The sea foreclos'd his flight: yet thus he said;
"Though earth and water in subjection laid,
O cruel Minos! thy dominion be,

We'll go through air; for sure the air is free.'
Then to new arts his cunning thought applies,
And to improve the work of nature tries.
A row of quills, in gradual order plac'd,
Rise by degrees in length from first to last;
As on a cliff the' ascending thicket grows,
Or different reeds the rural pipe compose:
Along the middle runs a twine of flax,
The bottom stems are join'd by pliant wax;
Thus, well compact, a hollow bending brings
The fine composure into real wings.

His boy, young Icarus, that near him stood,
Unthinking of his fate, with smiles pursued
The floating feathers, which the moving air [there:
Bore loosely from the ground, and wafted here and
Or with the wax impertinently play'd,

And with his childish tricks the great design delay'd.
The final master-stroke at last impos'd,
And now, the neat machine completely clos'd,
Fitting his pinions on, a flight he tries,
And hung self-balanc'd in the beaten skies.
Then thus instructs his child: 'My boy, take care
To wing your course along the middle air:
If low, the surges wet your flagging plumes;
If high, the sun the melting wax consumes:
Steer between both: nor to the northern skies,
Nor South Orion, turn your giddy eyes;
But follow me. Let me before you lay
Rules for the flight, and mark the pathless way.'
Then teaching, with a fond concern, his son,
He took the untried wings, and fix'd 'em on:

But fix'd with trembling hands; and, as he speaks,
The tears roll gently down his aged cheeks;
Then kiss'd, and in his arms embrac'd him fast,
But knew not this embrace must be the last :
And mounting upward, as he wings his flight,
Back on his charge he turns his aching sight;
As parent birds, when first their callow care
Leave the high nest to tempt the liquid air;
Then cheers him on, and oft, with fatal art,
Reminds the strippling to perform his part.
These, as the angler at the silent brook,
Or mountain-shepherd leaning on his crook,
Or gaping ploughman, from the vale descries,
They stare, and view 'em with religious eyes,
And straight conclude'em gods: since none, but they,
Through their own azure skies could find a way.
Now Delos, Paros, on the left are seen,
And Samos, favour'd by Jove's haughty queen;
Upon the right, the isle Lebynthos nam'd,
And fair Calymnè for its honey fam'd.

When now the boy, whose childish thoughts aspire
To loftier aims, and make him ramble higher;
Grown wild and wanton, more embolden'd flies
Far from his guide, and soars among the skies:
The softening wax, that felt a nearer sun,
Dissolv'd apace, and soon began to run :
The youth in vain his melting pinions shakes,
His feathers gone, no longer air he takes.
'Oh! father, father!' as he strove to cry,
Down to the sea he tumbled from on high,
And found his fate: yet still subsists by Fame,
Among those waters that retain his name.

The father, now no more a father, cries, 'Ho, Icarus! where are you?' as he flies:

"Where shall I seek my boy? he cries again,
And saw his feathers scatter'd on the main :
Then curs'd his art; and funeral rites confer'd,
Naming the country from the youth inter❜d.

A partridge from a neighbouring stump beheid
The sire his monumental marble build;
Who, with peculiar call, and fluttering wing,
Chirp'd joyful, and malicious seem'd to sing :
The only bird of all its kind, and late
Transform'd in pity to a feather'd state;
From whence, O Dædalus! thy guilt we date.
His sister's son, when now twelve years were past,
Was with his uncle as a scholar plac'd;
The unsuspecting mother saw his parts,
And genius fitted for the finest arts:
This soon appear'd; for when the spiny bone
In fishes' backs was by the stripling known,
A rare invention thence he learn'd to draw,
Fil'd teeth in iron, and inade the grating saw.
He was the first, that from a knob of brass
Made two straight arms with widening stretch to
pass;

That while one stood upon the centre's place,
The other round it drew a circling space.
Dædalus envied this; and from the top
Of fair Minerva's temple let him drop;
Feigning, that as he lean'd upon the tow'r,
Careless he stoop'd too much, and tumbled o'er.

The goddess, who the' ingenious still befriends, On this occasion her assistance lends ;

His arms with feathers, as he fell, she veils,
And in the air a new-made bird he sails.
The quickness of his genius, once so fleet,
Still in his wings remains, and in his feet:

Still, though transform'd, his ancient name he keeps,
And with low flight the new-shorn stubble sweeps;
Declines the lofty trees, and thinks it best
To brood in hedgerows o'er its humble nest;
And, in remembrance of the former ill,
Avoids the heights and precipices still.

At length, fatigu'd with long laborious flights,
On fair Sicilia's plains the artist lights;
Where Cocalus the king, that gave him aid,
Was, for his kindness, with esteem repaid.
Athens no more her doleful tribute sent,
That hardship gallant Theseus did prevent;
Their temples hung with garlands, they adore
Each friendly god, but most Minerva's pow'r;
To her, to Jove, to all, their altars smoke,
They each with victims and perfumes invoke.

Now talking fame, through every Grecian town, Had spread, immortal Theseus! thy renown: From him the neighbouring nations, in distress, In suppliant terms implore a kind redress.

THE STORY OF MELEAGER AND ATALANTA.
BY DRYDEN.

From him the Caledonians sought relief;
Though valiant Meleagrus was their chief.
The cause a boar, who ravag'd far and near:
Of Cynthia's wrath the' avenging minister.
For Eneus, with autumnal plenty bless'd,
By gifts to heaven his gratitude express'd :
Cull'd sheafs to Ceres; to Lyæus wine;
To Pan and Pales, offer'd sheep and kine;
And fat of olives, to Minerva's shrine.
Beginning from the rural gods, his hand
Was liberal to the powers of high command:

Each deity in every kind was bless'd,

Till at Diana's fane the' invidious honour ceas'd.
Wrath touches ev'n the gods; the queen of night,
Fir'd with disdain, and jealous of her right;
'Unhonour'd though I am; at least,' said she,
'Not unreveng'd that impious act shall be.'
Swift as the word, she sped the boar away,
With charge on those devoted fields to prey.
No larger bulls the' Egyptian pastures feed,
And none so large Sicilian meadows breed:
His eye-balls glare with fire suffus'd with blood;
His neck shoots up a thickset thorny wood;
His bristled back a trench impal'd appears,
And stands erected, like a field of spears;
Froth fills his chaps, he sends a grunting sound,
And part he churns, and part befoams the ground.
For tusks with Indian elephants he strove,
And Jove's own thunder from bis mouth be drove.
He burns the leaves; the scorching blast invades
The tender corn, and shrivels up the blades:
Or, suffering not their yellow beards to rear,
He tramples down the spikes, and intercepts the
In vain the barns expect their promis'd load, [year.
Nor barns at home, nor ricks are heap'd abroad:
In vain the hinds the threshing floor prepare,
And exercise their flails in empty air.

With olives evergreen the ground is strow'd,
And grapes, ungather'd, shed their generous blood.
Amid the fold be rages, nor the sheep

Their shepherds, nor the grooms their bulls can keep.
From fields to walls the frighted rabble run,
Nor think themselves secure within the town;
Till Meleagros and his chosen crew
Contemn the danger, and the praise pursue,