As a boxer, as a runner, past compare!When the deer are flying blindly all the open country o'er,He can aim and he can hit them; he can steal upon the boar,As it couches in the thicket unaware.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.