Forth from the dark revolving urn,
And we must tempt the gloomy deep,
Whence exiles ne’er return.
TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA.
BOOK III., ODE XIII.
Oh! worthy fragrant gifts of flowers and wine,
Bandusian fount, than crystal far more bright!
To-morrow shall a sportive kid be thine,
Whose forehead swells with horns of infant might:
Ev’n now of love and war he dreams in vain,