of all she dragons that ever opened a mouth. But enough of her, let her go to the--the place to which all superannuated maids must go at last:--she has nothing more to do with my story--so _adieu_! Allemar and Ellen met, and met again;--they walked together by the moonlight, and parted often as the day peeped over them--they loved truly, passionately, virtuously:--they seemed made for each other; and to have divided such would have been the scathing of all that is divine in love--the destruction of all that such lovers value more than existence itself. However, they were obliged to separate; but not without a hope of meeting again. Allemar’s regiment was ordered to march for Portugal; and as Ellen’s friends were not disposed to let her marry at that time--even had Allemar received the consent of his--it was agreed upon between the lovers, that they should wait a more favourable opportunity of uniting in matrimony: at the same time, pledging each other to eternal faith in love. It was in May the regiment received the route; and Allemar passed the night previous to marching in sweet converse with his beloved Ellen. What a romantic night! Let the reasoner say what he will--let the philosopher prate with his cold tongue--there is nothing of more real worth to the heart than the sweets of early love;--and the hour of parting between two true and virtuous lovers is a melancholy pleasure, perhaps equalling in tender delight their happiest meeting. It was a beautiful night--there was not a breath of wind; and the moon, shining brightly down, threw a fairy light over the whole scene. On this night, as the clock struck twelve, the enthusiastic and romantic Allemar stood under Ellen’s window, in the orchard which was beneath it, and with his enchanting voice, accompanied by an old harper--such as we read of in romance--and a “_second_” from me, serenaded his Beloved. The harp was a small one, but well-toned;--the harper was a fine bass singer--a man whose pupil in music Allemar was--and I, although but an indifferent vocalist, made up the trio. The scene--the time--the music--the circumstance of parting--all conspired to impress me with an idea of a romantic dream, the memory of which can never leave me. These are the words of the SERENADE. I. LOVER. (_Two Voices._) Sweet maid, arise!-- Yon high bright moon, Love’s light, alone, Shines like thy beauty in the deep blue skies. The winds are gone to rest; The heavens all silent watch for thee-- This hour--this hour is blest-- Oh! haste--come down to me! HARPER. (_Bass--One Voice._) I see the light, and the lattice moves, And her dark eye looks for the youth she loves-- Sing on--sing on! Though the harper’s old, yet the harp he bears Has the fire of youth, for the lovers’ prayers-- Sing on--sing on--sing on! TRIO.