labor. Orpheus grew fearful for them now.

For Orpheus knew that they were drawing toward a danger. There was no
other way for them, he knew, but past the Island Anthemoessa in the
Tyrrhenian Sea where the Sirens were.

Once they had been nymphs and had tended Persephone before she was
carried off by Aidoneus to be his queen in the Underworld. Kind they
had been, but now they were changed, and they cared only for the
destruction of men.

All set around with rocks was the island where they were. As the Argo
came near, the Sirens, ever on the watch to draw mariners to their
destruction, saw them and came to the rocks and sang to them, holding
each other's hands.

They sang all together their lulling song. That song made the wearied
voyagers long to let their oars go with the waves, and drift, drift to
where the Sirens were. Bending down to them the Sirens, with soft hands
and white arms, would lift them to soft resting places. Then each of
the Sirens sang a clear, piercing song that called to each of the
voyagers. Each man thought that his own name was in that song. "O how
well it is that you have come near," each one sang, "how well it is
that you have come near where I have awaited you, having all delight
prepared for you!"

Orpheus took up his lyre as the Sirens began to sing. He sang to the
heroes of their own toils. He sang of them, how, gaunt and weary as
they were, they were yet men, men who were the strength of Greece, men
who had been fostered by the love and hope of their country. They were
the winners of the Golden Fleece and their story would be told forever.
And for the fame that they had won men would forego all rest and all
delight. Why should they not toil, they who were born for great labors
and to face dangers that other men might not face? Soon hands would be
stretched out to them--the welcoming hands of the men and women of
their own land.

So Orpheus sang, and his voice and the music of his lyre prevailed
above the Sirens' voices. Men dropped their oars, but other men
remained at their benches, and pulled steadily, if wearily, on. Only
one of the Argonauts, Butes, a youth of Iolcus, threw himself into the
water and swam toward the rocks from which the Sirens sang.

But an anguish that nearly parted their spirits from their bodies was
upon them as they went wearily on. Toward the end of the day they
beheld another island--an island that seemed very fair; they longed to
land and rest themselves