edalus, the mighty
craftsman.

Many a Cretan bird was sacrificed before the task which the inventor
had set himself was accomplished. In a shady forest on the mountains
he fashioned light wooden frames and decked them with feathers, until
at length they looked like the pinions of a great eagle, or of a swan
that flaps its majestic way from lake to river. Each feather was bound
on with wax, and the mechanism of the wings was so perfect a
reproduction of that of the wings from which the feathers had been
plucked, that on the first day that he fastened them to his back and
spread them out, Daedalus found that he could fly even as the bird
flew. Two pairs he made; having tested one pair, a second pair was
made for Icarus, and, circling round him like a mother bird that
teaches her nestlings how to fly, Daedalus, his heart big with the
pride of invention, showed Icarus how he might best soar upwards to
the sun or dive down to the blue sea far below, and how he might
conquer the winds and the air currents of the sky and make them his
servants.

That was a joyous day for father and son, for the father had never
before drunk deeper of the intoxicating wine of the gods--Success--and
for the lad it was all pure joy. Never before had he known freedom and
power so utterly glorious. As a little child he had watched the birds
fly far away over the blue hills to where the sun was setting, and had
longed for wings that he might follow them in their flight. At times,
in his dreams, he had known the power, and in his dreaming fancy had
risen from the cumbering earth and soared high above the trees and
fields on strong pinions that bore him away to the fair land of
heart's desire--to the Islands of the Blessed. But when Sleep left
him and the dreams silently slipped out before the coming of the light
of day, and the boy sprang from his couch and eagerly spread his arms
as, in his dreams, he had done, he could no longer fly. Disappointment
and unsatisfied longing ever came with his waking hours. Now all that
had come to an end, and Daedalus was glad and proud as well to watch
his son's joy and his fearless daring. One word of counsel only did he
give him.

"Beware, dear son of my heart," he said, "lest in thy new-found power
thou seekest to soar even to the gates of Olympus. For as surely as
the scorching rays from the burnished wheels of the chariot of Apollo
smite thy wings, the wax that binds on thy feathers will melt, and
then wil