His guest from flight Minos inclos'd around,
Yet he with wings a daring passage found.
Thus Daedalus her offspring first confin'd;
Who, with a bull, in lewd embraces join'd:
Her teeming womb the horrid crime confess'd;
Big with a human bull, half man half beast.
Said he, " Just Minos, best of human kind,
Thy mercy let a prostrate exile find:
By fates compell'd my native shores to fly,
Permit me, where I durst not live, to die,
Enlarge my son, if you neglect my tears,
And show compassion to his blooming years:
Let not the youth a long confinement mourn,
Oh, free the son, or let his sire return!"
Thus he implor'd, but still implor'd in vain,
Nor could the freedom that he sought, obtain.
Convinc'd at length; " Now, Daedalus," he cried,
"Here's subject for thy art that's yet untried.
Minos the earth commands, and guards the sea,
No pass the land affords, the deep no way:
Heav'n's only free, we'll heav'n's auspicious height
Attempt to pass, where kinder fates invite;
Favor, ye powers above, my daring flight!"
Misfortunes oft prove to inventions kind,
Instruct our wit, and aid the lab'ring mind:
For who can credit men, in wild despair,
Should force a passage thro' the yielding air?
Feathers for wings design'd the artists chose,
And bound with thread his forming pinions close;
With temper'd wax the pointed end he wrought,
And to perfection his new labors brought.
The finish'd wings his smiling offspring views,
Admires the work, not conscious of their use:
To whom the father said, "Observe aright,
Observe, my son, these instruments of flight.
In vain the tyrant our escape retards,
The heavens he cannot, all but heav'n he guards:
Tho' earth and seas elude a father's care,
These wings shall waft us through the spacious air.
Nor shall my son celestial signs survey,
Far from the radient virgin take your way;
Or where Bootes the chill'd north commands,
And with his fau chion dread Orion stands:
I'll go before, me still retain in sight,
Where'er I lead securely make your flight.
For should we upward soar too near the sun,
Dissolv'd with heat the liquid wax will run;
Or near the seas an humbler flight maintain,
Our plumes will suffer by the streaming main.
A medium keep, the winds observe aright;
The winds will aid your advantageous flight."
He caution'd thus, and thus inform'd him long,
As careful birds instruct their tender young;
The spreading wings then to his shoulders bound,
His body pois'd, and rais'd him from the ground.
Prepar'd for flight, his aged arms embrace
The tender youth, whilst tears o'erflow his face.
A hill there was, from whence the anxious pair
Essay'd their wings, and forth they launch'd air;
Now his expanded plumes the artist plies,
Regards his son, and leads along the skies;
Pleas'd with the novelty of flight, the boy
Bounds in the air, and upward springs with joy.
The angler views them from the distant strand,
And quits the labors of his trembling hand;
Samos they past, and Naxos in their flight,
And Delos, with Apollo's presence bright.
Now on their right Lebintho's shores they found,
For fruitful lakes and shady groves renown'd.
When the aspiring boy forgot his fears,
Rash with hot youth and unexperienc'd years;
Upwards he soar'd, maintain'd a lofty stroke,
And his directing father's way forsook.
The wax, of heat impatient, melted run,
Nor could his wings sustain the blaze of sun.
From heaven he views the fatal depths below,
Whilst killing fears prevent the distant blow.
His struggling arms now no resistance find,
Nor poise the body nor receive the wind.
Falling, his father he implores in vain,
To aid his flight, and sinking limbs sustain;
His name invokes, till the expiring sound
Far in the floods with Icarus was drown'd.
The parent mourns, a parent now no more,
And seeks the absent youth on ev'ry shore;
"Where's my lov'd son, my Icarus?" he cries,
"Say in what distant region of the skies,
Or faithless clime the youthful wand'rer flies;"
Then view'd his pinions scatter'd o'er the stream.
The shore his bones received, the waves his name.
Minos with walls attempted to detain
His flying guests, but did attempt in vain;
Yet the wing'd god shall to our rules submit,
And Cupid yield to more prevailing wit.
|
