She received every thing as a homage due
to her rank, or rather to her beauty; for beauty is more lofty in
its exactions even than rank. Nay, she seemed to take a secret
pleasure in exciting the monarch to expenses that made his treasury
shrink; and then treating his extravagant generosity as a mere
matter of course. With all his assiduity and munificence, also, the
venerable lover could not flatter himself that he had made any
impression on her heart. She never frowned on him, it is true, but
then she never smiled. Whenever he began to plead his passion, she
struck her silver lyre. There was a mystic charm in the sound. In an
instant the monarch began to nod; a drowsiness stole over him, and
he gradually sank into a sleep, from which he awoke wonderfully
refreshed, but perfectly cooled for the time of his passion. This
was very baffling to his suit; but then these slumbers were
accompanied by agreeable dreams, which completely inthralled the
senses of the drowsy lover, so he continued to dream on, while all
Granada scoffed at his infatuation, and groaned at the treasures
lavished for a song.
At length a danger burst on the head of Aben Habuz, against which
his talisman yielded him no warning. An insurrection broke out in
his very capital: his palace was surrounded by an armed rabble, who
menaced his life and the life of his Christian paramour. A spark of
his ancient warlike spirit was awakened in the breast of the
monarch.
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