Bandusia's fount, in clearness crystalline,O worthy of the wine, the flowers we vow!Tomorrow shall be thineA kid, whose crescent browIs sprouting all for love and victory.In vain: his warm red blood, so early stirr'd.Thy gelid stream shall dye,Child of the wanton herd.Thee the fierce Sirian star, to madness fired,Forbears to touch: sweet cool thy waters yieldTo ox with ploughing tired,And lazy sheep afield.Thou too one day shalt win proud eminence'Mid honour'd founts, while I the ilex singCrowning the cavern, whenceThy babbling wavelets spring.