"But without their king," replied Boabdil, bitterly, and headed by a
traitor and a foe. I am meshed in the nets of an inextricable fate!"

"Oh!" said the slave, with sudden energy, as, clasping her hands, she
rose from her couch,--"oh, my lord, would that these humble lips dared
utter other words than those of love!"

"And what wise counsel would they give me?" asked Boabdil with a faint
smile. "Speak on."

"I will obey thee, then, even if it displease," cried Amine; and she
rose, her cheek glowing, her eyes spark ling, her beautiful form dilated.
"I am a daughter of Granada; I am the beloved of a king; I will be true
to my birth and to my fortunes. Boabdil el Chico, the last of a line of
heroes, shake off these gloomy fantasies--these doubts and dreams that
smother the fire of a great nature and a kingly soul! Awake--arise--rob
Granada of her Muza--be thyself her Muza! Trustest thou to magic and to
spells? then grave them on they breastplate, write them on thy sword, and
live no longer the Dreamer of the Alhambra; become the saviour of thy
people!"

Boabdil turned, and gazed on the inspired and beautiful form before him
with mingled emotions of surprise and shame. "Out of the mouth of woman
cometh my rebuke!" said he sadly. "It is well!"

"Pardon me, pardon me!" said the slave, falling humbly at his knees; "but
blame me not that I would have thee worthy of thyself. Wert thou not
happier, was not thy heart more light and thy hope more strong when, at
the head of thine armies, thine own cimiter slew thine own foes, and the
terror of the Hero-king spread, in flame and slaughter, from the