Tu tambien, insigne palma, Eres aqui forastera. De Algarbe las dulces auras Tu pompa halagan y besan. En fecundo suelo arraigas, Y al cielo tu cima elevas, Tristes lagrimas lloraras, Si qual io sentir pudieras. Tu no sientes contratiempos Como io de suerte aviesa: A mi de pena y dolor Continuas lluvias me annegan. Con mis lagrimas regue Las palmas que el Forat riega, Pero las palmas y el rio Se olvidan de mis penas. Cuando mios infaustos hados, Y de Al. Abas la fiereza Mi forzaron de dexar Del alma las dulces prendas; A ti de mi patria amada Ningun recuerda ti queda; Pero io, triste, no puedo Dexar de llorar por ella. It is probable that on the occasion of the surrender of Cordova to Ferdinand the Third, the Moors destroyed their palace of Azarah, since they were desirous of acting in a similar manner at Seville, with regard to Geber's Tower. Perhaps from disgust at the idea that a monument, the beauty and grandeur of which had inspired them with a sort of affection, would be, being gazed at, trodden, and possibly disfigured, (as it turned out) by those whom they looked upon as barbarians, and who would not appreciate its perfection, they attempted to introduce a clause into the conditions of the surrender of Seville, stipulating the destruction of the tower. By way of testifying to the accuracy of the opinion they had formed of their adversaries, Saint Ferdinand was on the point of agreeing to the clause: when his son, afterwards his successor, Alonso el Sabio, perhaps the only Christian present, who felt sufficient interest in a square mass of masonry, to care how the question was decided, energetically interfered, affirming that a single brick displaced, should be paid with the lives of the whole population. This most perfect scientific monument left by the Arabs, for the possession of which, after the architect, Europe is indebted to Alonso the Tenth, we will presently examine, together with the cathedral, which was afterwards erected, so as to include it in his plan. LETTER XIX CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE. Seville. We have visited the most beautiful edifice in Seville; we are now approaching the most magnificent. The native writers, participating somewhat in the character attributed to the inhabitants of their province, sometimes called the Gascony of Spain, declare this cathedral to be the grandest in the world. This is going too far; setting aside St. Peter's, and the Santa Maria del Fiore, the style of which renders the comparison more difficult, the Duomo of Milan, of which this building appears to be an imitation, must be allowed to be superior to it, externally at least, if not internally. Had they ranked it as the finest church out of Italy, they would not have been much in error, for such it probably is.