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Poem	SONNET CXCIV. I' piansi, or canto; che 'l celeste lume. AT HER RETURN, HIS SORROWS VANISH. I wept, but now I sing; its heavenly lightThat living sun conceals not from my view,But virtuous love therein revealeth trueHis holy purposes and precious might;Whence, as his wont, such flood of sorrow springsTo shorten of my life the friendless course,Nor bridge, nor ford, nor oar, nor sails have forceTo forward mine escape, nor even wings.But so profound and of so full a veinMy suff'ring is, so far its shore appears,Scarcely to reach it can e'en thought contrive:Nor palm, nor laurel pity prompts to gain,But tranquil olive, and the dark sky clears,And checks my grief and wills me to survive. Macgregor.
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