The Washington herald., 1911-09-17
By EDMOND ROsTAND.

This ode was written BY RoStAnd a few weeks ago,
Just before the automobile accident in which he
almost lost his life.
In that hour when they walled: This
age has lost all frenzy and every soul
Is barren" behold at one stroke Prov
ess resuscitated and Exploit was born
anew.
Heroes who had withdrawn under their
tents, even as the Hellenic warrior, tore
asunder the futtering sheet, whefeWith
to wing their flight.
A few wires and a sail and the unfath-
omed above and Man was asoar.
This is not borrowed from the Ovidian
fables; our own eyes saw the deed.
To the tenuous frame, though the Icarian
curse still doth cling. 1t behooves US to
sing a Paean to the Wing. Man Is
thrall to no fear!
From no deed can Man shrink, Man the
eternal conjurer, now that he bestrides
the ghostlike crest of the ghostlike
waves.
o Wing! Lift the wheel from the turf
soft embrace; ascend in the summer
sky, mid the glory OF danger, superbly
contemptuous Of all they deem secure.
Wave in the streams breath; Flutter IN
the eddias above the woodland! List
awhile, to let the natal plains gild thee,
terrestrial Bird, with the gleam Of the
wheatlands.
And thou. our Sun. the brightest sun one
may wish to behold in the hour OF
death, bid welcome to what was once
a lark and is now giant eagle!
II.
When they saw that in ways recondite,
SaIy rininnc himself
the Heavens expected the Earth to
proclaim, Of all her nations, the most
audacious.
o FranceT well we knew that in all the
Annals, the sons Of thy soil would ever
be found standing atop the headlands
whence they could take their flight;
But they scared SO high, In the hour when
funeral pipers, had begun to whistle
thy dirge. that thou mayest rightly
pause a while and let pride swell thee
Land Of lucid minds. who never IN vain
gave thought to the Unreal. Louder
than thee others may have sighed Tor
wings, when OF wings there was none'
But no sooner was the Wing born, no
sooner was 1t seemly that Man. weary
OF the roads he trod, would become all
at once. taking the skies as his target,
the archer and the dart!
No sooner had the Braves, hardening
with awe in their heart to the Broth
ers' call to flight, realized that this
was the hour Of the audacious and OF
the skillful.
And Of the nimble, and Of those with
flaming glance who are ever the first,
probing an idea or probing plane, to
affront ready death;
No s6ouer had the call rung to die for the
thing newly born, or to faH to the
depths that others may rise, than
thrill shook France, whereby she felt
her true destiny.
No sooner had Man contrived a wing OF
reed and OF weave than France be-
came ike unto an endless covy OF
fight-eager birdlings.
For it befits a heart whose every wound
bIeeds toward the East not to wait TIL
all the roads are safe and to brook no
delay.
And ever since the compelling urge has
driven us toward the ethereal depths,
France has been the land of mothers
with melancholy eyes, but with glory
crowned brows.
How blithely they darted skyward. our
sons. the youthful, the dauntless! They
will die for the azure as they died for
Greece, the men Of our land.
When our men are to tread, in a roar
ways. they bid US their adieu with
nod of their helmet, then they raise
their hand;
In the mournfuI sky above our plains
they take their flight; but We must now
lift up our faces, and a consolation de-
scends upon US.
Our true heroes, they are, our pure
hearted athletes, whom no ocean has
awed, and whose brow was crowned oy
the storm god with the blue laurel OF
space.
Those who forsake all things and never
see the SUBMITS of the mounts unless
they lean downward, those we may
rightly proclaim the sublime and the
lofty.
When their Golden Victory glides above
the plains, the world is flled win
wonder. ITO guide their flight from
peak to peak. let US light the oeacoh
fires.
Tho farmers lad. his neck stretched out,
shouts jargon to the skies; in Kings
eyes there CLEANS the glance OF Chal-
dean Magi; and on housetops there
surges the mob;
For stirring up in US the divine FRENZY
praise be to them forever more! sing
a song in the valleys, a paean on the
hills, a hymn on the submits!
Since the airmen have so light-heartedly
forsaken our meadows, those VINO
know no flight are more willing tC
open those rudiments Of wings which
are their arms.
A new hope, a new pride, new courage
has filled US, since we have loVec
those whose shadow blends itself ol
the slopes Of the mounts with shad
ows of clouds.
In vain do mountebanks advertise theil
wares on the asphalt Of the street ol
on the sidewalk; no longer nngerl
around their stands the crowd with up
turned eyes.
The crowd with upturned eyes Is sing
ing now, and toward the clearings /
| hurries its footsteps, ignoring thos
that peddle irony or hatred and VIII
are wondrous only in the eyes Of tn
| low.
The Wing has won! Hither and thithe
and again 1t flies, we'll knowing tina
| the shadow II casts on the ground wi
obscure all the things that should b
obscured.
After they vanish in the dust Of the ce
Iestial roads, those Knights Of whor
we sing, what is left on our sand o
the frontier lines we drew?
III
It behooves US to sing a Paean to tn
Wing, for II bids US to ascend
Heavenward path, parallel to the pat
which the Sunbeams travel.
Bonaparte. though thy Eagle ma
scream at this thought from the stan
L zas OF all the epics, they are the son
OF thy soldiers, those who are now ny
ing from steeple to steeple.
The beloved conquerors we await at tn
ii - A-NN - 49, nWad