At this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a neighboring tree.

“Peep, peep, pe—­wee—­ep!”

It was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses would remember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of harm’s way.  Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of this good little fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him.  Hardly were the words spoken, and before the bird had time to utter another “Pe—­weep,” King Picus leaped down from the bough of the tree, as majestic a sovereign as any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and gorgeous yellow stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his neck, and a golden crown upon his head.  He and King Ulysses exchanged with one another the courtesies which belonged to their elevated rank.  But from that time forth, King Picus was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of royalty, nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the upper servant of his people, and that it must be his lifelong labor to make them better and happier.

As for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored them to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought it advisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give warning of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the guise of men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts had the blood-thirstiness of wild beasts.  So he let them howl as much as they liked, but never troubled his head about them.  And, when everything was settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder of his comrades, whom he had left at the seashore.  These being arrived, with the prudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made themselves comfortable in Circe’s enchanted palace until quite rested and refreshed from the toils and hardships of their voyage.

THE SIRENS—­SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS

Translated by George Herbert Palmer

I turned me toward my ship, and called my crew to come on board and loose the cables.  Quickly they came, took places at the pins, and sitting in order smote the foaming water with their oars.  And for our aid behind our dark-bowed ship came a fair wind to fill our sail, a welcome comrade, sent us by fair-haired Circe, the mighty goddess, human of speech.  When we had done our work at the several ropes about the ship, we sat us down, while wind and helmsman kept her steady.

Now to my men, with aching heart, I said, “My friends, it is not right for only one or two to know the oracles which Circe told, that heavenly goddess.  Therefore I speak, that, knowing all, we so may die, or fleeing death and doom, we may escape.  She warns us first against the marvelous Sirens, and bids us flee their voice and flowery meadow.  Only myself she bade to hear their song; but bind me with galling cords, to hold me firm, upright upon the mast-block,—­round it let the rope be wound.  And if I should entreat you, and bid you set me free, thereat with still more fetters bind me fast.”