Had I met thee in thy beauty
When my heart and hand were free,
When no other claimed the duty
Which my soul would yield to thee;
Had I wooed thee—had I won thee—
Oh! how blest had been my fate;
But thy sweetness hath undone me—
I have found thee—but too late!

For to one my vows were plighted
With a faltering lip and pale;
Hands our cruel sires united,
Hearts were deem'd of slight avail!
Thus my youth's bright morn o'ershaded,
Thus betrothed to wealth and state,
All Love's own sweet prospects faded—
I have found thee—but too late!

Like the fawn that finds the fountain
With the arrow in his breast;
Or like light upon the mountain
Where the snow must ever rest,
Thou hast known me—but forget me!
For I feel what ills await:—
Oh! 'tis madness to have met thee—
To have found thee—but too late!