Braves all the winds that blow.
All's storm to you, all Zephyr calm to me.
Yet if you had but sprung beneath the shade
My branching arms have made,
Such wrong there would not be;
I'd shelter you, though tempests did invade;
But you I oftest find
On moist banks in the Kingdoms of the Wind!
Scant favour to your Race has Nature shown."
"Your pity," said the Plant, "I can but own
Kindly conceived. But give yourself no pain;
Such fears are vain;
Less dangerous are the winds to me than you.
I bend but break not. To this hour 'tis plain.
Since whole you stand, your mighty frame
Has served you to oppose
The utmost that these blusterers could do;
But mark the End." As these his words uprose,
A darkness o'er the horizon came;
Soon from that gathering frown
Sprang forth the fiercest Child
The North e'er nursed within his bosom wild;
The Tree holds firm; the Reed drops down.
With rage renewed sweeps on the Storm:
Lies low the giant form
Of him who reared his Heaven-neighbouring head
And whose feet touched the Empire of the Dead.
(La Fontaine, Fables, Vol. I, No. 22. Translated by Paul Hookham.)
