When at last the work was done,
the artist, waving his wings, found himself buoyed upward, and
hung suspended, poising himself on the beaten air. He next
equipped his son in the same manner, and taught him how to fly, as
a bird tempts her young ones from the lofty nest into the air.
When all was prepared for flight he said, "Icarus, my son, I
charge you to keep at a moderate height, for if you fly too low
the damp will clog your wings, and if too high the heat will melt
them. Keep near me and you will be safe." While he gave him these
instructions and fitted the wings to his shoulders, the face of
the father was wet with tears, and his hands trembled. He kissed
the boy, not knowing that it was for the last time. Then rising on
his wings, he flew off, encouraging him to follow, and looked back
from his own flight to see how his son managed his wings. As they
flew the ploughman stopped his work to gaze, and the shepherd
leaned on his staff and watched them, astonished at the sight, and
thinking they were gods who could thus cleave the air.
They passed Samos and Delos on the left and Lebynthos on the
right, when the boy, exulting in his career, began to leave the
guidance of his companion and soar upward as if to reach heaven.
The nearness of the blazing sun softened the wax which held the
feathers together, and they came off.
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