At last the final touch was given, and Dædalus, fastening the wings to his body with wax, made a short trial flight. The invention was a success; the artist rose triumphant in the air. Then he taught his boy the use of the wings, warning him of every possible mishap:—
"'Midway keep thy course, he said,
My Icarus, I warn thee! if too low,
The damps will clog thy pinions; if too high,
The heats relax them. Midway hold thy flight.
By mine
Thy course direct.' And many a precept more
He gave, and careful as he bound the wings
Upon the shoulders of the boy, his cheeks
Were wet with tears, and in the task his hands
Paternal trembled."
Our picture illustrates this point in the story. Dædalus has just fastened the wings upon his son and is giving the final directions. The old man's face is full of anxiety, as he implores the lad not to fly too high. Icarus listens to the advice with a shade of impatience, pouting a little, like a wilful child who chafes under restraint. He points forward, as if to show that he understands his orders. Already the slender figure is poised for flight; he is eager to be off. In another moment he will rise into the air, dropping his garment as he ascends. A light breeze flutters the soft plumes of the wings and blows the loose curls about the boy's head. His youthful beauty, almost feminine in type, contrasts finely with the strong furrowed countenance of the father.
Please click on the image for a larger image.
The story goes on to tell how the two started off together, the father leading the way.