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Poem	BALLATA II. Occhi miei lassi, mentre ch' io vi giro. HE INVITES HIS EYES TO FEAST THEMSELVES ON LAURA. My wearied eyes! while looking thusOn that fair fatal face to us,Be wise, be brief, for—hence my sighs—Already Love our bliss denies.Death only can the amorous trackShut from my thoughts which leads them backTo the sweet port of all their weal;But lesser objects may concealOur light from you, that meaner farIn virtue and perfection are.Wherefore, poor eyes! ere yet appears,Already nigh, the time of tears,Now, after long privation past,Look, and some comfort take at last. Macgregor.
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