Back Aa

Wit and Humor of America, The Vol 08

Close

<h2>ICARUS</h2> <h3>BY JOHN G. SAXE</h3> <h3>I</h3> All modern themes of poesy are spun so very fine, That now the most amusing muse, e gratia, such as mine, Is often forced to cut the thread that strings our recent rhymes, And try the stronger staple of the good old classic times. <h3>II</h3> There lived and flourished long ago, in famous Athens town, One Dædalus, a carpenter of genius and renown; ('Twas he who with an auger taught mechanics how to bore,— An art which the philosophers monopolized before.) <h3>III</h3> His only son was Icarus, a most precocious lad, The pride of Mrs. Dædalus, the image of his dad; And while he yet was in his teens such progress he had made, He'd got above his father's size, and much above his trade. <h3>IV</h3> Now Dædalus, the carpenter, had made a pair of wings, Contrived of wood and feathers and a cunning set of springs, By means of which the wearer could ascend to any height, And sail about among the clouds as easy as a kite! <h3>V</h3> "O father," said young Icarus, "how I should like to fly! And go like you where all is blue along the upper sky; How very charming it would be above the moon to climb, And scamper through the Zodiac, and have a high old time! <h3>VI</h3> "Oh wouldn't it be jolly, though,—to stop at all the inns; To take a luncheon at 'The Crab,' and tipple at 'The Twins'; And, just for fun and fancy, while careering through the air, To kiss the Virgin, tease the Ram, and bait the biggest Bear? <h3>VII</h3> "O father, please to let me go!" was still the urchin's cry; "I'll be extremely careful, sir, and won't go very high; Oh if this little pleasure-trip you only will allow, I promise to be back again in time to fetch the cow!" <h3>VIII</h3> "You're rather young," said Dædalus, "to tempt the upper air; But take the wings, and mind your eye with very special care; And keep at least a thousand miles below the nearest star; Young lads, when out upon a lark, are apt to go too far!" <h3>IX</h3> He took the wings—that foolish boy—without the least dismay; His father stuck 'em on with wax, and so he soared away; Up, up he rises, like a bird, and not a moment stops Until he's fairly out of sight beyond the mountain-tops! <h3>X</h3> And still he flies—away—away; it seems the merest fun; No marvel he is getting bold, and aiming at the sun; No marvel he forgets his sire; it isn't very odd That one so far above the earth should think himself a god! <h3>XI</h3> Already, in his silly pride, he's gone too far aloft; The heat begins to scorch his wings; the wax is waxing soft; Down—down he goes!—Alas!—next day poor Icarus was found Afloat upon the Ægean Sea, extremely damp and drowned! <h3>L'ENVOI</h3> The moral of this mournful tale is plain enough to all:— Don't get above your proper sphere, or you may chance to fall; Remember, too, that borrowed plumes are most uncertain things; And never try to scale the sky with other people's wings! <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2