bourdhlon] under A PINE TREE '349 



"Oh my," gasped Roger, "I wish I were a pine tree," and then 

 he began to feel sleepier and sleepier, and the branch rocked him 

 to and fro, ever so gently. He remembered a song his mother 

 used to sing to him sometimes. The pine tree seemed to know 

 it too, for it began to sing: 



"Rockaby, Roger in the tree-top, 

 When the wind blows my branches will rock." 



It seemed to somehow be different from the way his mother used 

 to sing it, but he was too sleepy to think much about it. 



"I'm having such a good time Mr. Pine Tree," said Roger 

 softly. Just then his mother came into the room to see that he 

 was warm and conmfortable. 



"He must be having a very pleasant dream," she said, and 

 smiled as she kissed him good-night. But the Man-in-the-Moon 

 winked again very slowly ! — both eyes this time, first one and then 

 the other. And the pine tree rustled and sighed as the wind swept 

 thru its branches. They seemed to know all about it. 



Under a Pine Tree 



F. W. BOURDILLON 



Beneath the swaying pine- tree, Soft is the voice, but solemn; 



That the fitful wind goes through, And with a dream — like power 



I gaze on the widening landscape, It sways all thoughts and fancies, 



That fades in the far-off blue. And hallows the brief hour. 



And like low music playing For the trees have all their voices 

 Above in the organ loft, Of light or earnest tone; 



The wind in the pine-tree moving The aspen — elfin laughter, 

 Makes music strange and soft. The oak — a Titan's moan. 



But the pines have caught the msesage 

 Which the wind bears from the sea; 



And its voice is the voice of the ocean, 

 And its talk of Eternity. 



