Read Ebook: Mosada: A dramatic poem by Yeats W B William Butler Yeats Jack B Jack Butler Illustrator

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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.

W. B. YEATS.

WITH A

Frontispiece Portrait of the Author

DUBLIN:

PRINTED BY SEALY, BRYERS, AND WALKER, 94, 95 AND 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET.

MOSADA.

MOSADA, A Moorish Lady. EBREMAR, A Monk. COLA, A Lame Boy. MONKS AND INQUISITORS.

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.

All is ready.

Forgive me!

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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"

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