You have, in all probability, walked in the gardens of the palace of Seville, and know which is called the upper and which the lower garden; they are literally two gardens, one above the other: the upper one, which is supported upon arches, is upon a level with the first floor of the palace, and is a complete flower garden. The lower garden, which is the larger of the two, was only open to the men belonging to the Court, who were permitted to walk there at certain hours. The upper garden was entirely reserved for the ladies, who frequently walked there to shew themselves to the gentlemen, with whom they occasionally conversed over the balustrade which runs about elbow high, quite round the garden; but these conversations were only permitted when the King and Queen were absent; in their presence they were obliged to content themselves with signs. Any gentleman was permitted, however, to sing, even in the presence of their Majesties, provided he possessed a fine voice. There were also, occasionally, instrumental concerts, the execution of which was enchanting. One evening the beautiful Moor was walking in this garden with her friend Donna Elvira. They had scarcely taken two turns before they heard a man singing in so agreeable a strain, that they determined to listen. They concealed themselves behind some orange-trees that grew along the balustrade, directly opposite to the singer, whom they could observe without being seen by him. Elvira was much struck by his handsome appearance, and Daraxa recognized her Ozmin. Seated on a bank of turf, with his head reclining negligently against a tree, he sang the following verses in the Castilian language:-- Wilt thou, stern Jealousy! at once destroy My life and love, with unrelenting doom? Why, cruel Fate, this last sad blow employ To sink me sorrowing to an early tomb? Absence from her I love hath been the source Of daily anxious thought, severe to bear; But now Inconstancy, the Lover’s curse, Clouds all my hope, and drives me to despair. Among other excellencies our illustrious Moor was a most accomplished singer; instead of priding himself, however, upon this quality, he rather strove to conceal it. Many of the cavaliers at the Court of Granada speak good Spanish, and even sing in that language; there were even many Moors who composed verses in Castilian, which were much admired by the Spanish poets. Those which Ozmin had just been singing were composed by a Moorish author, and set to music by one of the same nation. Daraxa doubted not that it alluded to herself; and being unwilling to lose the opportunity of making a reply, she tore a leaf out of her pocket-book upon which she wrote the following words:-- “No more uneasiness about the knot of ribbon; the gift was made without the participation of the heart. Be assured when Daraxa loves, she loves but once in her life-time; if you wish to know more, you will find Laida at the palace-gate, at nine to-morrow morning.”