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The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince

Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow

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THE MEETING OF THE WINDS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


345

THE MEETING OF THE WINDS.

(IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.)

From the four points of the horizon's ring
(For so I've heard the voice of fancy sing),
The winds assembled in a lonely vale,
Each to recount his own peculiar tale.
When these fierce children of Æolus spoke,
Strange sounds of fury on the silence broke,
As each in turn let loose his noisy tongue,
And told of deeds scarce fit for peaceful song.
One boasted, with a laugh of savage mirth,
That he had torn from the reluctant earth
The gnarlèd oak, and with relentless shock
Thrown the proud pine-tree from its native rock.
Another, sweeping o'er a desert land,
Had built a thousand giant tombs of sand,
Had ravished corn-fields, blighted blooming bowers,
And carried poison to the fruits and flowers.
Another, still, had blown upon the deep,
And raised its waters from a treacherous sleep,
Trampled the mariner beneath the wave
Down to a green, illimitable grave,
Seized on the gallant ship's majestic form,
And rent it up to glut the angry storm.

346

The mightiest of the four had boldly spoken,
Till the returning silence they had broken
Was stirred by gentle Zephyr's plaintive voice,
Whose softness makes the listening heart rejoice;
“You see the difference that fate hath made
Between yourselves and me,” bland Zephyr said:
“Mischief is pleasure unto you I know,
I would not harm the humblest thing below;
Ye range and riot over land and sea,
I am a blessing wheresoe'er I be;
For, faithful to the impulse of my soul,
I work no woe, I hold no harsh control.
With my calm kiss I woo the fertile ground,
And at my whisper verdure springs around;
I follow streams in their bright courses lone,
And mix my sweetest murmurs with their own;
I love the swains and damsels, when at morn
They rest awhile beneath the budding thorn,
Or when, at quiet eve, they talk and sing,
Moved by the amorous spirit of the spring;
Within their loosened locks I love to linger,
And touch each blushing cheek with cooling finger;
Nor doth self-shielded Innocence deny
My warm caresses as I wander by:
All in my presence live 'mid ‘light and bloom,’
But feel, when I depart, a soul-pervading gloom.”
Thus spoke young Zephyr, candid as a sage,
While his wild brothers, with increasing rage,
Indignant at his language and his mien,
Blew in his tranquil face with pride and spleen;
And, with a voice intended to affright,
Cried out, “Begone from our insulted sight,

347

Thou fickle creature of the wanton wing,
Thou puny, perfumed, and dishonoured thing!”
Zephyr obeyed them with a willing heart,
But, ere he swayed his pinions to depart,
He turned, and said, with a reproachful smile,
“Go, ye destructive ministers, and vile!
I will return to many a pleasant place,
Exhaling fragrance, and imparting grace;
I'll seek green haunts, fresh brooks, umbrageous bowers,
And make my wonted visit to the flowers;
Go to your reckless sport, alarm, destroy!
Be mine the peaceful lot of gentleness and joy.”

MORAL.

Need more be writ, my meaning to express?
Have we no evils cruel to excess,
No whirlwind passions, no ambitious deeds,
No war and waste, no wild conflicting creeds,
No sin of soul, no wilfulness of heart,
Which thrust our best humanities apart?
Need I extol the purity and power
Of quiet virtues, acting hour by hour,
Benevolence, meek toil, and generous thought,
And prompt, spontaneous justice, never bought;—
Of meek deportment when great things are won,
Of calm conclusions when a wrong is done,
Of free forgiveness to a contrite foe,
And love for everything of good below?
Read human nature, and ye cannot fail
To see the simple moral of my tale.