cut it into small pieces, and having worked each piece in his hand until it was soft and plastic he carefully stopped the ears of all his men with the wax.  Then two of the crew, to whom he had already given his orders, bound him hand and foot to the mast of the vessel.  All being ready, they rowed forward until they came within full view of the island.  And there, in a low-lying meadow hard by the sea, sat the Sirens; lovely they were of aspect, and gracious of mien; but all around them were piled the bones of men who had fallen victims to their wicked wit,[1] fleshless ribs, from which the skin still hung in yellow shreds, and grinning skulls, gazing with eyeless sockets at the sea.

[Footnote 1:  Shakespeare, “Hamlet.”]

As the ship drew near, the whole choir lifted up their voices and began to sing a sweet and piercing strain, which thrilled the very marrow of Odysseus as he listened.  The winds hovered near on flagging wing, the sea lay locked in deep repose, and all nature paused with attentive ear, to catch the SONG OF THE SIRENS.

  “Mighty warrior, sage renowned,
    Turn, O turn thy bark this way! 
  Rest upon this holy ground,
    Listen to the Sirens’ lay. 
  Never yet was seaman found
    Passing our enchanted bay,
  But he paused, and left our bound
    Filled with wisdom from his stay. 
  All we know, whatever befell
    On the tented fields of Troy,
  All the lore that Time can tell,
    All the mystic fount of joy.”

It was a strain cunningly calculated to flatter a deep, subtle spirit like that of Odysseus.  To know all! to read all secrets, and unravel the tangled skein of human destiny!  What a bribe was this to this restless and eager mind!  Then the voices of the witch-women were so liquid, and the music so lovely, that they took the very air with ravishment, and melted the hearer’s soul within him.  Odysseus struggled to break his bonds, and nodded to his men to come and loose him.  But they, who had been warned of this very thing, rose up and bound him with fresh cords.  Then they grasped their oars again, the water roared under their sturdy strokes, and soon they were out of hearing of that seductive melody.

They had not long lost sight of the Sirens’ Rocks when they heard the booming of breakers, which warned them that the fearful strait between Scylla and Charybdis was close at hand.  A strong current caught the galley and whirled her with appalling swiftness towards the point of danger.  The water boiled and eddied around them, and the blinding spray was dashed into their faces.  Then a sudden panic came upon the crew, so that they dropped their oars, and sat helpless and unnerved, expecting instant death.  In this emergency, Odysseus summoned up all his courage, and strode up and down between the benches, exhorting, entreating, and calling each man by name.  “Why sit ye thus,” he cried, “huddled together like sheep?  Row, men, row for your lives!  And thou, helmsman, steer straight for the passage, lest we fall into a direr strait, and be crushed between the Wandering Rocks.  We have faced a worse peril than this, when we were penned together in the Cyclops’ cave; and we shall escape this time also, if only ye will keep a stout heart.”