Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Horace, Ode 3.13

O fons Bandusiae, splendidior vitro,
dulci digne mero non sine floribus,
cras donaberis haedo,
cui frons turgida cornibus

primis et venerem et proelia destinat.
Frustra: nam gelidos inficiet tibi
rubro sanguine rivos
lascivi suboles gregis.

Te flagrantis atrox hora Caniculae
nescit tangere, tu frigus amabile
fessis vomere tauris
praebes et pecori vago.

Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium,
me diecente cavis impositam ilicem
saxis, unde loquaces
lymphae desiliunt tuae.

Oh fountain of Bandusia, more splendid than glass,
appropriate for sweet wine not without flowers,
tomorrow you will be presented with a kid,
whose forehead growing with first horns

is destined for love and battles.
In vain: for the offspring of the playful herd
will stain your cold streams
with red blood.

The fierce hour (or season) of flaming Canicula
does not know to touch you, you offer
pleasant cold to the bulls tired from
the plow and the wandering herd.

Even you will become the most famous of fountains,
with me singing of the wood established on hollow
stones, from which your talkative
waters jump down.

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