Mosada: A dramatic poem — Reading Companion

The Prophecy and the Stars

Mosada's faith in reunion rests on the word of Azolar, "the star-taught Moor," who read in the stars above the Alpujarras that when their nativity stars draw together, they will meet. This astrological framework is not mere ornament; it governs her perception of time and hope. She recalls the messenger's arrival in April, when swallows were "flashing their white breasts above," and his departure in autumn, when grapes were full. The natural world mirrors her emotional state—the cricket nation dancing, a dying leaf touching her lips "as though 'twere sealing them for death." The prophecy gives her patience, but also isolates her from the merry apple gatherers.

The Monk's Burden

Ebremar, the monk, is introduced through others' words before he speaks. Cola calls him "the servant of the Lord, / The dark still man." When he appears, he is described as having a face "sharpened with the fasting of the world" and eyes that "burn with cold fire." His dialogue reveals a man haunted by a past sin: he speaks of a woman he loved who died, and he now seeks to save souls through harsh penance. The Inquisitors note his trembling lips and flickering flame. The poem does not explicitly connect Ebremar to Mosada's lost messenger, but the parallel waiting and loss invite the reader to consider whether they are the same figure.

Symbols and Stagecraft

Yeats uses recurring visual symbols to structure the drama. The chafing dish where Mosada burns herbs for her vision, the silver crucifix around Cola's neck, and the minaret of the Alhambra black against the setting sun all carry weight. The stage directions are sparse but evocative: Mosada opens the casement to let in sounds, and later the scene shifts to a "monastery garden" and then a "mountain valley." The final scene is marked by cold and mist, with Mosada drawing her cloak and repeating "'tis very cold" before dying. Ebremar's entrance after her death, and the Inquisitors' suspicion of poison, close the action abruptly.

Voice and Lyricism

The poem is written in blank verse with occasional rhymes, and its strength lies in Mosada's lyrical speeches. Her language is rich with simile and personification: "the roses have grown less and less, / As slowly Autumn climbed the golden throne." She describes love and sorrow as figures with arms thrown round each other's necks, wandering the world. Ebremar's speech is more terse and strained, marked by exclamations and self-interruption. The contrast between her flowing, nature-infused verse and his jagged, guilt-ridden lines creates a tonal tension that carries the drama. The excerpts do not reveal the full plot, but the poetic voice is consistent and distinctive.

Reading the Unfinished Story

Because the excerpts are incomplete, the reader must piece together the relationship between Mosada and Ebremar. The epigraph—"And my Lord Cardinal hath had strange days in his youth"—suggests Ebremar may be that cardinal. The poem's title page notes it was "Reprinted from the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY REVIEW" in 1886, placing it early in Yeats's career. The reader should attend to the way Yeats uses the Moorish setting not as historical detail but as a backdrop for a spiritual and emotional conflict. The poem's brevity (6062 words) means every image and line carries weight; a first reading benefits from slow attention to the verse's rhythm and symbol.

This early work by W. B. Yeats rewards attention to its language and structure rather than its plot. The excerpts leave key questions unanswered—whether Ebremar is the messenger, what his past contains, and how the Inquisition will proceed. A first reader should focus on the interplay between Mosada's visionary hope and Ebremar's haunted duty, and on the natural imagery that Yeats uses to externalize inner states. The poem is a dramatic poem, meant to be heard as much as read; its rhythms and repetitions carry meaning.

That Yeats poem stayed with me — that ache of waiting, the way Mosada’s hope and Ebremar’s guilt seemed to echo off each other. It reminded me of finding old plays, voices from centuries ago feeling suddenly intimate. I came across A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 13 — Text and Context afterward, and the same quiet unease lingered there, like a half-remembered conversation.