The Heroes; Or, Greek Fairy Tales for My ChildrenKingsley, Charles
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The Heroes; Or, Greek Fairy Tales for My Children
Kingsley, Charles
Mythology, Greek -- Juvenile literature
And there Jason bid them land, and seek about for any sign of living man.
And as they went inland Circe met them, coming down toward the ship; and
they trembled when they saw her, for her hair, and face, and robes shone
like flame.
And she came and looked at Medeia; and Medeia hid her face beneath her
veil.
And Circe cried, ‘Ah, wretched girl, have you forgotten all your sins,
that you come hither to my island, where the flowers bloom all the year
round? Where is your aged father, and the brother whom you killed?
Little do I expect you to return in safety with these strangers whom you
love. I will send you food and wine: but your ship must not stay here,
for it is foul with sin, and foul with sin its crew.’
And the heroes prayed her, but in vain, and cried, ‘Cleanse us from our
guilt!’ But she sent them away, and said, ‘Go on to Malea, and there you
may be cleansed, and return home.’
Then a fair wind rose, and they sailed eastward by Tartessus on the
Iberian shore, till they came to the Pillars of Hercules, and the
Mediterranean Sea. And thence they sailed on through the deeps of
Sardinia, and past the Ausonian islands, and the capes of the Tyrrhenian
shore, till they came to a flowery island, upon a still bright summer’s
eve. And as they neared it, slowly and wearily, they heard sweet songs
upon the shore. But when Medeia heard it, she started, and cried,
‘Beware, all heroes, for these are the rocks of the Sirens. You must
pass close by them, for there is no other channel; but those who listen
to that song are lost.’
Then Orpheus spoke, the king of all minstrels, ‘Let them match their song
against mine. I have charmed stones, and trees, and dragons, how much
more the hearts of men!’ So he caught up his lyre, and stood upon the
poop, and began his magic song.
And now they could see the Sirens on Anthemousa, the flowery isle; three
fair maidens sitting on the beach, beneath a red rock in the setting sun,
among beds of crimson poppies and golden asphodel. Slowly they sung and
sleepily, with silver voices, mild and clear, which stole over the golden
waters, and into the hearts of all the heroes, in spite of Orpheus’ song.
And all things stayed around and listened; the gulls sat in white lines
along the rocks; on the beach great seals lay basking, and kept time with
lazy heads; while silver shoals of fish came up to hearken, and whispered
as they broke the shining calm. The Wind overhead hushed his whistling,
as he shepherded his clouds toward the west; and the clouds stood in mid
blue, and listened dreaming, like a flock of golden sheep.
And as the heroes listened, the oars fell from their hands, and their
heads drooped on their breasts, and they closed their heavy eyes; and
they dreamed of bright still gardens, and of slumbers under murmuring
pines, till all their toil seemed foolishness, and they thought of their
renown no more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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