Belding banner. (Belding, Mich.) 1889-1918, 1900-08-30
THE ROMANCE
OF A POET.

last century.
Herr Klopstock, with his soul In his
words, was writing his wonderful po-
EN-, the Messiah"
He did not know II was 10 bring him
fame as the first of the great German
poets. He did not even guess that 1t
was to win love for him.
He published II and then waited.
In Hamburg Meta Moller read the
great poem and was charmed by It.
She talked OF II: she wrote OF 1t to her
friends. Every one knew Meta longed
to meet the poet.
Then he came TO Hamburg. and a
friend told him of Meta and showed
her letters, full of praises OF his poem.
His interest was awakened. and he
went 10 see her.
He found beautiful girl, with long
faxen braids of hair and deep blue
eyes. The dainty freshness of her fair
face was frightened by the pale blue
bodice she wore.
But Klopstock scarcely noticed her
loneliness. He thought only Of her
mind. They talked Of his poem. then
of others Meta had read much. She
knew the language of literature Of 9TH
er countries besides her own.
But she was not only learned-she
was gentle and sympathetic. Soon the
poet was telling her Of his early strug-
| giles and of his heartaches for a lost
love.
"But why do l tell you my troubles,
Fraulein Moller" he said wonderingly.
81 am almost a stranger to you"
"You are not a stranger to me-" re-
piled Meta softly. 81 have known you
a long time"
For few days they saw each other
constantly. Metals sympathy had cas-
| ed the pain at the poets heart. When
they parted. it was with promises to
write.
but not as lovers. They wrote only of
poetry. philosophy - never Of them
selves.
Then Herr Klopstock returned to
Hamburg.
"Meta" he cried. 81 have learned to
love you!" But the girl was troubled.
"Why do you talk of loveT' she said.
"We are friends. dear friends. but only
| friends"
For a time he pleaded In vain; then
she yielded so far as to whisper.
"Wait."
The end of the year came and with
1t Metals lover.
She did not meet him as before. with
frank, kind eyes that gazed straight
into his Instead she looked shyly
down, and the pink In her cheek deep
ened.
"My darling" cried the poet, "you
love me! | see IL in your face. Do
not tell me II is not true"
EYES," she confessed. at Is true.
But" seriously. that is not enough.
My mother will not allow our marriage.
There is some one else. He Is rich"
"Who Is hep exclaimed Klopstock
hoarsely. He had turned ashen pale.
"His name Is August Hoffman. He Is
merchant and has warehouses and
ships. Alas. he Is wealthyw and the
girl sighed
"Let me see your mother" said Klop-
stock eagerly.
at is useless" replied Meta sadly.
But she led him to her mother.
The Frau Moller was obdurate.
81 have my daughters welfare at
heart" she said coldly. you have
fame. II is true, but you cannot support
her on that. | intend TO see that she Is
comfortably settled In life"
But we love each other" entreated
Klopstock. Meta would be happier
with me. even though we had little,
than In luxury with man she did not
love-"
You must allow me to Judge what Is
best for my daughter" returned Frau
Moller. much displeased. and. rising,
she waved him from the room.
'At least" sobbed Meta. when she
babe her lover farewell. 81 cannot be
forced to marry Herr Hoffman. Ii
gle"
Frau Moller hoped that Meta would
soon yield and accept the easy life and
luxury which were offered to her. But
time passed on. and she still refused to
listen to the man OF her mothers
choice.
Then the mothers heart relented, and
she rewarded the two years constancy
OF the lovers. With her consent the
poet claimed his bride and carried her
off to a rose EMPOWERED cottage on the
banks Of the beautiful Rhine.
Theirs Is a perfect union. Long after
her marriage Meta wrote to a friend:
IL can write and speak OF nothing
now but love. Ii has been all OF my
life since first ] read my dear hus-
bands great poem. loved him then.
though did not know it. Now am
so happy In the fulfllment OF my love.
His poems are to me like sweetest mu-
sic. After all our troubles the great
est Joy is ours"
And Herr Klopstock said:
"The world calls some OF my poems
great. but greater. grander. sweeter
than any OF them Is the unwritten
poem Of our beautiful lowest Louis
Star.