O Bandusian fountain, more splendid than glass,
deserving sweet unmixed [wine] not without flowers,
tomorrow you will be rewarded with a young goat,
whose forehead is swollen with a first
horn destined for both Venus [love] and battle,
in vain: for the offspring of a playful herd
stains the icy stream
of yours with red blood.
The dreaded hour of the blazing dog-star doe not know
[a way] to touch you, you supply your lovely
cold to bulls wearied
with the plow and wandering flock.
You also will be a noble fountain
with me saying that a holm oak placed above
[your] hollow rocks, where your
loquacious waters leap.