ture and a kingly soul!
Awake--arise--rob Granada of her Muza--be thyself her Muza! Trustest
thou to magic and to spells? then grave them on they breastplate, write
them on thy sword, and live no longer the Dreamer of the Alhambra;
become the saviour of thy people!"

Boabdil turned, and gazed on the inspired and beautiful form before him
with mingled emotions of surprise and shame. "Out of the mouth of woman
cometh my rebuke!" said he sadly. "It is well!"

"Pardon me, pardon me!" said the slave, falling humbly at his knees;
"but blame me not that I would have thee worthy of thyself. Wert thou
not happier, was not thy heart more light and thy hope more strong when,
at the head of thine armies, thine own cimiter slew thine own foes, and
the terror of the Hero-king spread, in flame and slaughter, from the
mountains to the seas. Boabdil! dear as thou art to me-equally as I
would have loved thee hadst thou been born a lowly fisherman of the
Darro, since thou art a king, I would have thee die a king; even if my
own heart broke as I armed thee for thy latest battle!"

"Thou knowest not what thou sayest, Amine," said Boabdil, "nor canst
thou tell what spirits that are not of earth dictate to the actions and
watch over the destinies, of the rulers of nations. If I delay, if I
linger, it is not from terror, but from wisdom. The cloud must gather
on, dark and slow, ere the moment for the thunderbolt arrives."

"On thine own house will the thunderbolt fall, since over thine own
house thou sufferest the cloud to gather," said a calm and stern voice.

Boabdil started; and in the chamber stood a third person, in the shape
of a woman, past middle age, and of commanding port and stature. Upon
her long-descending robes of embroidered purple were thickly woven
jewels of royal price, and her dark hair, slightly tinged with grey,
parted over a majestic brow while a small diadem surmounted the folds of
the turban.

"My mother!" said Boabdil, with some haughty reserve in his tone; "your
presence is unexpected."

"Ay," answered Ayxa la Horra, for it was indeed that celebrated, and
haughty, and high-souled queen, "and unwelcome; so is ever that of your
true friends. But not thus unwelcome was the presence of your mother,
when her brain and her hand delivered you from the dungeon in which your
stern father had cast your youth, and the dagger and the bowl seemed the
only keys that would unlock the cell."

"And better hadst thou left the