DARIUS
GREEN AND HIS FLYING MACHINE
In his youth, Fred Morton (b. 1882) memorized
this poem by John T. Trowbridge (1827-
1916).
He could still recite it in the
1950s and 1960s, much to the delight of his family.
“If ever you knew a Yankee lad,
Wise or otherwise, good or bad,
Who seeing the birds fly, wouldn't jump
With
flapping arms from stake or stump.
Or spreading the tail of his coat for a
sail,
take
a soaring leap from post or rail,
and
wonder why he couldn't fly
and
flap and flutter and wish and try.
If ever you knew a country dunce
who
wouldn't try that as often as once.
All I can say is that's a sign
he
never would do for a hero of mine.
An aspiring genius,
was Darius Green.
The son of a farmer, age fourteen.
His body was long, lank and lean.
Just right for flying, as will be seen.
He had two eyes as bright as a bean
and
a speckled nose that grew between.
A little awry, for I must mention
that
he had riveted his attention
upon
his wonderful invention.
And he twisted his tongue as he twisted
the strings,
and
he worked his face as he worked with wings.
And with every turn of gimlet and screw,
twisting
and screwing his mouth around too,
'til his nose seemed bent to catch the
scent,
around
some corner, of new baked pies.
And his wrinkled cheeks and squinting eyes
grew
puckered into a queer grimace
that
made him look very droll in the face,
and
also very wise.
And wise he must have been,
to
do more Than ever a genius had done before.
Excepting
Daedalus of yore, and his son Icarus.
Who wore upon their backs those wings of wax
he
had read about in the old Almanacs.
Darius was clearly of the opinion
that
the air was also man's dominion.
And that with paddle or fin or pinion
we
soon or late shall navigate
the
azure, as now we sail the sea.
The thing looks simple enough to me.
And if you doubt it,
see
how Darius reasoned about it.
"The birds can fly, an why can't I?
Must we give in? says
he with a grin,
that
the Blue bird and Feeby
Are smarter than we be?"
"Just fold our hands and see the Swalla,
and
the Black bird and the Cat bird beat us holla?
Or tell me that chatterin'
sassy little wren knows more 'en men?
Just show me that. Or prove that the bat
has
got more brains than's in my hat,
an
I'll back down. An not till then."
"He argued further. Nor, I can't see,
what's
the use of the wings to the bumble bee,
to
git a livin' with, mor'en to me?
Ain't
my business importanter than hissen
is?"
"That Icarus
was a silly, him and his daddy Deadalus.
They mighta knowed that wings made of wax
wouldn't
stand sun heat or hard whacks.
I'll make mine of luther or sumfin or
udder."
"But I ain't never goin' to show my hand
to
mummies who never could understand
the
first idea that big and grand.
They'd a laughed and made fun
of
creation itself, afore it was done."
So he kept his secret from all the rest,
Safely
buttoned within his vest.
And in the loft above the shed,
He locks himself with needle and thread,
and
hammers and buckles and screws,
and
all such things as geniuses use.
Two dead bats for patterns, curious
fellows,
a
charcol pot and a pair of bellows,
a
carriage cover for tail and wings,
a
piece of harness and straps and strings,
and
a big strong box in which he locks
These
and other things.
His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke,
and
Nathan and Jathan and Solomon lurk,
around
the corner to see him work.
Sitting cross legged like a Turk.
And boring the holes with a comical quirk
of
his wise old head and a knowing smile.
But vainly they mounted each others backs
and
peeked through knot holes and pried through cracks,
With wood from the pile, and straw from
the stack
he
stopped up the knot holes and caulked up the cracks.
And a bucket of water that one would think
he
had brought up into the loft to drink,
stood
always nigh, for Darius was sly.
At chink or crevice a blinking eye,
and
he let a dipper of water fly.
"Take that! And if ever ye git a peep
I guess ye'll
catch a weasel asleep!
And he sings as he locks his big strong
box.
The weasels head is small and trim.
And he is little and long and slim.
And
quick of motions, and nimble of limb.
An if ye'll be
advised by me,
keep
wide awake, when ye are catching 'im.
"'Twas the
fourth of July and the weather was dry.
Not a cloud was in all the sky,
excepting
a few fleeces here and there, half mist, half air,
like
foam on the ocean went floating by.
And 'twas the loveliest morning that ever
was seen
for
a nice little trip in a flying machine.
Thought cunning Darius, now I'll not go
along
with the other fellows to see the show.
I'll say "I've got such a
cough!"
An when the other folks had all gone off,
I'll have full swing to try the thing,
and
practice a little on the wing.
"What! Ain't
goin' to the celebration?" says Burke.
"Sure guess ye better go!". But Darius says "No".
Botheration. "I, I've got such a
tooth ache.
My, my, Seems as though
I should fly.
Shouldn't wonder if ye'd
see me though, long about
if
I git rid of this jumpin', thumpin' pain in my head".
For, all the time to himself he said,
"I'll tell you what.
I'll fly a few times round the lot,
to
see how it seems. An soon's I've got
the
hang of the thing, as likely as not,
I'll astonish the nation, an' all creation
by
flyin' over the celebration."
"Over their heads I'll sail like an
eagle.
I'll balance myself on my wings like a
seagull.
I'll light on the chimney. I'll dance on
the steeple.
I'll flap up to the windows, an scare all the people.
I'll light on the liberty pole and crow.
And I'll say to the gasping fools below,
"What world's this 'eer, that I've come near?
For I'll make em
think I'm a chap from the moon.
And I'll try a race with their ol' balloon."
His brothers had gone but a little way
when
Nathan to Jathan chanced to say,
"What on earths he up to, Hey?
Oh, I don't know. There's sompin' or other though to pay,
or
he'd never stayed home today."
Says
Burke, "His tooth ache's all in his eye.
He'd never miss a fourth of July
if
he hadn't some old machine to try."
Then Solomon, the little one, spoke.
"Let's hurry back, an
hide in the barn
an'
pay him for tellin' us that yarn."
Agreed! And through the orchard they all
crept back,
yonder
that fence and back of the stack,
and
through a hole in the wall they did crawl,
dressed
in their Sunday garments all.
And what a wonderful sight was that
when
each in his cobweb coat and hat
came
up through the floor, like an ancient rat.
And there they hid. And Reuben slid
the
fastenings back, and the door undid.
"Keep in the dark!" says he,
"while I
squint, And see what there is to see."
As knights of old put on their mail,
from
head to foot an iron suit,
iron
jacket and iron boot
iron
britches, and on the head
No hat, but an iron pot instead,
Under the chin, the bail
(I think they called the thing a swale).
Thus accorted
they took the field
Sallying forth to overwhelm
the
dragons and Pagans that plagued the Realm.
So our modern knight prepared to take his
flight
Put on his wings and strapped them tight.
Buckled
them fast to shoulder and hip.
Ten feet they measured from tip to tip.
And a helmet had he. But that, he wore
not
on his head, like those of yore.
But more like the helm of a ship.
"Burk, stop laughin'.
Solomon, keep still.
He's riggin' a
spring board up in the sill.
I see his head. He sticks it out, an pokes
it about,
lookin'
to see if the coast is clear, an' anybody near.
Guess he don't know who's hid in
here!"
Stepping carefully he travels the length
of
the spring board, and teeters a little,
to
try its strength.
Now he raises his wings, like a monstrous
bat,
Peeps over his shoulder, this way and
that,
looking
to see if there's anybody passing by.
But
there's none but a calf and a goslin' nigh.
They turn up at him a wondering eye. to see,
The dragon! He's going to fly!
What a jump! Flop, flop, and plump!!
To the ground, fluttering and floundering,
all in a lump.
As a demon is hurled by an angels spear
head
over heels to his proper sphere.
Heels over head, and head over heels,
dizzily
down the abyss he wheels.
So fell Darius, upon his crown.
In the midst of the barnyard he came down.
Broken braces and broken wings,
shooting
stars and various things.
Barnyard litter of straw and chaff,
And much that wasn't so sweet by half.
Away with a bellow flew the calf.
And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?
Tis
a merry roar from the old barn door,
As he hears the voice of Jathan crying,
"Say, Darius, how do you like
flying?"
Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,
Darius just turned a look that way.
As
he wiped his sorrowful nose with his cuff.
"Well, I like flyin'
well enough," He said.
"But there ain't
such an awful sight
of
fun in it when ye come to light."
Shall we notice the MORAL here?
This is the moral: Stick to your sphere.
But, if you insist, as you have a right,
on
spreading your wings for a loftier flight,
the moral is, take care how you light!”