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Updated: May 7, 2025
"I'll yank somebody out of something if those Yale boys don't pull a length ahead of those Johnny Harvards," sputtered Neil Stewart. "Whoop it up fellows AND friends. The four N Yell for old Yale," bawled Shortie in order to make himself heard above the din and pandemonium of screaming sirens and the yelling, and in spite of it all the Yale crew heard "N n n n! A a a a! V v v v! Y y y y! Yale!
Miss Silsby gave Kedzie a pair of complimentary seats to an entertainment at which the Silsby sirens were to dance. Kedzie was swept away with envy of the hilarity, the grace, the wild animal effervescence and elegance of motion. She contrasted the vivacity of the dancer's existence with the stupidity of her still-life poses. She longed to run and pirouette and leap into the air.
But when the Sirens saw that they were conquered, they shrieked for envy and rage and leapt into the sea, and were changed into rocks. Then, as the Argonauts rowed on, they came to a fearful whirlpool, and they could neither go back nor forward, for the waves caught them and spun them round and round.
Ay, ay, my lads, let us hate the one and cleave to the other." A day or two after the publication of Lemsford's "Songs of the Sirens," a sad accident befell a mess-mate of mine, one of the captains of the mizzen-top. He was a fine little Scot, who, from the premature loss of the hair on the top of his head, always went by the name of Baldy.
But, alas! between them and it are waste raging waters, foul mud banks, thick with dragons and sirens; and many a bitter day and blinding night, in cold and hunger, spiritual and perhaps physical, await them.
Above the snow of Etna shone the star of evening. Beside the sea shone the little light in the house of the sirens. And as they stood for a moment before the cottage in the deep silence of the night, Hermione looked up at the star above the snow. But Maurice looked down at the little light beside the sea.
There are neither sirens there now, nor any other creatures; but I should be sorry to think I should never see them again. When I look down on them, I can also turn and behold on the other side, across the Bay of Naples, the Posilipo, where one of the enchanters who threw magic over them is said to lie in his high tomb at the opening of the grotto.
Shabby dance-halls, ephemeral Thespian efforts, cheap dens of the most brutal vice, and dark lairs abound, where sailors, laborers, and crowding criminals lurk, ready for their human prey. Their female accomplices are only the sirens watching these great strongholds of brazen vice. A greater luxury only gilds a lower form of human abasement.
He had mistakenly believed that during most of his time in Laos he would be sitting in some park or another reading a volume of essays on Buddhism or art, and when glancing up at the sky he would hear nothing within and without but the gentle rustling of pages turned by the fingers of the wind. Instead he heard evacuation sirens within the city of the mind. And here he was exiting Vientiane.
She was so out of tune with the people, and the gentle influences of this region, that we could only regard her as an anomaly, the representative of some perversity and evil genius, which, no doubt, lurks here as it does elsewhere in the world. She could not have descended from either of the groups of the Sirens; for she was not fascinating enough to be fatal.
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