The poem
THE only one whom, Lida, thou canst love,
Thou claim'st, and rightly claim'st, for only thee; He too is wholly thine; since doomed to rove
Far from thee, in life's turmoils nought I see Save a thin veil, through which thy form I view, As though in clouds; with kindly smile and true,
It cheers me, like the stars eterne that gleam Across the northern-lights' far-flick'ring beam.
1789.*