Cantai, or Piango; E Non Men DI Dolcezza

THOUGH IN THE MIDST OF PAIN, HE DEEMS HIMSELF THE HAPPIEST OF MEN.

I sang, who now lament; nor less delight / Than in my song I found, in tears I find; / For on the cause and not effect inclined, / My senses still desire to scale that height: / Whence, mildly if she smile or hardly smite, / Cruel and cold her acts, or meek and kind, / All I endure, nor care what weights they bind, / E'en though her rage would break my armour quite.

Let Love and Laura, world and fortune join, / And still pursue their usual course for me, / I care not, if unblest, in life to be.

Let me or burn to death or living pine, / No gentler state than mine beneath the sun, / Since from a source so sweet my bitters run.

MACGREGOR.