THE SIRENS. Ah, will ye go, and whither then Will ye go from us, soon to die, To fill your three-score years and ten, With many an unnamed misery? And this the wretchedest of all, That when upon your lonely eyes The last faint heaviness shall fall Ye shall bethink you of our cries. Come back, nor grown old, seek in vain To hear us sing across the sea. Come back, come back, come back again, Come back, O fearful Minyæ! ORPHEUS. Ah, once again, ah, once again, The black prow plunges through the sea, Nor yet shall all your toil be vain, Nor yet forgot, O Minyæ. In such wise sang the Thracian, in such wise Out gushed the Sirens' deadly melodies; But long before the mingled song was done, Back to the oars the Minyæ, one by one, Slunk silently; though many an one sighed sore, As his strong fingers met the wood once more, And from his breast the toilsome breathing came. But as they laboured, some for very shame Hung down their heads, and yet amongst them some Gazed at the place whence that sweet song had come; But round the oars and Argo's shielded side The sea grew white, and she began to glide Swift through the waters of that deadly bay; But when a long wake now behind her lay, And still the whistle of the wind increased, Past shroud and mast, and all the song had ceased, Butes rose up, the fair Athenian man, And with wild eyes betwixt the rowers ran Unto the poop and leapt into the sea; Then all men rested on their oars, but he Rose to the top, and towards the shore swam fast; While all eyes watched him, who had well-nigh past The place where sand and water 'gan to meet In wreaths and ripples round the ivory feet, When sun-burnt swimmer, snow-white glancing limb, And yellow sand unto their eyes grew dim, Nor did they see their fellow any more. But when they once again beheld the shore The wind sung o'er the empty beach and bare, And by the cliff uprose into the air A delicate and glittering little cloud, That seemed some many-coloured sun to shroud; But as the rugged cliff it drew above The wondering Minyæ beheld it move Westward, toward Lilybæum and the sun. Then once more was their seaward course begun, And soon those deadly sands were far astern, Nor ever after could the heroes learn If Butes lived or died; but old tales tell That while the tumbling waves he breasted well, Venus beheld him, as unseen she drew From sunny Cyprus to the headland blue Of Lilybæum, where her temple is; She, with a mind his sun-burnt brows to kiss, E'en as his feet were dropping nigh the beach, And ere his hand the deadly hands could reach, Stooped, as the merlin stoops upon the dove, And snatched him thence to be awhile her love, Betwixt the golden pillars of her shrine, That those who pass the Ægades see shine From high-raised Lilybæum o'er the sea.