iamque pererratis infelix Lemnia campis,
liber ut angue locus, modico super aggere longe
pallida sanguineis infectas roribus herbas
prospicit. huc magno cursum rapit effera luctu
agnoscitque nefas, terraeque inlisa nocenti
fulminis in morem non uerba in funere primo
non lacrimas habet: ingeminat misera oscula tantum
incumbens animaeque fugam per membra tepentem
quaerit hians. non ora loco non pectora restant,
rapta cutis, tenuia ossa patent nexusque madentes
sanguinis imbre noui, totumque in uulnere corpus.
ac uelut aligerae sedem fetusque parentis
cum niger umbrosa populatus in ilice serpens,
illa redit querulaeque domus mirata quietem
iam stupet inpendens aduectosque horrida maesto
excutit ore cibos cum solus in arbore cara
sanguis et errantes per rapta cubilia plumae.
And now the hapless Lemnian, having scoured the fields now that the place was free from the serpent, grows pale as she sees in the
distance on a slight eminence the grass dyed with spatterings of blood. To that spot she speeds her steps, frantic with heavy grief,
realises the calamity and, flinging herself like lightning on to the
guilty earth, at first sight of the dead body finds neither words nor
tears: she only crouches over it, repeating over and over again her
desperate kisses, and with open mouth she seeks to catch any fleeting breath still warm in the limbs. Neither face nor breast remain in their proper place, the skin is flayed, the tiny bones are visible and the sinews are drenched in a stream of fresh blood: the whole body is a mass of wounds. Just as when in a shady oak-tree a black serpent has ravaged the nest and nestlings of a mother bird, she returns and wonders at the silence of her once demanding home, and now hovers
aghast and with a shudder lets drop from her grieving mouth the food she has brought, when in the beloved tree is only blood and feathers drifting over the ransacked nest. (trans. Hall 2007)
