Ogni Giorno Mi Par Pi' Di Mill' Anni. Far From Fearing, He Prays For Death. Each Day To Me Seems As A Thousand Years, That I My Dear And Faithful Star Pursue, Who Guided Me On Earth, And Guides Me Too By A Sure Path To Life Without Its Tears. For In The World, Familiar Now, Appears No Snare To Tempt; So Rare A Light And True Shines E'En From Heaven My Secret Conscience Through, Of Lost Time And Loved Sin The Glass It Rears. Not That I Need The Threats Of Death To Dread, (Which He Who Loved Us Bore With Greater Pain) That, Firm And Constant, I His Path Should Tread: 'Tis But A Brief While Since In Every Vein Of Her He Enter'D Who My Fate Has Been, Yet Troubled Not The Least Her Brow Serene. Macgregor.