out of a marble basin, and falling back into it with a
continual plash. The water of this fountain, as it spouted
upward, was constantly taking new shapes, not very distinctly,
but plainly enough for a nimble fancy to recognize what they
were. Now it was the shape of a man in a long robe, the fleecy
whiteness of which was made out of the fountain's spray; now it
was a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf, or an ass, or, as often as
anything else, a hog, wallowing in the marble basin as if it
were his sty. It was either magic or some very curious
machinery that caused the gushing waterspout to assume all
these forms. But, before the strangers had time to look closely
at this wonderful sight, their attention was drawn off by a
very sweet and agreeable sound. A woman's voice was singing
melodiously in another room of the palace, and with her voice
was mingled the noise of a loom, at which she was probably
seated, weaving a rich texture of cloth, and intertwining the
high and low sweetness of her voice into a rich tissue of
harmony.

By and by, the song came to an end; and then, all at once,
there were several feminine voices, talking airily and
cheerfully, with now and then a merry burst of laughter, such
as you may always hear when three or four young women sit at
work together.

"What a sweet song that was!" exclaimed one of the voyagers.

"Too sweet, indeed," answered Eurylochus, shaking his head.
"Yet it was not so sweet as the song of the Sirens, those
bird-like damsels who wanted to tempt us on the rocks, so that