At length the witch Picks out her victim with pierced throat agape Fit for her purpose.

Gripped by pitiless hook O'er rocks she drags him to the mountain cave Accursed by her fell rites, that shall restore The dead man's life.
Close to the hidden brink The land that girds the precipice of hell Sinks towards the depths: with ever falling leaves A wood o'ershadows, and a spreading yew Casts shade impenetrable.

Foul decay Fills all the space, and in the deep recess Darkness unbroken, save by chanted spells, Reigns ever.

Not where gape the misty jaws Of caverned Taenarus, the gloomy bound Of either world, through which the nether kings Permit the passage of the dead to earth, So poisonous, mephitic, hangs the air.
Nay, though the witch had power to call the shades Forth from the depths, 'twas doubtful if the cave Were not a part of hell.

Discordant hues Flamed on her garb as by a fury worn; Bare was her visage, and upon her brow Dread vipers hissed, beneath her streaming locks In sable coils entwined.