Nymph of the stream, whose source perpetual pours
The living waters thro’ the sparkling sand,
Cups of bright wine, enwreath’d with summer flowers,
For rich libation, round thy brink shall stand,
When on the morrow, at thy Bard’s decree,
A young and spotless kid is sacrificed to thee.
He, while his brows the primal antlers swell,
Conscious of strength, and gay of heart, prepares
To meet the female, and the foe repel.—
In vain he wishes, and in vain he dares!
His ardent blood thy pebbly bed shall stain,
Till each translucent wave flows crimson to the plain.
In vain shall Sirius shake his fiery hairs
O’er thy pure flood, with waving poplars veil’d,
For thou, when most his sultry influence glares,
Refreshing shade, and cooling draughts shalt yield
To all the flocks, that thro’ the valley stray,
And to the wearied steers, unyok’d at closing day.
Now dear to Fame, sweet fountain, shalt thou flow,
Since to my lyre those breathing shades I sing
That crown the hollow rock’s incumbent brow,
From which thy soft loquacious waters spring.
To vie with streams Aonian be thy pride,
As thro’ Blandusia’s Vale thy silver currents glide!