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restore him to prosperity, since in this world nothing is stable, and sorrow, like joy, has its allotted term.

The action here recorded was called by some the battle of Lucena, by others the battle of the Moorish king, because of the capture of Boabdil. Twenty-two banners, taken on the occasion, were borne in triumph into Vaena on the 23d of April, St. George's day, and hung up in the church. There they remain (says a historian of after times) to this day. Once a year, on the festival of St. George, they are borne about in procession by the inhabitants, who, at the same time, give thanks to God for this signal victory granted to their forefathers.*

* Several circumstances relative to the capture of Boabdil vary in this from the first edition, in consequence of later light thrown on the subject by Don Miguel Lafuente Alcantara in his history of Granada. He has availed himself much of various ancient documents relative to the battle, especially the History of the House of Cordova, by the Abbot of Rute, a descendant of that family; a rare manuscript, of which few copies exist.

The question as to the person entitled to the honor and reward for having captured the king, long continued a matter of dispute between the people of Lucena and Vaena. On the 20th of October, 1520, about thirtyseven years after the event, an examination of several witnesses to the fact took place before the Chief Justice of the fortress of Lucena, at the instance of Bartolomy Hurtado, the son of Martin, when the claim of his father was established by Doña Leonora Hernandez, lady in attendant on the mother of the alcayde of los Donzeles, who testified being present when Boabdil signalized Martin Hurtado as his captor.

The chief honor of the day, and of course of the defeat and capture of the Moorish Monarch, was given by the sovereign to the count de Cabra; the second to his nephew, Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova.

Among the curious papers cited by Alcantara, is one existing in the archives of the House of Medina Celi, giving the account of the treas urer of Don Diego Fernandez, as to the sums expended by his lord in the rapture of the king; the reward given to some soldiers for a standard of

the king's which they had taken; to others for the wounds they had received, &c.

Another paper speaks of an auction at Lucena on the 28th of April, of horses and mules taken in the battle. Another paper states the gratuities of the alcayde of los Donzeles to the soldiery-four fanegas, or about four hundred weight of wheat and a lance to each horseman, two fanegas of wheat and a lance to each foot soldier.

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CHAPTER XVII.

Lamentations of the Moors for the battle of Lucena.

THE sentinels looked out from the watchtowers of Loxa, along the valley of the Xenel, which passes through the mountains of Algaringo. They looked to behold the king returning in triumph, at the head of his shining host, laden with the spoil of the unbeliever. They looked to behold the standard of their warlike idol, the fierce Ali Atar, borne by the chivalry of Loxa, ever foremost in the wars of the border.

In the evening of the 21st of April, they descried a single horseman urging his faltering steed along the banks of the Xenel. As he drew near, they perceived, by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior; and on nearer approach, by the richness of his armor and the caparison of his steed, they knew him to be a warrior of rank.

He reached Loxa, faint and aghast; his courser covered with foam, and dust, and blood, panting and staggering with fatigue, and gashed with wounds. Having brought his master in safety, he sank down and died before the gate of the city. The soldiers at the gate gathered round the cavalier, as he stood by his expiring steed they knew him to be Cidi Caleb, nephew of the chief alfaqui of the mosque in the Albaycin, and their hearts were filled with fearful forebodings.

"Cavalier," said they, "how fares it with the king and army?" He cast his hand mournfully towards the land of the Christians. "There they lie!" exclaimed he. "The Heavens have fallen upon them. All are lost! all dead !"*

Upon this, there was a great cry of consternation among the people, and loud wailings of women: for the flower of the youth of Loxa were with the army.

An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border battle, stood leaning on his lance by the gateway. "Where is Ali Atar?" demanded he eagerly. "If he lives, the army cannot be lost."

"I saw his helm cleft by the Christian sword; his body is floating in the Xenel."

When the soldier heard these words, he smote his breast and threw dust upon his head; for he was an old follower of Ali Atar.

Cidi Caleb gave himself no repose, but, mounting another steed, hastened towards Granada. As he passed through the villages and hamlets, he spread sorrow around; for their chosen men had followed the king to the wars.

When he entered the gates of Granada, and announced the loss of the king and army, a voice of horror went throughout the city. Every one thought but of his own share in the general calamity, and crowded round the bearer of ill tidings. One asked after a father, another after a brother, some after a lover, and many a mother after her son. His replies all spoke of wounds and death. To one he replied, "I saw thy father pierced with a lance, as he defended the person of the king." To another, "Thy brother fell wounded under the hoofs of the horses; but there was no time to aid bim, for the Christian cavalry were upon us." To another, "I saw the horse of thy lover, covered with

Bernaldez (Cura de los Palacios) Hist. de los reyes Catol., MS. cap. 61.

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blood and galloping without his rider." To another, "Thy son fought by my side, on the banks of the Xenel: we were surrounded by the enemy, and driven into the stream. I heard him. cry upon Allah, in the midst of the waters: when I reached the other bank, he was no longer by my side."

Cidi Caleb passed on, leaving all Granada in lamentation: he urged his steed up the steep avenue of trees and fountains that leads to the Alhambra, nor stopped until he arrived before the gate of Justice. Ayxa, the mother of Boabdil, and Morayma, his beloved and tender wife, had daily watched from the tower of Gomeres, to behold his triumphant return. Who shall describe their affliction, when they heard the tidings of Cidi Caleb? The sultana Ayxa spake not much, but sat as one entranced. Every now and then, a deep sigh burst forth, but she raised her eyes to Heaven: "It is the will of Allah!" said she, and with these words endeavored to repress the agonies of a mother's sorrow. The tender Morayma threw herself on the earth, and gave way to the full turbulence of her feelings, bewailing her husband and her father. The high-minded Ayxa rebuked the violence of her grief: "Moderate these transports, my daughter," said she; "remember magnanimity should be the attribute of princes; it becomes not them to give way to clamorous sorrow, like common and vulgar minds." But Morayma could only deplore her loss, with the anguish of a tender woman. She shut herself up in her mirador, and gazed all day, with streaming eyes, upon the vega. Every object recalled the causes of her affliction. The river Xenel, which ran shining amidst groves and gardens, was the same on whose banks had perished her father, Ali Atar; before her lay the road to Loxa, by which Boabdil had departed, in martial state, surrounded by the chivalry of Granada. Ever and anon, she would burst into an agony of grief. "Alas! my

father!" she would exclaim; "the river runs smiling before me,