From here the Arab hastens, from there the Alan a nomadic people hastens,
Carried by a swift horse.
The peoples hasten with oars and wheels, numerous
From the distant regions of the world.
A diverse nation comes: yet the voice of the peoples is one,
While they seek to enjoy the light.

The Fountain of Salvation, Zechariah 13.

O Fountain, arbiter of the saving flood,
Worthy to be poured from the light-flowing bosom of heaven,
What lyre of song, what Muse
Will sing of you?

In vain do I elicit Pegasean referring to the fountain of the Muses waters
For your praise. Clearly the profane spring
Does not know how to draw the filth
Of Pimpla a fountain sacred to the Muses.

You, pure from a virginal spring, produce
A sacred head, and flowing with a drooping stream
From the mountain of Sion,
You irrigate the world continually.