From a  NAHUA [MEXICAN] MANUSCRIPT
From Mexican and Central American Mythology by Irene Nicholson


Tezcatlipoca - God of Heaven
and of the Four Quarters of the Heavens -
Came to Earth and was sad
He cried from the uttermost depths of the Four Quarters
'Come, O Wind! Come, O Wind! Come, O Wind! Come, O Wind!'
The querulous Wind scattered over Earth's sad bosom
rose higher than all things made;
and, whipping the waters of the oceans
and the manes of the trees
arrived at the feet of the God of the Heaven.
There he rested his black wings
and laid aside his endless sorrow.
Then spoke Tezcatlipoca;
		'Wind, the Earth is sick from silence.
		Though we possess light and colour and fruit
		yet we have no music.
		We must bestow music upon all creation
		To the awakening dawn,
		To the dreaming man,
		To the waiting mother,
		To the passing water and the flying bird,
		Life should be all music!
		Go then through the boundless sadness
		Between the blue smoke and the spaces
		to the high house of the Sun.
		There the Father Sun is surrounded by makers of music
		Who blow their flutes sweetly
		And with their burning choir,
		Scatter light abroad.
		Go, bring back to Earth a cluster, the most flowering,
		Of those musicians and singers.'
Wind traversed the Earth that was plunged in silence
and trod with his strength of breath pursued
'till he reached the heavenly roof of the world
where all melodies lived in a nest of light

The Suns' musicians were clad in four colours 
White were those of the cradle songs;
Red, those of the epics of love and of war;
Sky blue the troubadours of wandering clouds;
Yellow the flute players enjoying gold
milled from the Sun from the peaks of the World
There were no musicians the colour of darkness
All shone translucent and happy, their gaze turned forward.
When the Sun saw the Wind approaching, he told the musicians;
		'Here comes the bothersome
		Wind of Earth;
		Stay your music!
		Cease your singing!
		Answer him not!
		Whoever does so
		Will have to follow him back down there into silence.'
From the stairway of light
of the House of the Sun,
Wind, with his dark voice, shouted;
		'Come, O musicians!'
None replied.
The clawing Wind raised his voice and cried;
		'Musicians, singers!
		The supreme Lord of the World is calling you'
Now the musicians were  silent colours;
they were a circling dance held fast
in the blinding flame of the Sun.
Then the God - he of the Heavens Four Quarters - waxed wroth.
From the remotest places,
whipped by his lightning lash
flocks of clouds whose blackened wombs
were stabbed and torn by lightning
assembled to besiege the House of the Sun
His bottomless throat let loose the thunders' roar
Everything seemed to fall flat in a circle
beneath the Worlds' mad roof, in whose breast
the Sun, like a red beast, drowned.
Spurred on by fear,
the musicians and the singers then ran for shelter
to the Winds' lap.

Bearing them gently
least he should harm their tender melodies,
the Wind, with that tumult of happiness in his arms
set out on his downward journey, generous and contented
Below the Earth raised it's wide, dark eyes to Heaven
and it's great face shone, and it smiled
As the arms of the trees were uplifted
there greeted the Winds' wanderers
the awakened voice of its people,
the wings of the Quetzal birds
the face of the flowers
and the cheeks of the fruit.
When all that flutter of happiness landed on Earth,
and the Suns musicians spread to the Four Quarters,
then Wind ceased his complaining and sang,
caressing the valleys, the forests and seas.
Thus was music born on the bosom of Earth.
Thus did all things learn to sing;
		the awakening dawn,
		the dreaming man,
		the awaiting mother,
		the passing water and the flying bird,
Life was all music from that time on.