Leila | Page 6

"be his will obeyed. To-morrow night I await thee."
"Where?"
Almamen paused a moment, and then whispered a sentence in the king's ear: Boabdil started, and turned pale.
"A fearful spot!"
"So is the Alhambra itself, great Boabdil; while Ferdinand is without the walls and Muza within the city."
"Muza! Darest thou mistrust my bravest warrior?"
"What wise king will trust the idol of the king's army? Did Boabdil fall to-morrow by a chance javelin, in the field, whom would the nobles and the warriors place upon his throne? Doth it require an enchanter's lore to whisper to thy heart the answer in the name of 'Muza'?"
"Oh, wretched state! oh, miserable king!" exclaimed Boabdil, in a tone of great anguish. "I never had a father. I have now no people; a little while, and I shall have no country. Am I never to have a friend?"
"A friend! what king ever had?" returned Almamen, drily.
"Away, man--away!" cried Boabdil, as the impatient spirit of his rank and race shot dangerous fire from his eyes; "your cold and bloodless wisdom freezes up all the veins of my manhood! Glory, confidence, human sympathy, and feeling--your counsels annihilate them all. Leave me! I would be alone."
"We meet to-morrow, at midnight, mighty Boabdil," said Almamen, with his usual unmoved and passionless tones. "May the king live for ever."
The king turned; but his monitor had already disappeared. He went as he came--noiseless and sudden as a ghost.
CHAPTER III.
THE LOVERS.
When Muza parted from Almamen, he bent his steps towards the hill that rises opposite the ascent crowned with the towers of the Alhambra; the sides and summit of which eminence were tenanted by the luxurious population of the city. He selected the more private and secluded paths; and, half way up the hill, arrived, at last, before a low wall of considerable extent, which girded the gardens of some wealthier inhabitant of the city. He looked long and anxiously round; all was solitary; nor was the stillness broken, save as an occasional breeze, from the snowy heights of the Sierra Nevada, rustled the fragrant leaves of the citron and pomegranate; or as the silver tinkling of waterfalls chimed melodiously within the gardens. The Moor's heart beat high: a moment more, and he had scaled the wall; and found himself upon a green sward, variegated by the rich colours of many a sleeping flower, and shaded by groves and alleys of luxuriant foliage and golden fruits.
It was not long before he stood beside a house that seemed of a construction anterior to the Moorish dynasty. It was built over low cloisters formed by heavy and timeworn pillars, concealed, for the most part by a profusion of roses and creeping shrubs: the lattices above the cloisters opened upon large gilded balconies, the super-addition of Moriscan taste. In one only of the casements a lamp was visible; the rest of the mansion was dark, as if, save in that chamber, sleep kept watch over the inmates. It was to this window that the Moor stole; and, after a moment's pause, he murmured rather than sang, so low and whispered was his voice, the following simple verses, slightly varied from an old Arabian poet:--
Light of my soul, arise, arise! Thy sister lights are in the skies; We want thine eyes, Thy joyous eyes; The Night is mourning for thine eyes! The sacred verse is on my sword, But on my heart thy name The words on each alike adored; The truth of each the same, The same!--alas! too well I feel The heart is truer than the steel! Light of my soul! upon me shine; Night wakes her stars to envy mine. Those eyes of thine, Wild eyes of thine, What stars are like those eyes of thine?
As he concluded, the lattice softly opened; and a female form appeared on the balcony.
"Ah, Leila!" said the Moor, "I see thee, and I am blessed!"
"Hush!" answered Leila; "speak low, nor tarry long I fear that our interviews are suspected; and this," she added in a trembling voice, "may perhaps be the last time we shall meet."
"Holy Prophet!" exclaimed Muza, passionately, "what do I hear? Why this mystery? why cannot I learn thine origin, thy rank, thy parents? Think you, beautiful Leila, that Granada holds a rouse lofty enough to disdain the alliance with Muza Ben Abil Gazan? and oh!" he added (sinking the haughty tones of his voice into accents of the softest tenderness), "if not too high to scorn me, what should war against our loves and our bridals? For worn equally on my heart were the flower of thy sweet self, whether the mountain top or the valley gave birth to the odour and the bloom."
"Alas!" answered Leila, weeping, "the mystery thou complainest of is as dark to myself as thee. How often have I told thee that