It is this aerial treasury of snow, which, melting in
proportion to the increase of the summer heat, sends down rivulets and
streams through every glen and gorge of the Alpuxarras, diffusing
emerald verdure and fertility throughout a chain of happy and
sequestered valleys.
Those mountains may be well called the glory of Granada. They
dominate the whole extent of Andalusia, and may be seen from its
most distant parts. The muleteer hails them, as he views their
frosty peaks from the sultry level of the plain; and the Spanish
mariner on the deck of his bark, far, far off on the bosom of the blue
Mediterranean, watches them with a pensive eye, thinks of delightful
Granada, and chants, in low voice, some old romance about the Moors.
See to the south at the foot of those mountains a line of arid
hills, down which a long train of mules is slowly moving. Here was the
closing scene of Moslem domination. From the summit of one of those
hills the unfortunate Boabdil cast back his last look upon Granada,
and gave vent to the agony of his soul. It is the spot famous in
song and story, "The last sigh of the Moor."
Further this way these arid hills slope down into the luxurious
Vega, from which he had just emerged: a blooming wilderness of grove
and garden, and teeming orchard, with the Xenil winding through it
in silver links, and feeding innumerable rills; which, conducted
through ancient Moorish channels, maintain the landscape in
perpetual verdure.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123