The deep narrow glen below us, which gradually widens as it
opens from the mountains, is the valley of the Darro; you see the
little river winding its way under imbowered terraces, and among
orchards and flower-gardens. It is a stream famous in old times for
yielding gold, and its sands are still sifted occasionally, in
search of the precious ore. Some of those white pavilions, which
here and there gleam from among groves and vineyards, were rustic
retreats of the Moors, to enjoy the refreshment of their gardens. Well
have they been compared by one of their poets to so many pearls set in
a bed of emeralds.
The airy palace, with its tall white towers and long arcades,
which breasts yon mountain, among pompous groves and hanging
gardens, is the Generalife, a summer palace of the Moorish kings, to
which they resorted during the sultry months to enjoy a still more
breezy region than that of the Alhambra. The naked summit of the
height above it, where you behold some shapeless ruins, is the Silla
del Moro, or Seat of the Moor, so called from having been a retreat of
the unfortunate Boabdil during the time of an insurrection, where he
seated himself, and looked down mournfully upon his rebellious city.
A murmuring sound of water now and then rises from the valley. It is
from the aqueduct of yon Moorish mill, nearly at the foot of the hill.
The avenue of trees beyond is the Alameda, along the bank of the
Darro, a favorite resort in evenings, and a rendezvous of lovers in
the summer nights, when the guitar may be heard at a late hour from
the benches along its walks.
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