VAGRANT VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 18836, 1 June 1920, Page 4

VAGRANT VERSE

AEOLUS, GOD OF THE WINDS. (Written for the Southland Times.) Thou mighty son of Old Poseidon, thou Who mgnest o’er Aeolia, unto whom , Zeus, Hire Omnipotent, gave winds in charge Bidding thee keep them chain-bound prisoners In that vast earth-bowelled cavern whereon He piled gigantic mountains that they ne’er Might know the light of day, why hast thou not Held them in bondage inescapable As Zeus meant thee to do? Hast thou grown tired Of their incessant brawlings in that den Whose dusty depths reverberating ring As, desperate to be free, they hurl themselves With maddening yells against their prison walls. And yd elded them their freedom that their rage Might vent itself upon the Sons of Men, As when Aeneas sailed upon the deep 'I Late capped in golden sunshine and in peace, We went our smiling way, serene in heart. Deeming ourselves most fortunate of men; But now thy winds, escaped from forth thy hands, Rage unrestrained and direst havoc work. Proud forest kings that held their head • on high And waved their arms with most majestic air, Laughing when Zephyrs fanned their lofty brows— These forest Kings, like German despots, lie Dethroned, yea, dead on breast of Mother Earth. And, too, sweet gentle flowers that lifted up Their happy faces in the eye of day, Welling their choicest treasures without pride, Now battered lie, bereft of life by these Thy brutal miscreants whom thou shouldst have held Fast-fettered in their cell. And on the wide seas Ships, big and little that securely sped O’er tranquil dancing waters, now are tossed Like corks on Adria’s wave. Storm-swept the deeps Lift themselves up to Heaven o’erwhelmingly. Falling with thunderous crash on helpless barks Whose masts, decks, bulwarks, to matchwood smashed, Go by the board, and many a gallant lad Caught in their clutch, goes down to shroudless grave Within the treacherous main that greedily Swallows the living, gulping him as a prey All-heedless of his wild despairing cries. Hast thou no pity on poor stricken men, Aeolus, mighty wonder of the Winds? If aught thou hast, then trammel up thy winds That for ten days have raged; imprison them, In their dark cave again, and shackle them With chains on chains, that nevermore shall they, Spite of their wildest efforts, escape therefrom To rage in fury over land and sea. —Robert Francis. Bluff, May 13.