I Bent My Steps To The Inn, Passing Along A Kind Of Rampart:
Shortly Before I Reached The Portal, Which
I have already
mentioned, I observed a kind of vault on my right hand, scooped out
of the side of
The hill; its roof was supported by three pillars,
though part of it had given way towards the farther end, so that
the light was admitted through a chasm in the top. It might have
been intended for a chapel, a dungeon, or a cemetery, but I should
rather think for the latter; one thing I am certain of, that it was
not the work of Moorish hands, and indeed throughout my wanderings
in this place I saw nothing which reminded me of that most singular
people. The hill on which the ruins stand was doubtless originally
a strong fortress of the Moors, who, upon their first irruption
into the peninsula, seized and fortified most of the lofty and
naturally strong positions, but they had probably lost it at an
early period, so that the broken walls and edifices, which at
present cover the hill, are probably remains of the labours of the
Christians after the place had been rescued from the hands of the
terrible enemies of their faith. Monte Moro will perhaps recall
Cintra to the mind of the traveller, as it exhibits a distant
resemblance to that place; nevertheless, there is something in
Cintra wild and savage, to which Monte Moro has no pretension; its
scathed and gigantic crags are piled upon each other in a manner
which seems to menace headlong destruction to whatever is in the
neighbourhood; and the ruins which still cling to those crags seem
more like eagles' nests than the remains of the habitations even of
Moors; whereas those of Monte Moro stand comparatively at their
ease on the broad back of a hill, which, though stately and
commanding, has no crags nor precipices, and which can be ascended
on every side without much difficulty:
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