It is impossible to contemplate this scene so perfectly Oriental
without feeling the early associations of Arabian romance, and
almost expecting to see the white arm of some mysterious princess
beckoning from the gallery, or some dark eye sparkling through the
lattice. The abode of beauty is here, as if it had been inhabited
but yesterday; but where are the two sisters; where the Zoraydas and
Lindaraxas!
An abundant supply of water, brought from the mountains by old
Moorish aqueducts, circulates throughout the palace, supplying its
baths and fishpools, sparkling in jets within its halls, or
murmuring in channels along the marble pavements. When it has paid its
tribute to the royal pile, and visited its gardens and parterres, it
flows down the long avenue leading to the city, tinkling in rills,
gushing in fountains, and maintaining a perpetual verdure in those
groves that embower and beautify the whole hill of the Alhambra.
Those only who have sojourned in the ardent climates of the South,
can appreciate the delights of an abode, combining the breezy coolness
of the mountain with the freshness and verdure of the valley. While
the city below pants with the noontide heat, and the parched Vega
trembles to the eye, the delicate airs from the Sierra Nevada play
through these lofty halls, bringing with them the sweetness of the
surrounding gardens. Every thing invites to that indolent repose,
the bliss of southern climes; and while the half-shut eye looks out
from shaded balconies upon the glittering landscape, the ear is lulled
by the rustling of groves, and the murmur of running streams.
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