O BABBLING Spring, than glass more clear, 
Worthy of wreath and cup sincere, 
 To-morrow shall a kid be thine 
 With swelled and sprouting brows for sign,? 
Sure sign!?of loves and battles near.
 
Child of the race that butt and rear! 
Not less, alas! his life-blood dear 
 Must tinge thy cold wave crystalline, 
 O babbling Spring! 
 
Thee Sirius knows not. Thou dost cheer
With pleasant cool the plough-worn steer,? 
 The wandering flock. This verse of mine 
 Will rank thee one with founts divine; 
Men shall thy rock and tree revere, 
 O babbling Spring!