I call to Bibracte, who wards the fair city
that bears your name, Bibracte of walls strong and sound,
whose constancy and might preserved citizen
and spirit, as your town was taken,
and taken still again. Great was your fame
in times long gone, great were the warriors
who guarded your gate, great was the moment
of your demesne, when soldiers walked your bounds,
when druids worked their holy rites in copse and grove.
I call to Bibracte, O good and glorious goddess,
gracious one whose gifts yet fall upon your folk,
upon your lands. Goddess, I praise and honor you.

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