Ulysses sailed during his long career of mazy
wanderings in search of his island home and his faithful Penelope. In
those days, so the Greek bard tells us, there dwelt upon these islets
strange sea-witches with the faces and forms of most beautiful maidens,
although their lower limbs had the resemblance of eagles' feet and talons.
Two sirens only, says Homer, dwelt upon these coasts, although later poets
have increased the number of the fatal sisters to three or even four.
Singing the most enchanting songs to the sound of tortoise-shell lyres,
there used to bask in the sunlight beside the gentle ripple the Sirens,
their nether limbs well hidden from the gaze of passing seamen, who,
attracted by the tuneful notes, hastened hither to discover the
whereabouts of the musicians. Innocent eyes, angelic faces, flowing golden
locks and white beckoning hands had every power to draw the curious
mariner nearer and nearer, until he came within reach of the fell
enchantresses. For the Sirens loved the flesh of mortals, and bleached
skulls and bones of digested victims lay in heaps upon the sandy floor of
their azure-hued caverns. Gold and jewels, too, the spoils of many a brave
galley that had been lured to destruction by these charmers, likewise
littered their retreat, and perhaps it was as much the glittering of this
gold as their own lovely features that in certain cases enticed the wary
merchant into this fatal trap. Gold and a pretty face: what male heart
could be proof against the double temptation the Isles of the Sirens
offered to the navigator in the days of the Odyssey! Only one sailor over
these seas proved himself a match for the wiles of the cruel goddesses of
the Amalfitan coast; for Ulysses, as we know, stopped the ears of his
companions with wax on their approach towards this dangerous spot, whilst
he himself, always eager to hear and see everything yet perfectly well
aware of the Sirens' magnetic power, had himself tightly bound by cords to
the mast. So whilst the deaf rowers stolidly tugged at their oars,
oblivious of the weird unearthly melody around them, the clever King of
Ithaca gained the honour of becoming the only mortal who had listened to
that subtle song without paying the penalty of a hideous and ignoble
death.

It is strangely disappointing to find that no recollection of Sirens or of
Ulysses lingers in the lore of the present dwellers upon these coasts.
They have no more notion of the aspect of a Siren