Ovid relates a story, doubtless credible in his day, of a clever craftsman who with his son flew bravely aloft, the very first time they put on wings. Daedalus, a Greek architect, having fled from Athens for murder, went with his son Icarus to the island of Crete, where he built the celebrated labyrinth for Minos, the king. He offended that monarch and was cast into prison. In order to escape he made wings for himself and his son, with which they flew far over the sea. But Icarus, in his elation, soared too near the sun, ruined his wings, fell into the sea and was drowned. For proof of this we have the Icarian Sea, named after the unfortunate boy. Also we have Ovid’s charming poem:
In tedious exile now too long detain’d
Daedalus languish’d for his native land;
The sea foreclosed 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 placed,