</span>,</td><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>A Monk.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Cola</span>,</td><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>A Lame Boy.</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><span class="smcap">Monks and Inquisitors.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<h3><span class="smcap">Scene I</span>.</h3> + +<p class='center'> +<i>A Little Moorish Room in the Village of Azubia.<br /> +In the centre of the room a chafing dish.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> [<i>alone</i>] Three times the roses have grown less and less,<br /> +As slowly Autumn climbed the golden throne<br /> +Where sat old Summer fading into song,<br /> +And thrice the peaches flushed upon the walls,<br /> +And thrice the corn around the sickles flamed,<br /> +Since 'mong my people, tented on the hills,<br /> +He stood a messenger. In April's prime<br /> +(Swallows were flashing their white breasts above<br /> +Or perching on the tents, a-weary still<br /> +From waste seas cross'd, yet ever garrulous)<br /> +Along the velvet vale I saw him come:<br /> +In Autumn, when far down the mountain slopes<br /> +The heavy clusters of the grapes were full,<br /> +I saw him sigh and turn and pass away;<br /> +For I and all my people were accurst<br /> +Of his sad God; and down among the grass<br /> +Hiding my face, I cried long, bitterly.<br /> +Twas evening, and the cricket nation sang<br /> +Around my head and danced among the grass;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>And all was dimness till a dying leaf<br /> +Slid circling down and softly touched my lips<br /> +With dew as though 'twere sealing them for death.<br /> +Yet somewhere in the footsore world we meet<br /> +We two before we die, for Azolar<br /> +The star-taught Moor said thus it was decreed<br /> +By those wan stars that sit in company<br /> +Above the Alpujarras on their thrones,<br /> +That when the stars of our nativity<br /> +Draw star to star, as on that eve he passed<br /> +Down the long valleys from my people's tents,<br /> +We meet—we two.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>She opens the casement—the mingled sound of the voices and<br /> +laughter of the apple gatherers floats in.</i>]</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">How merry all these are</span><br /> +Among the fruit. But yon, lame Cola crouches<br /> +Away from all the others. Now the sun—<br /> +A-shining on the little crucifix<br /> +Of silver hanging round lame Cola's neck—<br /> +Sinks down at last with yonder minaret<br /> +Of the Alhambra black athwart his disk;<br /> +And Cola seeing, knows the sign and comes.<br /> +Thus do I burn these precious herbs whose smoke<br /> +Pours up and floats in fragrance o'er my head<br /> +In coil on coil of azure.</p> + +<p>[<i>Enter Cola.</i>] All is ready.</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i> Mosada, it is then so much the worse.<br /> +I will not share your sin.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">It is no sin</span><br /> +That you shall see on yonder glowing cloud<br /> +Pictured, where wander the beloved feet<br /> +Whose footfall I have longed for, three sad summers—<br /> +Why these new fears?</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The servant of the Lord,</span><br /> +The dark still man, has come, and says 'tis sin.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> They say the wish itself is half the sin.<br /> +Then has this one been sinned full many times,<br /> +Yet 'tis no sin—my father taught it me.<br /> +He was a man most learned and most mild,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>Who, dreaming to a wondrous age, lived on<br /> +Tending the roses round his lattice door.<br /> +For years his days had dawned and faded thus<br /> +Among the plants; the flowery silence fell<br /> +Deep in his soul, like rain upon a soil<br /> +Worn by the solstice fierce, and made it pure.<br /> +Would he teach any sin?</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Gaze in the cloud</span><br /> +Yourself.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> None but the innocent can see.</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i> They say I am all ugliness; lame-footed<br /> +I am; one shoulder turned awry—why then<br /> +Should I be good? But you are beautiful.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> I cannot see.</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The beetles, and the bats,</span><br /> +And spiders, are my friends, I'm theirs, and they are<br /> +Not good; but you are like the butterflies.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> I cannot see! I cannot see! but you<br /> +Shall see a thing to talk on when you're old,<br /> +Under a lemon tree beside your door;<br /> +And all the elders sitting in the sun,<br /> +Will wondering listen, and this tale shall ease<br /> +For long, the burthen of their talking griefs.</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i> Upon my knees I pray you, let it sleep,<br /> +The vision.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> You're pale and weeping, child.<br /> +Be not afraid, you'll see no fearful thing.<br /> +Thus, thus I beckon from her viewless fields—<br /> +Thus beckon to our aid a Phantom fair<br /> +And calm, robed all in raiment moony white.<br /> +She was a great enchantress once of yore,<br /> +Whose dwelling was a tree-wrapt island, lulled<br /> +Far out upon the water world and ringed<br /> +With wonderful white sand, where never yet<br /> +Were furled the wings of ships. There in a dell<br /> +A lily blanchèd place, she sat and sang,<br /> +And in her singing wove around her head<br /> +White lilies, and her song flew forth afar<br /> +Along the sea; and many a man grew hushed<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>In his own house or 'mong the merchants grey,<br /> +Hearing the far off singing guile and groaned,<br /> +And manned an argosy and sailing died.<br /> +In the far isle she sang herself asleep<br /> +At last. But now I wave her to my side.</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i> Stay, stay, or I will hold your white arms down.<br /> +Ah me, I cannot reach them—here and there<br /> +Darting you wave them, darting in the vapour.<br /> +Heard you? Your lute upon the wall has sounded!<br /> +I feel a finger drawn across my cheek!</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> The phantoms come; ha ha! they come, they come!<br /> +I wave them hither, my breast heaves with joy.<br /> +Ah! now I'm eastern-hearted once again,<br /> +And while they gather round my beckoning arms,<br /> +I'll sing the songs the dusky lovers sing,<br /> +Wandering in sultry palaces of Ind,<br /> +A lotus in their hands—</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>The door is flung open. Enter the Officers of the Inquisition.</i>]</p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Young Moorish girl</span><br /> +Taken in magic. In the Church's name<br /> +I here arrest thee.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">It is Allah's will.</span><br /> +Touch not this boy, for he is innocent.</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i> Forgive! for I have told them everything.<br /> +They said I'd burn in hell unless I told<br /> +Them all, and let them find you in the vapour.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>She turns away—he clings to her dress.</i>]</p> + +<p class='noindent'>Forgive me!</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">It was Allah's will.</span></p> + +<p><i>Second Inquisitor.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Now cords.</span></p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> No need to bind my hands. Where are ye, sirs,<br /> +For ye are hid with vapours?</p> + +<p><i>Second Inquisitor.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Round the stake</span><br /> +The vapour is much thicker.</p> + +<p><i>Cola.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">God! the stake!</span><br /> +Ye said that ye would fright her from her sin—<br /> +No more; take me instead of her, great sirs.<br /> +She was my only friend; I'm lame you know—<br /> +One shoulder twisted, and the children cry<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>Names after me.</p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i> Lady—</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">I come.</span></p> + +<p><i>Cola</i> [<i>following.</i>]<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Forgive.</span><br /> +Forgive, or I will die.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada</i> [<i>stooping and kissing him</i>]. 'Twas Allah's will.<br /> +</p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">Scene II.</span></h3> + +<p class='center'><i>A Room, the building of the Inquisition of Granada, lit by<br /> +stained window, picturing St. James of Spain.</i></p> + +<p class='center'><i>Monks and Inquisitors.</i></p> + +<p><i>First Monk.</i> Will you not hear my last new song?</p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Hush, hush!</span><br /> +So she must burn you say.</p> + +<p><i>Second Inquisitor.</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;">She must in truth.</span></p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i> Will he not spare her life? How would one matter<br /> +When there are many?</p> + +<p><i>Second Monk.</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ebremar will stamp</span><br /> +This heathen horde away. You need not hope;<br /> +And know you not she kissed that pious child<br /> +With poisonous lips, and he is pining since?</p> + +<p><i>First Monk.</i> You're full of wordiness. Come, hear my song.</p> + +<p><i>Second Monk.</i> In truth an evil race; why strive for her,<br /> +A little Moorish girl?</p> + +<p><i>Second Inquisitor.</i> Small worth.</p> + +<p><i>First Monk.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">My song—</span></p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i> I had a sister like her once my friend.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>Touching the first Monk on the shoulder.</i>]</p> + +<p class='noindent'>Where is our brother Peter? When you're nigh,<br /> +He is not far. I'd have him speak for her.<br /> +I saw his jovial mood bring once a smile<br /> +To sainted Ebremar's sad eyes. I think<br /> +He loves our brother Peter in his heart.<br /> +If Peter would but ask her life—who knows?</p> + +<p><i>First Monk.</i> He digs his cabbages. He brings to mind<br /> +That song I've made—is of a Russian tale<br /> +Of Holy Peter of the Burning Gate:<br /> +A saint of Russia in a vision saw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>Sings</i>]</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A stranger new arisen wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the door of Peter's gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he shouted Open wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy sacred door, but Peter cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, thy home is deepest hell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deeper than the deepest well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the stranger softly crew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answered Peter: Enter in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friend; but 'twere a deadly sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever more to speak a word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of any unblessed earthly bird.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> +<i>First Inquisitor.</i> Be still, I hear the step of Ebremar.<br /> +Yonder he comes; bright-eyed, and hollow-cheeked<br /> +From fasting—see, the red light slanting down<br /> +From the great painted window wraps his brow,<br /> +As with an aureole.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>Ebremar enters—they all bow to him.</i>]</p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i> My suit to you—</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> I will not hear; the Moorish girl must die.<br /> +I will burn heresy from this mad earth,<br /> +And—</p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i> Mercy is the manna of the world.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> The wages of sin is death.</p> + +<p><i>Second Monk.</i><span style="margin-left: 10em;">No use.</span></p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i> My lord, if it must be, I pray descend<br /> +Yourself into the dungeon 'neath our feet<br /> +And importune with weighty words this Moor,<br /> +That she foreswear her heresies and save<br /> +Her soul from seas of endless flame in hell.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> I speak alone with servants of the Cross<br /> +And dying men—and yet—but no, farewell.</p> + +<p><i>Second Monk.</i> No use.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> Away! [<i>They go.</i>] Hear oh! thou enduring God,<br /> +Who giveth to the golden-crested wren<br /> +Her hanging mansion. Give to me, I pray,<br /> +The burthen of thy truth. Reach down thy hands<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>And fill me with thy rage, that I may bruise<br /> +The heathen. Yea, and shake the sullen kings<br /> +Upon their thrones. The lives of men shall flow<br /> +As quiet as the little rivulets<br /> +Beneath the sheltering shadow of thy Church,<br /> +And thou shalt bend, enduring God, the knees<br /> +Of the great warriors whose names have sung<br /> +The world to its fierce infancy again.<br /> +</p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">Scene III.</span></h3> + +<p class='center'><i>The dungeon of the Inquisition. The morning of the Auto-da-Fe<br /> +dawns dimly through a barred window. A few faint stars<br /> +are shining. Swallows are circling in the dimness without.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> Oh! swallows, swallows, swallows, will ye fly<br /> +This eve, to-morrow, or to-morrow night<br /> +Above the farm-house by the little lake<br /> +That's rustling in the reeds with patient pushes,<br /> +Soft as a long dead footstep whispering through<br /> +The brain. My brothers will be passing down<br /> +Quite soon the cornfield, where the poppies grow,<br /> +To their farm-work; how silent all will be.<br /> +But no, in this warm weather, 'mong the hills,<br /> +Will be the faint far thunder-sound as though<br /> +The world were dreaming in its summer sleep;<br /> +That will be later, day is scarcely dawning.<br /> +And Hassan will be with them—he was so small,<br /> +A weak, thin child, when last I saw him there.<br /> +He will be taller now—'twas long ago.<br /> +<br /> +The men are busy in the glimmering square.<br /> +I hear the murmur as they raise the beams<br /> +To build the circling seats, where high in air<br /> +Soon will the churchmen nod above the crowd.<br /> +I'm not of that pale company whose feet<br /> +Ere long shall falter through the noisy square,<br /> +And not come thence—for here in this small ring,<br /> +Hearken, ye swallows! I have hoarded up<br /> +A poison drop. The toy of fancy once,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>A fashion with us Moorish maids, begot<br /> +Of dreaming and of watching by the door<br /> +The shadows pass; but now, I love my ring,<br /> +For it alone of all the world will do<br /> +My bidding.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>Sucks poison from the ring.</i>]</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Now 'tis done, and I am glad</span><br /> +And free—'twill thieve away with sleepy mood<br /> +My thoughts, and yonder brightening patch of sky<br /> +With three bars crossed, and these four walls my world,<br /> +And yon few stars, grown dim like eyes of lovers<br /> +The noisy world divides. How soon a deed<br /> +So small makes one grow weak and tottering.<br /> +Where shall I lay me down? That question is<br /> +A weighty question, for it is the last.<br /> +Not there, for there a spider weaves her web.<br /> +Nay here, I'll lay me down where I can watch<br /> +The burghers of the night fade one by one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">... Yonder a leaf</span><br /> +Of apple blossom circles in the gloom,<br /> +Floating from yon barred window. New comer,<br /> +Thou'rt welcome. Lie there close against my fingers.<br /> +I wonder which is whitest, they or thou.<br /> +'Tis thou, for they've grown blue around the nails.<br /> +My blossom, I am dying, and the stars<br /> +Are dying too. They were full seven stars;<br /> +Two only now they are, two side by side.<br /> +Oh! Allah, it was thus they shone that night,<br /> +When my lost lover left these arms. My Vallence,<br /> +We meet at last, the ministering stars<br /> +Of our nativity hang side by side,<br /> +And throb within the circles of green dawn.<br /> +Too late, too late, for I am near to death.<br /> +I try to lift mine arms—they fall again.<br /> +This death is heavy in my veins like sleep.<br /> +I cannot even crawl along the flags<br /> +A little nearer those bright stars. Tell me,<br /> +Is it your message, stars, that when death comes<br /> +My soul shall touch with his, and the two flames<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>Be one? I think all's finished now and sealed.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>After a pause enter Ebremar.</i>]</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> Young Moorish girl, thy final hour is here,<br /> +Cast off thy heresies and save thy soul<br /> +From dateless pain. She sleeps—</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>Starting.</i>]</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Mosada—thou—</span><br /> +Oh God!—awake, thou shalt not die. She sleeps.<br /> +Her head cast backward in her unloosed hair.<br /> +Look up, look up, thy Vallence is by thee.<br /> +A fearful paleness creeps across her breast<br /> +And out-spread arms.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>Casting himself down by her.</i>]</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Be not so pale, dear love.</span><br /> +Oh! can my kisses bring a flush no more<br /> +Upon thy face. How heavily thy head<br /> +Hangs on my breast. Listen, we shall be safe.<br /> +We'll fly from this before the morning star.<br /> +Dear heart, there is a secret way that leads<br /> +Its paven length towards the river's marge,<br /> +Where lies a shallop in the yellow reeds.<br /> +Awake, awake, and we will sail afar,<br /> +Afar along the fleet white river's face—<br /> +Alone with our own whispers and replies—<br /> +Alone among the murmurs of the dawn.<br /> +Among thy nation none shall know that I<br /> +Was Ebremar, whose thoughts were fixed on God,<br /> +And heaven, and holiness.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Let's talk and grieve,</span><br /> +For that's the sweetest music for sad souls.<br /> +Day's dead, all flame-bewildered, and the hills<br /> +In list'ning silence gazing on our grief.<br /> +I never knew an eve so marvellous still.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> Her dreams are talking with old years. Awake,<br /> +Grieve not, for Vallence kneels beside thee—</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i><span style="margin-left: 12em;">Vallence,</span><br /> +'Tis late, wait one more day; below the hills<br /> +The foot-worn way is long, and it grows dark.<br /> +It is the darkest eve I ever knew.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span><i>Ebremar.</i> I kneel by thee—no parting now—look up.<br /> +She smiles—is happy with her wandering griefs.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> So you must go; kiss me before you go.<br /> +Oh! would the busy minutes might fold up<br /> +Their thieving wings that we might never part.<br /> +I never knew a night so honey sweet.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> There is no leave taking. I go no more.<br /> +Safe on the breast of Vallence is thy head<br /> +Unhappy one.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i> Go not. Go not. Go not.<br /> +For night comes fast; look down on me, my love,<br /> +And see how thick the dew lies on my face.<br /> +I never knew a night so dew-bedrowned.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> Oh! hush the wandering music of thy mind.<br /> +Look on me once. Why sink your eyelids so?<br /> +Why do you hang so heavy in my arms?<br /> +Love, will you die when we have met? One look<br /> +Give to thy Vallence.</p> + +<p><i>Mosada.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Vallence—he has gone</span><br /> +From here, along the shadowy way that winds<br /> +Companioning the river's pilgrim torch.<br /> +I'll see him longer if I stand out here<br /> +Upon the mountain's brow.</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>She tries to stand and totters. Ebremar supports her, and<br /> +she stands pointing down as if into a visionary valley.</i>]</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yonder he treads</span><br /> +The path o'er-muffled with the leaves—dead leaves,<br /> +Like happy thoughts grown sad in evil days.<br /> +He fades among the mists; how fast they come,<br /> +And pour upon the world! Ah! well a day!<br /> +Poor love and sorrow with their arms thrown round<br /> +Each other's necks, and whispering as they go,<br /> +Still wander through the world. He's gone, he's gone.<br /> +I'm weary—weary, and 'tis very cold.<br /> +I'll draw my cloak around me; it is cold.<br /> +I never knew a night so bitter cold.</p> + +<p class='right'>[<i>Dies.</i>]</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> Mosada! Oh, Mosada!</p> + +<p class='center'>[<i>Enter Monks and Inquisitors.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span><i>First Inquisitor.</i> My lord, you called.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Not I. This maid is dead.</span></p> + +<p><i>First Monk.</i> From poison, for you cannot trust these Moors.<br /> +You're pale, my lord.</p> + +<p><i>First Inquisitor.</i> [<i>aside</i>] His lips are quivering.<br /> +The flame that shone within his eyes but now<br /> +Has flickered and gone out.</p> + +<p><i>Ebremar.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">I am not well.</span><br /> +'Twill pass. I'll see the other prisoners now,<br /> +And importune their souls to penitence,<br /> +So they escape from hell. But pardon me.<br /> +Your hood is threadbare—see that it be changed<br /> +Before we take our seats above the crowd.<br /></p> + +<p><i>First Monk.</i> I always said you could not trust these Moors.</p> + +<p class='right'>[<i>They go.</i>]</p> + +<p class='right'><span class="smcap">W. B. Yeats. </span></p> + + +<p class='frontend'>Printed by<br /> +SEALY, BRYERS AND WALKER,<br /> +<span class="smcap">94, 95, and 96 Middle Abbey Street</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dublin.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3><a name="transnote" id="transnote"></a>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Page <a href="#Page_5">5</a>: "my friend," amended to "my friend."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_6">6</a>: "First Inqusitor" amended to "First Inquisitor"</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_10">10</a>: "kn ewa" amended to "knew a"</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mosada, by William Butler Yeats + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA *** + +***** This file should be named 33430-h.htm or 33430-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/4/3/33430/ + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mosada + A dramatic poem + +Author: William Butler Yeats + +Release Date: August 14, 2010 [EBook #33430] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA *** + + + + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + +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 blanched 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA *** + +***** This file should be named 33430.txt or 33430.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/4/3/33430/ + +Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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