solitude.

The old vizier attempted to speak, but his voice failed him.

"It is time, then, to depart," said Boabdil, with calmness; "let it be
so: render up the palace and the fortress, and join thy friend, no more
thy monarch, in his new home."

He stayed not for reply: he hurried on, descended to the court, flung
himself on his barb, and, with a small and saddened train, passed through
the gate which we yet survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower
overgrown with vines and ivy; thence, amidst gardens, now appertaining to
the convent of the victor faith, he took his mournful and unwitnessed
way. When he came to the middle of the hill that rises above those
gardens, the steel of the Spanish armour gleamed upon him as the
detachment sent to occupy the palace marched over the summit in steady
order and profound silence.

At the head of this vanguard rode, upon a snow-white palfrey, the Bishop
of Avila, followed by a long train of barefooted monks. They halted as
Boabdil approached, and the grave bishop saluted him with the air of one
who addresses an infidel and an inferior. With the quick sense of
dignity common to the great, and yet more to the fallen, Boabdil felt,
but resented not, the pride of the ecclesiastic. "Go, Christian," said
he, mildly, "the gates of the Alhambra are open, and Allah has bestowed
the palace and the city upon your king: may his virtues atone the faults
of Boabdil!" So saying, and waiting no answer, he rode on, without
looking to the right or left. The Spaniards also pursued their way. The
sun had fairly risen above the mountains, when Boabdil and his train
beheld, from the eminence on which they were, the whole armament of