“Because to-day, beloved, we have laid aside the song of gladness and taken up the song of sadness, I would briefly tell you something from the books of the pagans, to show how you should reject the melody of this world’s pleasures in order that hereafter with the angels you may make sweet harmonies in heaven. For one should pick up a gem found in dung and set it as a kingly ornament; thus if we find anything useful in pagan books we should turn it to the building up of the Church, which is Christ’s spouse. The wise of this world write that there were three Syrens in an island of the sea, who used to chant the sweetest song in divers tones. One sang, another piped, the third played upon a lyre. They had the faces of women, the talons and wings of birds. They stopped all passing ships with the sweetness of their song; they rent the sailors heavy with sleep; they sank the ships in the brine. When a certain duke, Ulysses, had to sail by their island, he ordered his comrades to bind him to the mast and stuff their ears with wax. Thus he escaped the peril unharmed, and plunged the Syrens in the waves. These, beloved, are mysteries, although written by the enemies of Christ. By the sea is to be understood this age which rolls beneath the unceasing blasts of tribulations. The island is earth’s joy, which is intercepted by crowding pains, as the shore is beat upon by crowding waves. The three Syrens who with sweet caressing song overturn the navigators in sleep, are three delights which soften men’s hearts for vice and lead them into the sleep of death. She who sings with human voice is Avarice, and to her hearers thus she tunes her song: ‘Thou shouldst get together much, so as to be able to spread wide thy fame, and also visit the Lord’s sepulchre and other places, restore churches, aid the poor and thy relatives as well.’ With such baneful song she charms the miser’s heart, until the sleep of death oppresses him. Then she tears his flesh, the wave devours the ship, and the wretch by fierce pains is waked from his riches and plunged in eternal flame. She who plays upon the pipe is Vainglory (_Jactantia_), and thus she pipes her lay for hers: ‘Thou art in thy youth, and noble; make thyself appear glorious. Spare no enemies, but kill them all when able. Then people will call thee a good knight.’ Again will she chant: ‘Thou shouldst win Jerusalem, and give great alms. Then thou wilt be famous, and wilt be called good by all.’ To the lay brethren (_conversis_) she sings: ‘Thou must fast and pray always, singing with loud voice. Then wilt thou hear thyself lauded as a saint by all.’ Such song with vain heart she makes resound till the whirlpool of death devours the wretch emptied of worth.