fe!
Shall I less enjoy heaven and earth, or thought or action, or man's more
material luxuries of food or sleep--the common and the cheap desires of
all? Arouse thee, then, O heart within me! Many and deep emotions of
sorrow or of joy are yet left to break the monotony of existence. . . .
But it is time to depart." So saying, he descended to the court, flung
himself on his barb, and, with a small and saddened train, passed through
the gate which we yet survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower,
overgrown with vines and ivy; thence, amidst gardens now appertaining to
the convent of the victor faith, he took his mournful and unwitnessed way.

When he came to the middle of the hill that rises above those gardens, the
steel of the Spanish armor gleamed upon him, as the detachment sent to
occupy the palace marched over the summit in steady order and profound
silence. At the head of this vanguard, rode, upon a snow-white palfrey,
the Bishop of Avila, followed by a long train of barefooted monks. They
halted as Boabdil approached, and the grave bishop saluted him with the
air of one who addresses an infidel and inferior. With the quick sense of
dignity common to the great, and yet more to the fallen, Boabdil felt, but
resented not, the pride of the ecclesiastic. "Go, Christian," said he,
mildly, "the gates of the Alhambra are open, and Allah has bestowed the
palace and the city upon your king; may his virtues atone the faults of
Boabdil!" So saying, and waiting no answer, he rode on without looking to
the right or the left. The Spaniards also pursued their way.

The sun had fairly risen above the mountains, when Boabdil and his train
beheld, from the eminence on which they were, the whole armament of Spain;
and at the same moment, louder than the tramp of horse or the clash of
arms, was heard distinctly the solemn chant of Te Deum, which preceded the
blaze of the unfurled and lofty standards. Boabdil, himself still silent,
heard the groans and exclamations of his train; he turned to cheer or
chide them, and then saw, from his own watchtower, with the sun shining
full upon its pure and dazzling surface, the silver cross of Spain. His
Alhambra was already in the hands of the foe; while beside that badge of
the holy war waved the gay and flaunting flag of St. Iago, the canonized
Mars of the chivalry of Spain. At that sight the King's voice died within
him; he gave the rein to his barb, impatient to close the fatal
ceremonial, an