A flight of northern savages might
hover in the wind, and light, at once, with irresistible violence, upon
the capital of a fruitful region, that was rolling under them. Even this
valley, the retreat of princes, the abode of happiness, might be
violated by the sudden descent of some of the naked nations, that swarm
on the coast of the southern sea."
The prince promised secrecy, and waited for the performance, not wholly
hopeless of success. He visited the work, from time to time, observed
its progress, and remarked many ingenious contrivances, to facilitate
motion, and unite levity with strength. The artist was every day more
certain, that he should leave vultures and eagles behind him, and the
contagion of his confidence seized upon the prince.
In a year the wings were finished, and, on a morning appointed, the
maker appeared, furnished for flight, on a little promontory: he waved
his pinions awhile, to gather air, then leaped from his stand, and, in
an instant, dropped into the lake. His wings, which were of no use in
the air, sustained him in the water, and the prince drew him to land,
half dead with terrour and vexation.[a]
[a] See Rambler, No. 199, and note.
CHAP. VII.
THE PRINCE FINDS A MAN OF LEARNING.
The prince was not much afflicted by this disaster, having suffered
himself to hope for a happier event, only because he had no other means
of escape in view.
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