O Bandusia! Dear spring, more glittery than glass, you deserve fine wine and flowers. Tomorrow I shall sacrifice a kid to you. His forehead is swelling with his new horns. Too bad – he may have been intended for love and battles, but tomorrow the blood of that lascivious young goat will stain your icy stream, to honour you. In the savage heat of midsummer, even the Dog Star cannot touch you. You offer your delicious cold to refresh the bull, tired from ploughing, and water the wandering flock. You too will become one of the famous springs, when I tell the world about the ilex planted here and the hollow rocks from which your chattering waters leap.
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