STORY OF THE PINES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 44, 31 October 1891, Page 528

STORY OF THE PINES.

* How long he sleeps ! How long we stand as sentinels to guard, and yet he wakes not, the dusky hunter ! ‘ Our falling leaves have covered him from sight, and not even the horns of the deer beside him gleam now above the mould. And still he sleeps, and still his dusky bride comes not to light the fire above him, and join inthe dirge we sing. Will she ever come my sister’’ Thus spoke the taller pine to the slender one. And she answered, ‘Ah, my brother 1 I know not ; but surely, after all these years, she, too, is sleeping. I often see a soft and shadowy form and say, “At last she comes 1” But, no ; it is only the sea mist that gathers around. And oft I think I hear her calling, and fold my branches to listen ; but it is only the distant waves whispering of others

the watch-fires above her, and she seeks him now in the happy hunting grounds beyond the sunset hills ; and when she finds him not she will return to earth to seek him. She will surely come, and find him here, and we must wait and tell her the story as we saw it all so long ago ; —how he fought with the wounded stag, and was himself wounded by its antlers, —how he cried to us : “ Watch over me, and when Wish-a-wa comes, tell her of me,—that I sleep here

till she comes to light my way.” Then he and the deer slept side by side. And we covered them, deep and deeper, with our leaves, and kept them warm ; and our falling twigs and cones made a mound above them, a watch-fire that only needs her hand to light it. Patience, my brother ! She may come to night. Hush ! what sound is that?’ ‘ Only the wind, sister, or the call of the night bird.’

‘ No, it is not that. See ! the shadowy form that comes with the rays of the rising moon. Our long waiting is over, for it is she ; she has come at last.’ And they clashed their branches softly together, and bowed their heads, while the form that seemed a part of the moonlight, leaned against the trunk of the larger tree, and her long hair seemed but the shadow of the waving moss that clung to the rough bark. ‘ Yes,’ the other answered, ‘ the spirit bride has come. And, see! the spirits’ watchfire, the glow-worm, shines above the sleeper ! Hear her voice, soft and sweet as the song of the waves. ’ ‘ Hush,’ the other whispered. ‘ Let us listen.’ As she sang there arose from the mound between something like a mist-wreath, that resolved itself into another form with white heron feathers in its hair. Then the shadows seemed blended into one. The branches above them rustled, and both trees began to tell the story. But she lifted her eyes like two dewdrops touched by the moon’s rays and answered : ‘ I know, I know ; well have you watched and waited, and your watch shall soon be ended. Four nights must my fire burn. I go, now, to guide mv lover. Adieu for a space ; but when the storm - wind shall lay you to rest, you shall come and grow beside our lodge in the happy hunting-grounds.’ And the two forms passed toward the evening star. Then the larger tree said : ‘ The sleeper has awakened and gone with his bride; but his bones lie at my feet. ’ ‘ True, brother; it was only his ghost, his life, and not the old body. But it is enough for me that his bride no longer weeps. A little while, my brother, and we, too, shall sleep and rest. . . . rest !’ And the night wind died away, and the pines were silent ; and the waves on the beach whispered softly to the sands : ‘ Rest. . . . Rest!’ R. Courtney.