Classic Poem

O brighter than clear glass, Bandusian spring,
Well worthy of sweet wine, and flowers withal,
To-morrow for my offering
To thee a kid shall fall,

Whose budding horns prowess in love and war
Presage; vain hope, for he, of wanton strain
The progeny, with crimson gore
Shall thy cold current stain.

In his fierce hour ne'er reaches thy retreat
The flaming Dog-star. Thou for herds that stray,
And for yoke-weary bulls, the heat
Dost with cool draughts allay.

Thou too shalt rank with fountains of renown,
With me to sing the rocky cavern deep,
Whence 'neath the ilex gush, and down
Thy waters babbling leap.