O goddess Bellerie1
Goddess fair and dear
Of our nymphs, whose voices
Sound your glory on high
In harmony with the sound of the woods
And of the murmur of your fountain too;
Goddess also of my verse which you know.

You are the eternal nymph
Of my homeland
And so in this verdant meadow
Look on your poet who honours you
With a small suckling kid
With its two young horns
Newly sprung from its forehead.

I lie down on your banks
And there idly compose,
Hidden under your willows, some
Sort of verse to announce
Your glory throughout the universe,
Lodging it in memory
So that you will always live through my verse.

The heat of the dog-days
Burns neither you nor your banks
Since in every part
You provide shade deep and dense
For the shepherds coming from the fields,
For the oxen freed from the plough,
And for our scattered livestock.

You will unceasingly be called
Princess of fountains
By me celebrating the spring 
In the pierced rock, from which gush forth
With a hoarse sound
The chattering waters of your fount
Which splashing chase one another.