109. Ovid, Metamorph. VIII., Croxall's Tr.:--
"The soft'ning was, that felt a nearer sun,
Dissolv'd apace, and soon began to run.
The youth in vain his melting pinions shakes,
His feathers gone, no longer air he takes.
O father, father, as he strove to cry,
Down to the sea he tumbled from on high,
And found his fate; yet still subsists by fame,
Among those waters that retain his name.
The father, now no more a father, cries,
Ho, Icarus! where are you? as he flies:
Where shall I seek my boy? he cries again,
And saw his feathers scattered on the main."
136. Lucan, Pharsal. I.:--
"To him the Balearic sling is slow,
And the shaft loiters from the Parthian bow."