Horace Ode 3.13

O fountain of Bandusia, more glittering than glass, worthy of sweet wine not without flowers, tomorrow you will be honored with a kid-goat, whose forehead, swelling with first horns, destines both love and battles; in vain, for he will imbue your cold streams with red blood, offspring of the randy herd. The cruel hour of the blazing dog-star does not know to touch you, you offer pleasant chill to bulls wearied by the plow and to the wandering flock. You will become (one) of the noble fountains too, with me naming the oak set over the hollow rocks, whence your talkative waters jump down.