saying, Ferdinand gave the keys to Isabel, who would have addressed
some soothing flatteries to Boabdil, but the emotion and excitement were
too much for her compassionate heart, heroine and queen though she was;
and when she lifted her eyes upon the calm and pale features of the
fallen monarch, the tears gushed from them irresistibly, and her voice
died in murmurs. A faint flush overspread the features of Boabdil, and
there was a momentary pause of embarrassment, which the Moor was the first
to break.

"Fair queen," said he, with mournful and pathetic dignity, "thou canst
read the heart that thy generous sympathy touches and subdues; this is thy
last, nor least glorious conquest. But I detain ye; let not my aspect
cloud your triumph. Suffer me to say farewell." "Farewell, my brother,"
replied Ferdinand, "and may fair fortune go with you! Forget the past!"
Boabdil smiled bitterly, saluted the royal pair with profound and silent
reverence, and rode slowly on, leaving the army below as he ascended the
path that led to his new principality beyond the Alpuxarras. As the trees
snatched the Moorish cavalcade from the view of the king, Ferdinand
ordered the army to recommence its march; and trumpet and cymbal presently
sent their music to the ear of the Moslems.

Boabdil spurred on at full speed, till his panting charger halted at the
little village where his mother, his slaves, and his faithful wife,
Amine--sent on before--awaited him. Joining these, he proceeded without
delay upon his melancholy path. They ascended that eminence which is the
pass into the Alpuxarras. From its height, the vale, the rivers, the
spires, and the towers of Granada broke gloriously upon the view of the
little band. They halted mechanically and abruptly; every eye was turned
to the beloved scene. The proud shame of baffled warriors, the tender
memories of home, of childhood, of fatherland, swelled every heart, and
gushed from every eye.

Suddenly the distant boom of artillery broke from the citadel, and rolled
along the sunlit valley and crystal river. A universal wail burst from the
exiles; it smote,--it overpowered the heart of the ill-starred king, in
vain seeking to wrap himself in Eastern pride or stoical philosophy. The
tears gushed from his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. The
band wound slowly on through the solitary defiles; and that place where
the king wept is still called The Last Sigh of the Moor.

NOTES.--Granada was