But when she saw The youth's companions trembling, and himself With eyes cast down, with visage as of death, Thus spake the witch: "Forbid your craven souls These fears to cherish: soon returning life This frame shall quicken, and in tones which reach Even the timorous ear shall speak the man.
If I have power the Stygian lakes to show, The bank that sounds with fire, the fury band, And giants lettered, and the hound that shakes Bristling with heads of snakes his triple head, What fear is this that cringes at the sight Of timid shivering shades ?" Then to her prayer.
First through his gaping bosom blood she pours Still fervent, washing from his wounds the gore.
Then copious poisons from the moon distils Mixed with all monstrous things which Nature's pangs Bring to untimely birth; the froth from dogs Stricken with madness, foaming at the stream; A lynx's entrails: and the knot that grows Upon the fell hyaena; flesh of stags Fed upon serpents; and the sucking fish Which holds the vessel back (38) though eastern winds Make bend the canvas; dragon's eyes; and stones That sound beneath the brooding eagle's wings.
Nor Araby's viper, nor the ocean snake Who in the Red Sea waters guards the shell, Are wanting; nor the slough on Libyan sands By horned reptile cast; nor ashes fail Snatched from an altar where the Phoenix died.
And viler poisons many, which herself Has made, she adds, whereto no name is given: Pestiferous leaves pregnant with magic chants And blades of grass which in their primal growth Her cursed mouth had slimed.

Last came her voice More potent than all herbs to charm the gods Who rule in Lethe.

Dissonant murmurs first And sounds discordant from the tongues of men She utters, scarce articulate: the bay Of wolves, and barking as of dogs, were mixed With that fell chant; the screech of nightly owl Raising her hoarse complaint; the howl of beast And sibilant hiss of snake -- all these were there; And more -- the waft of waters on the rock, The sound of forests and the thunder peal.
Such was her voice; but soon in clearer tones Reaching to Tartarus, she raised her song: "Ye awful goddesses, avenging power Of Hell upon the damned, and Chaos huge Who striv'st to mix innumerable worlds, And Pluto, king of earth, whose weary soul Grieves at his godhead; Styx; and plains of bliss We may not enter: and thou, Proserpine, Hating thy mother and the skies above, My patron goddess, last and lowest form (39) Of Hecate through whom the shades and I Hold silent converse; warder of the gate Who castest human offal to the dog: Ye sisters who shall spin the threads again; (40) And thou, O boatman of the burning wave, Now wearied of the shades from hell to me Returning, hear me if with voice I cry Abhorred, polluted; if the flesh of man Hath ne'er been absent from my proffered song, Flesh washed with brains still quivering; if the child Whose severed head I placed upon the dish But for this hand had lived -- a listening ear Lend to my supplication! From the caves Hid in the innermost recess of hell I claim no soul long banished from the light.
For one but now departed, lingering still Upon the brink of Orcus, is my prayer.
Grant (for ye may) that listening to the spell Once more he seek his dust; and let the shade Of this our soldier perished (if the war Well at your hands has merited), proclaim The destiny of Magnus to his son." Such prayers she uttered; then, her foaming lips And head uplifting, present saw the ghost.
Hard by he stood, beside the hated corpse His ancient prison, and loathed to enter in.
There was the yawning chest where fell the blow That was his death; and yet the gift supreme Of death, his right, (Ah, wretch!) was reft away.
Angered at Death the witch, and at the pause Conceded by the fates, with living snake Scourges the moveless corse; and on the dead She barks through fissures gaping to her song, Breaking the silence of their gloomy home: "Tisiphone, Megaera, heed ye not?
Flies not this wretched soul before your whips The void of Erebus?
By your very names, She-dogs of hell, I'll call you to the day, Not to return; through sepulchres and death Your gaoler: from funereal urns and tombs I'll chase you forth.

And thou, too, Hecate, Who to the gods in comely shape and mien, Not that of Erebus, appearst, henceforth Wasted and pallid as thou art in hell At my command shalt come.

I'll noise abroad The banquet that beneath the solid earth Holds thee, thou maid of Enna; by what bond Thou lov'st night's King, by what mysterious stain Infected, so that Ceres fears from hell To call her daughter.