"
I forbear to dwell upon the marvellous details given by the
simple-minded Mateo about this redoubtable phantom, which has, in
fact, been time out of mind a favorite theme of nursery tales and
popular tradition in Granada, and of which honorable mention is made
by an ancient and learned historian and topographer of the place.
Leaving this eventful pile, we continued our course, skirting the
fruitful orchards of the Generalife, in which two or three
nightingales were pouring forth a rich strain of melody. Behind
these orchards we passed a number of Moorish tanks, with a door cut
into the rocky bosom of the hill, but closed up. These tanks, Mateo
informed me, were favorite bathing-places of himself and his
comrades in boyhood, until frightened away by a story of a hideous
Moor, who used to issue forth from the door in the rock to entrap
unwary bathers.
Leaving these haunted tanks behind us, we pursued our ramble up a
solitary mule-path winding among the hills, and soon found ourselves
amidst wild and melancholy mountains, destitute of trees, and here and
there tinted with scanty verdure. Every thing within sight was
severe and sterile, and it was scarcely possible to realize the idea
that but a short distance behind us was the Generalife, with its
blooming orchards and terraced gardens, and that we were in the
vicinity of delicious Granada, that city of groves and fountains.
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