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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.)