The seasons, too, have paid their tribute to her stores: Whatever earth produces in the nesting time, And when the stiff'ning hand of winter's frost has stripped 715 The glory from the trees and fettered all the land With icy bonds; whatever flow'ring plant conceals Destruction in its bloom, or in its twisted roots Distils the juice of death, she gathers to her use. These pestilential herbs Haemonian Athos gave; 720 And these on lofty Pindus grew; a bloody knife Clipped off these slender leaves on Macedonia's heights; Still others grew beside the Tigris, whirling on His flood to meet the sea; the Danube nourished some; These grew on bright gem-starred Hydaspes' tepid stream; 725 And these the Baetis bore, which gave the land its name, Displacing with its langourous tide, the western sea. These felt the knife when early dawn begins to break; The fruit of these was cut in midnight's gloomy hour; This fatal crop was reaped with sickle magic-edged. 730 These deadly, potent herbs she takes and sprinkles o'er With serpent venom, mixing all; and in the broth She mingles unclean birds: a wailing screech owl's heart, A ghastly vampire's vitals torn from living flesh. Her magic poisons all she ranges for her use. 735 The ravening power of hidden fire is held in these, While deep in others lurks the numbing chill of frost. Now magic runes she adds more potent far. But lo! Her voice resounds! and, as with maddened step she comes, She chants her charms, while heaven and earth convulsive rock. [_Enter_ Medea, _chanting her incantations_.]