The Vow

The light-haired Gaul, he of Iberian strain,
The brown Garumnus in his paint, of old,
Upon the marble cut by them have told
This water's virtue and its power o'er bane.

The Roman pool and thermae to ordain
The Emperors at Venasque then made bold,
When Fabia Festa, like the rest controlled,
Gave to the Gods the mallow and vervain.

As when Ilixon and Iscitt were young
The Springs to-day their song to me have sung,
Where the pure air the sulphur fumes still know.

Hence in this vow-made verse 'tis mine to raise,
Like Ulohox's son in bygone days,
A rough-hewn altar to the nymphs below.