[Ode] (from Horace)

Blandusian spring than glass more brightly clear
Worthy of flowers and dulcet wine
To morrow shall a kid be thine
Whose brow where the first budding horns appear
Battles and love portends portends in vain
For he shall pour his crimson blood
To stain bright spring thy gelid flood
Nor e’er shall seek the wanton herd again
Thee Sirius smites not from his raging star
Thy tempting gloom a cool repose
To many a vagrant herd bestows
And to faint oxen weary of the share
Thou too ‘mid famous fountains shalt display
Thy glory while I sing the oak
That hangs above the hollow rock
Whence thy loquacious waters leap away.