Darius Green and His Flying Machine

Written about 1870 by John Townsend Trowbridge

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 steak or stump,

or spreading the tail of his coat for a sail, take a soaring leap from poster 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 14. 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 till 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, accepting Daedalus of Yor 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 sooner late shall navigate to to 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,

and why can't I? Must we give in, says he with a grin, that the blue bird and Phoebe are

smarter than we be?

Just fold our hands and see the swala, and the blackbird and the catbird beat us holla?

Or tell me that chatter and sassy little Wren knows more in men?

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