From Dante's Inferno: Canto XIII, the suicide's soul...

...
It falls into the forest, and no part
Is chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it,
There like a grain of spelt it germinates.

It springs a sapling, and a forest tree;
The Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves,
Do pain create, and for the pain an outlet.
...
Behind them was a forest full of black
She-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot
As greyhound, who are issue from the chain.

On him who had crouched down they set their teeth,
and him they lacerated piece by piece,
Thereafter boare away those aching members

Thereat my Escort took me by the hand,
And lead me to the bush, that all in vain
Was weeping from its bloody lacerations.