As Circe spoke, Dawn mounted her golden throne,

and on the first rays Circe left me, taking

her way like a great goddess up the island.

​

I made straight for the ship, roused up the men  

to get aboard and cast off at the stern.

They scrambled to their places by the rowlocks

and all in line dipped oars in the grey sea.

The crew being now silent before me, I

addressed them, sore at heart:

 

‘Dear friends,  

more than one man, or two, should know those things

Circe foresaw for us and shared with me,

so let me tell her forecast: then we die

with our eyes open, if we are going to die,

or know what death we baffle if we can. Sirens

weaving a haunting song over the sea

we are to shun, she said, and their green shore

all sweet with clover; yet she urged that I

alone should listen to their song. Therefore

you are to tie me up, tight as a splint,  

erect along the mast, lashed to the mast,

and if I shout and beg to be untied,

take more turns of the rope to muffle me.’

 

I rather dwelt on this part of the forecast,

while our good ship made time, bound outward down

the wind for the strange island of Sirens.

Then all at once the wind fell, and a calm

came over all the sea, as though some power

lulled the swell.

 

The crew were on their feet

briskly, to furl the sail, and stow it; then,  

each in place, they poised the smooth oar blades

and sent the white foam scudding by. I carved

a massive cake of beeswax into bits

and rolled them in my hands until they softened—

no long task, for a burning heat came down

from Helios, lord of high noon. Going forward

I carried wax along the line, and laid it

thick on their ears. They tied me up, then, plumb

amidships, back to the mast, lashed to the mast,

and took themselves again to rowing. Soon,  

as we came smartly within hailing distance,

the two Sirens, noting our fast ship

off their point, made ready, and they sang:

 

This way, oh turn your bows,

Akhaia’s glory,

As all the world allows—

Moor and be merry.

 

Sweet coupled airs we sing.

No lonely seafarer

Holds clear of entering 

Our green mirror.

 

Pleased by each purling note

Like honey twining

From her throat and my throat,

Who lies a-pining?

 

Sea rovers here take joy

Voyaging onward,

As from our song of Troy

Greybeard and rower-boy

Goeth more learnèd.

 

All feats on that great field

In the long warfare,

Dark days the bright gods willed,

Wounds you bore there,

 

Argos’ old soldiery

On Troy beach teeming,

Charmed out of time we see.

No life on earth can be

Hid from our dreaming.

​

The lovely voices in ardor appealing over the water  

made me crave to listen, and I tried to say

‘Untie me!’ to the crew, jerking my brows;

but they bent steady to the oars. Then Perimedes (per-im-edes)

got to his feet, he and Eurylochos (eur-ill-uh-kus),

and passed more line about, to hold me still.

So all rowed on, until the Sirens

dropped under the sea rim, and their singing

dwindled away

 

My faithful company

rested on their oars now, peeling off

the wax that I had laid thick on their ears;  

then set me free.