But with their cries the Dryad-band her peers Filled up the mountains to their proudest peaks: Wailed for her fate the heights of Rhodope, And tall pangaea, and, beloved of Mars, The land that bowed to Rhesus, Thrace no less With Hebrus' stream; and Orithyia wept, Daughter of Acte old.
"The Georgics"
Virgil