This weekend is the big Roman event over at Austin Peay university. There will be Roman soldiers, gladiatorial games, vendors, lots of good ancient geekery. info for other weirdos like me that may want to go:

http://web.utk.edu/~cohprima/Festivus.html


Because it falls on the festival to Fontus, the god of springs and fountains, it is sort of in my realm. We will be performing a ritual for the Fontinalia, and scattering flowers as an offering into water. I'm hoping to get a battery operated fountain for the event, but if not we will make do with what we have.

Wish me luck. I'm feeling a bit out of practice with my religious duties as of late, just too much going on. I'm planning on going back to my morning meditations in the shrine area to get myself back in the right headspace.

We are using a really lovely ritual, with a few variations that I'm still working on. Since Patrick liked the modern interpretation of the Orphic hymn I did for Neptunalia, he asked if I could do something similar. I found an appropriate selection from the odes of Horace, which may have actually been written about the Fontinalia, but there's no way to know for sure. He is praising a particular spring, making promises of offering.

So, I know that when other people post poems, I skim them. I would be okay with that normally of course, but I kind of want some opinions. My aim here is to keep it simple, but improve the imagery (I want to soften the whole dead baby goat thing a bit too), and keep it in rhyme so that it could be something easily remembered in the future (Someday I hope to be able to recite these without looking at my book!)

So, please tell me if this works.


My interpretation:

Blandusian spring, glittering as glass,
Worthy of the wine-filled toasts that pass;
Even moreso the blooms cast on your shrine,
With the next sun I give to you one of mine.

His glory in vain, his pride a fallen dove,
The crescent brow, a crown of battle and love;
This is your gift, the offspring of the herd,
With his scarlet river your waters will be stirred.

The summer passes, her scorch still burns the earth,
But her fire has yet to touch the depths of your birth,
Man and beast alike drink from your pools without fear,
And find grateful rest and welcome coolness here.

I will sing of the tree that brings spotted shade,
the silkclad stones that scatter your glade,
Your fame will grow among the noblest of springs,
And your bubbling laughter prove the pride it brings.

( The Original for those that want to know! )