Far from his guide, and scars among the skies:
The softening wax, that felt a nearer sun,
Dissolved apace, and soon began to run:
The youth in vain his melting pinion 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: