I' Mi Vivea Di Mia Sorte Contento. He Fears That An Illness Which Has Attacked The Eyes Of Laura May Deprive Him Of Their Sight. I Lived So Tranquil, With My Lot Content, No Sorrow Visited, Nor Envy Pined, To Other Loves If Fortune Were More Kind One Pang Of Mine Their Thousand Joys Outwent; But Those Bright Eyes, Whence Never I Repent The Pains I Feel, Nor Wish Them Less To Find, So Dark A Cloud And Heavy Now Does Blind, Seems As My Sun Of Life In Them Were Spent. O Nature! Mother Pitiful Yet Stern, Whence Is The Power Which Prompts Thy Wayward Deeds, Such Lovely Things To Make And Mar In Turn? True, From One Living Fount All Power Proceeds: But How Couldst Thou Consent, Great God Of Heaven, That Aught Should Rob The World Of What Thy Love Had Given? Macgregor.