UNDER THE PINES.

O pine-trees! bid the busy breeze be still

That through your tops roars like the constant surge:

Such was the sound I heard in happy days

Under the pines.

In happy days, when those I loved were by;

In happy days, when love was daily food;

And jocund childhood, finding it, found joy

Under the pines.

Again I hear the west-wind in your tops;

Again I scent the odor you exhale;

But sound and odor now provoke but tears

Under the pines.

O pine-trees! shall a different joy be mine,

One day when I shall seek your fragrant shade?

Whisper it faintly, breezes, to my heart

Under the pines.

“Truly, Miss Percival, you puzzle me,”

Said Charles, upon her silent revery

Breaking abruptly in: “ay, you could fire

And wound the villain bearing off the child,

And you can brave the radical extreme

On this great woman question of the day,—

Yet do you seem a very woman still,

And not at all like any man I know,—

Not even like an undeveloped man!

And I'm not greatly exercised by fear,

Leaning here by your side thus lazily.”

“Do n't mock me now,” said Linda; “I'm not armed;

Be generous, therefore, in your raillery.”

“Not armed? Then will I venture to propose

That when the tide is low this afternoon

We try the beach on horseback. Will you venture?”

The joy that sparkled in her eyes said “Yes”

Before her tongue could duplicate assent.

Said Charles, “I'll bring the horses round at six.”

“I will be ready, Mr. Lothian.”

There was no breach of punctuality:

Though sighs, from deeper founts than tears, were heaved,

When she drew forth the summer riding-habit

Worn last when in the saddle with her father.

“Here are the horses at the door!” cried Rachel;

“A bay horse and a black; the bay is yours.”

When they were mounted, Lothian remarked:

“Little Good Harbor Beach shall be our point;

So called because an Indian once pronounced

The harbor‘ little good,’ meaning‘ quite bad’;

A broad and open beach, from which you see

Running out southerly the ocean side

Of Eastern Point; its lofty landward end

Gray with huge cliffs. There shall you mark‘ Bass Rock,’

Rare outlook when a storm-wind from the east

Hurls the Atlantic up the craggy heights.”

The air was genial, and a rapid trot

Soon brought them to the beach. The ebb had left

A level stretch of sand, wide, smooth, and hard,

With not a hoof-mark on the glistening plain.

The horses tossed their heads with snorting pride,

Feeling the ocean breeze, as curved and fell

Up the long line the creeping fringe of foam,

Then backward slid in undulating glass,

While all the west in Tyrian splendor flamed.

“But this is life!” cried Linda, as she put

Her horse to all his speed, and shook her whip.

They skimmed the sand, they chased the flying wave,

They walked their horses slow along the beach:

And, as the light fell on a far-off sail,

And made it a white glory to the eye,

Said Linda: “See! it fades into the gray,

And now‘ tis dim, and now is seen no more!

Yet would a little height reveal it still.

So fade from memory scenes which higher points

Of vision shall reveal: the beautiful,

The good, shall never die; and so to-day

Shall be a lasting, everlasting joy!”

“Would I might see more of such days!” said he,

“In the obscure before me! Fate forbids.

My time of idlesse terminates to-night.

To-morrow to the city we return.

Thither I go, to open, in October,

A private school; and I must find a house

And make my preparations.”

On they rode,

After these words, in silence for a mile

Upon their homeward way. Then Lothian:

“And what will your address be, in the city?”

“I do not know, nor care,” said Linda, switching

Her horse's ear, to start a quicker trot.

Another mile of silence! “Look!” cried he;

“The lighthouse light salutes us!” — “Yes, I see.”

“Why do you go so fast?” — “I'll slacken speed

If you desire it. There!” They breathed their horses;

Then Lothian: “Indeed, I hope that we

Shall meet again.” — “Why not? The world is wide,

But I have known a letter in a bottle,

Flung over in mid-ocean, to be found

And reach its owner. Doubtless, we may meet.”

“I'm glad to find you confident of that.”

Silence again! And so they rode along

Till they saw Rachel coming from the house

To greet them. Charles helped Linda to dismount,

Held out his hand, and said, “Good by, Miss Linda.”

“Good by!” she cheerily answered; “bid your father

Good by for me. And so you go indeed

To-morrow?” — “Yes, we may not meet again.”

“Well; pleasant journey!” — “Thank you. Good by, Rachel.”

He rode away, leading her panting horse;

And, when the trees concealed him, Linda rushed

Up stairs, and locked the door, and wept awhile.

As, early the next morning, she looked forth

On the blue ocean from the open window,

“Now, then, for work!” she cried, and drew her palm

Across her brow, as if to thrust away

Thoughts that too perseveringly came back

She heard a step.‘ Tis he! “I hardly hoped,

Miss Percival, to find you up so early:

Good by, once more!” — “Good by! Do n't miss the train.”

At this a shadow fell on Lothian's face,

As with uplifted hat and thwarted smile,

He turned away. Then off with hasty stride

He walked and struck the bushes listlessly.

“What did I mean by speaking so?” said Linda,

With hand outstretched, as if to draw him back.

“Poor fellow! He looked sad; but why — but why

Is he so undemonstrative? And why

Could he not ask again for my address,

I'd like to know?” Poor Linda! She could preach,

But, like her elders, could not always practise.