They Told Me I Was Born to Love

They told me I was born to love,
When first in youth's soft bloom I shone;
They told me I was form'd to prove
The bliss that waits on love alone.

I gave the tale but little heed,
For mine was yet life's laughing morn;
Till Henry came, and then, indeed,
I found that I to love was born.

But while I with my fondness strove,
This mournful truth too soon I knew;—
The tender heart that's form'd to love,
Is form'd, alas! to sorrow too.

Hast thou e'er loved, and know'st thou not
Love's chain is form'd of bitter tears—
Of joys in one short hour forgot,
Of griefs remember'd still for years?

Of gladness lighting lovers' eyes
With beams that mock the painter's art;
And also form'd of secret sighs
That dim the eye, and break the heart?

Love! contradiction's darling child,
Thou prize, thou scourge to mortals given;
By turns thou'rt blest, by turns reviled,
Art now a hell, and now a heaven.