Sweet love, arise!-- Yon high bright moon, Love’s light, alone, Shines like thy beauty in the deep blue skies. II. LOVER. (_Two Voices._) Far, far away, Yon high bright moon Soon, sweetest, soon Shall gaze down between us, o’er the wide wide sea. She waits our fond farewell, That when I’m miles and miles from thee, She many a night may tell Of this sweet hour to me. HARPER. (_Bass--One Voice._) Didst see the maid, and her hand so white, As she kissed it to thee, in the soft moonlight? Good night--good night! She comes--she comes!--and I hear her tread-- Oh, happiest youth!--oh, happiest maid! Good night! good night! good night! TRIO. Far, far away, Yon high bright moon Soon, sweetest, soon Shall gaze down between us, o’er the wide wide sea. The regiment marched at sunrise; and my friend with it. He went to Portugal, but returned at the end of the year on sick leave (_love_-sick leave, no doubt), and was happily married to his Ellen. They lived together for six months; when Allemar was obliged to join his regiment, then stationed before Bayonne; and as every body expected an immediate peace, the friends of Ellen wished her to remain at home, hoping that when the war was at an end, her husband’s regiment would be ordered back to England. However, when Allemar had been but a month gone, the mother of Ellen died. As soon as her feelings for the loss of her beloved parent had subsided into calm, she determined to proceed to join her husband--the only being now in whose society she could be happy. For this purpose, she wrote to him, and having arranged every thing for her departure, she, and a female servant, were provided with a passage on board a commodious transport for St. Jean De Luz, and sailed with a fair wind for the Bay of Biscay. The letter she wrote to apprize her husband of her intention, breathed for him the most passionate affection; and it was certainly not thrown away upon Allemar: his love for her was, if possible, greater than hers for him. He was like a moping hypochondriac at Bayonne, before he received this letter; but immediately on its receipt, became the most lively, spirited, and pleasant officer in the corps. He and I have often walked along the beach, looking out for the expected ship and the scenes of happiness which he anticipated formed the subject generally of our conversation--he talked of going on half-pay if peace should take place, and to live a rural life--then he would describe, in glowing terms, the happiness of contentment and retirement, in comparison with the ambition, toil, and peril, of a soldier’s life. These and such were the dreams of fancy, in which we used to indulge, when wandering by the sea-side.