Sent by Juno to destroy me, rolled their spires
Within my cradle. When my age advanced
To youth's fresh bloom, why should I say what toils
I then sustained? What lions—what dire forms
Of Triple Typhons, or what giants, what
Of monsters banded in the Centaur war,
Did I not quell? The Hydra, raged around,
With heads still spouting from the sword I slew.
These and a thousand other toils endured,
To the dark regions of the dead I went,