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
mysterioushorror 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. (37)
There was she proving for her gods and priests
Words still unknown, and framing numbered chants
Of dire and novel purpose: for she feared
Lest Mars might stray into another world,
And spare Thessalian soil the blood ere long
To flow in
torrents; and she thus forbade
Philippi's field, polluted with her song,
Thick with her
poisonous distilments sown,
To let the war pass by. Such deaths, she hopes,
Soon shall be hers! the blood of all the world
Shed for her use! to her it shall be given
To sever from their trunks the heads of kings,
Plunder the ashes of the noble dead,
Italia's bravest, and in
triumph add
The mightiest warriors to her host of shades.
And now what spoils from Magnus' tombless corse
Her hand may
snatch, on which of Caesar's limbs
She soon may
pounce, she makes her foul forecast
And eager gloats.
To whom the
coward son
Of Magnus thus: "Thou greatest ornament
Of Haemon's daughters, in whose power it lies
Or to reveal the fates, or from its course
To turn the future, be it mine to know
By thy sure
utterance to what final end
Fortune now guides the issue. Not the least
Of all the Roman host on yonder plain
Am I, but Magnus' most
illustrious son,
Lord of the world or heir to death and doom.
The unknown affrights me: I can
firmly face
The certain
terror. Bid my destiny
Yield to thy power the dark and
hidden end,
And let me fall foreknowing. From the gods
Extort the truth, or, if thou spare the gods,
Force it from hell itself. Fling back the gates
That bar th' Elysian fields; let Death confess
Whom from our ranks he seeks. No
humble task
I bring, but
worthy of Erichtho's skill
Of such a struggle fought for such a prize
To search and tell the issue."
Then the witch
Pleased that her
impious fame was noised abroad
Thus made her answer: "If some
lesser fates
Thy wish had been to change, against their wish