his great hands.

There was Tantalus, plagued for his great sins, standing up to the
chin in water, which he can never taste, but still as he bows his
head, thinking to quench his burning thirst, instead of water he licks
up unsavoury dust. All fruits pleasant to the sight, and of delicious
flavour, hang in ripe clusters about his head, seeming as though they
offered themselves to be plucked by him; but when he reaches out his
hand, some wind carries them far out of his sight into the clouds: so
he is starved in the midst of plenty by the righteous doom of Jove, in
memory of that inhuman banquet at which the sun turned pale, when the
unnatural father served up the limbs of his little son in a dish, as
meat for his divine guests.

There was Sisyphus, that sees no end to his labours. His punishment
is, to be for ever rolling up a vast stone to the top of a mountain,
which when it gets to the top, falls down with a crushing weight, and
all his work is to be begun again. He was bathed all over in sweat,
that reeked out a smoke which covered his head like a mist. His crime
had been the revealing of state secrets.

There Ulysses saw Hercules: not that Hercules who enjoys immortal life
in heaven among the gods, and is married to Hebe or Youth; but his
shadow which remains below. About him the dead flocked as thick as
bats, hovering around, and cuffing at his head: he stands with his
dreadful bow, ever in the act to shoot.

There also might Ulysses have seen and spoken with the shades of
Theseus, and Pirithous, and the old heroes; but he had conversed
enough with horrors: therefore covering his face with his hands, that
he might see no more spectres, he resumed his seat in his ship, and
pushed off. The bark moved of itself without the help of any oar,
and soon brought him out of the regions of death into the cheerful
quarters of the living, and to the island of AEaea, whence he had set
forth.

CHAPTER III

_The song of the Sirens.--Scylla and Charybdis.--The oxen of the
Sun.--The judgment.--The crew killed by lightning._

"Unhappy man, who at thy birth wast appointed twice to die! others
shall die once; but thou, besides that death that remains for thee,
common to all men, hast in thy life-time visited the shades of death.
Thee Scylla, thee Charybdis, expect. Thee the deathful Sirens lie in
wait for, that taint the minds of whoever listen to them with their
sweet singing. Whosoever shall but hear the call of