Went out, though all her crime was too much pride
Of heaven’s most precious gift, her children fair.
Six daughters had she, and six stalwart sons;
But Leto bade her two destroy the twelve.
And somewhere now, among lone mountain rocks
On Sipylus, where couch the nymphs at night
Who dance all day by Achelous’ stream,
The once proud mother lies, herself a rock, 970
And in cold breast broods o’er the goddess’ wrong.
In. Now hush thy fear. See how thou tremblest still.