The Sirens’ Song

William Browne (c. 1590–c. 1645)

From the “Inner Temple Masque”

STEER hither, steer your wingèd pines,

All beaten mariners:

Here lie undiscovered mines,

A prey to passengers;

Perfumes far sweeter than the best

That make the phœnix urn and nest:

Fear not your ships,

Nor any to oppose you save our lips;

But come on shore,

Where no joy dies till love has gotten more.

For swelling waves our panting breasts,

Where never storms arise,

Exchange; and be awhile our guests:

For stars, gaze on our eyes.

The compass, love shall hourly sing;

And, as he goes about the ring,

We will not miss

To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.