On flitted the ship, by the West-wind borne and the sighing swell {910}
Upleaping astern; and bootless the weird song failed and fell:—
Not bootless all, for that Teleon’s goodly son did leap
From the polished thwart, ere his comrades could stay him, into the deep,
Butes, whose soul was bewitched by the Sirens’ clear-ringing breath;
And he swam through the purple surge to tread that strand of death.
Doomed wretch!—full soon had they robbed him there of his home-return;
But for him did the Cyprian Lady of Eryx in pity yearn,
And she snatched him away from the swirling wave, and safe she bore
Of her grace to dwell on the height Lilybœan on Sicily’s shore.