(35) Never sun Shed his pure light upon that haggard cheek Pale with the pallor of the shades, nor looked Upon those locks unkempt that crowned her brow.
In starless nights of tempest crept the hag Out from her tomb to seize the levin bolt; Treading the harvest with accursed foot She burned the fruitful growth, and with her breath Poisoned the air else pure.

No prayer she breathed Nor supplication to the gods for help Nor knew the pulse of entrails as do men Who worship.

Funeral pyres she loves to light And snatch the incense from the flaming tomb.
The gods at her first utterance grant her prayer For things unlawful, lest they hear again Its fearful accents: men whose limbs were quick With vital power she thrust within the grave Despite the fates who owed them years to come: The funeral reversed brought from the tomb Those who were dead no longer; and the pyre Yields to her shameless clutch still smoking dust And bones enkindled, and the torch which held Some grieving sire but now, with fragments mixed In sable smoke and ceremental cloths Singed with the redolent fire that burned the dead.
But those who lie within a stony cell Untouched by fire, whose dried and mummied frames No longer know corruption, limb by limb Venting her rage she tears, the bloodless eyes Drags from their cavities, and mauls the nail Upon the withered hand: she gnaws the noose By which some wretch has died, and from the tree Drags down a pendent corpse, its members torn Asunder to the winds: forth from the palms Wrenches the iron, and from the unbending bond Hangs by her teeth, and with her hands collects The slimy gore which drips upon the limbs.
Where lay a corpse upon the naked earth On ravening birds and beasts of prey the hag Kept watch, nor marred by knife or hand her spoil, Till on his victim seized some nightly wolf; (36) Then dragged the morsel from his thirsty fangs; Nor fears she murder, if her rites demand Blood from the living, or some banquet fell Requires the panting entrail.

Pregnant wombs Yield to her knife the infant to be placed On flaming altars: and whene'er she needs Some fierce undaunted ghost, he fails not her Who has all deaths in use.

Her hand has chased From smiling cheeks the rosy bloom of life; And with sinister hand from dying youth Has shorn the fatal lock: and holding oft In foul embraces some departed friend Severed the head, and through the ghastly lips, Held by her own apart, some impious tale Dark with mysterious horror hath conveyed Down to the Stygian shades.
When rumour brought Her name to Sextus, in the depth of night, While Titan's chariot beneath our earth Wheeled on his middle course, he took his way Through fields deserted; while a faithful band, His wonted ministers in deeds of guilt, Seeking the hag 'mid broken sepulchres, Beheld her seated on the crags afar Where Haemus falls towards Pharsalia's plain.