Beneath the shade of Oete's hills,
Whence came Alcides' fatal bow
Twice destined for our overthrow?825
But whither shall our alien course be sped?
Perchance to Pleuron's gates we go,
Where Dian's self was counted foe;
Perchance to Troezen's winding shore,
The land which mighty Theseus bore;
Or Pelion, by whose rugged side
Their mad ascent the giants tried.