Portland Gazette, And Maine Advertiser

Poetry.
Mr Shirley,
By giving the following "Address to
Klopstock," from the pen of the interest-
ing Miss Smith, a place in your paper you
will oblige a correspondent, and gratify
several of your readers.
"Alas! they find not ore the other--they
Who for each other and for love were made:
Now in far distant climes their lot is cast,
And now long ages roll their course be-
tween."
Klopstock's Ode to Bodmer.
Thus blessed spirit, receive thy deep complaint;
In all things else to heaven's high will re-
sign'd
This only, seem'd too hard; and hard in-
deed
It is, that time and space should intervene
To part those souls by their Creator's hand
Attun'd to concord; seeming thus ordain'd
To mingle sounds in heavenly harmony,
Yet sunder'd now so far, no breeze can
waft
The dying notes of one, to vibrate on
The other's sympathetic chords. Nor is
This all. Doom'd each to mix with other
notes,
Notes, not perhaps ill sounding, yet with
them
Jarring in discord insupportable.
This, this indeed is hard. It tempts suspi-
cion
Of providence eternal, tempts to think
This great machine of nature is derang'd.
Vain babbling reason, peace! Now Klop-
stock knows,
He knows and bids thee sing. This too
is trial!
For trial were we sent to dwell on earth,
And what severer could be found than this?
What other is there to a virtuous mind
That sees the nothingness of present life,
The glory of the future--and with love
Unmix'd looks up to him, the only good?
Sickness or health, riches or poverty,
To such a mind are nothing, easy weights
If friendship help to bear them:--but to live
With those whose every word and gesture,
shrill
Discordant thro' our frame, this is severe,
Unceasing trial. But the more severe
The appointed trial, the louder does it call
Our courage up, and bid us instant arm
With heavenward patience and submission
meek;
Trusting when time and space shall be no
more,
To meet those souls from which they now
divide us.
If now possessing them too happy here,
This earth were heaven, and nothing left to
wish,
In mercy God forbids us here to taste
A long continuance of such happiness:
There's yet another cause, celestial Klop-
stock,
Why souls in unison can seldom meet.
They must be cast in nature's finest mould.
Of the sublimer essence of Creation:
And such are scarce--at intervals sent
down,
As were of old the prophets, to recall
The baser herd to duty's sacred path,
To dress old truths in an attractive garb,--
To show men virtue in herself how love-
ly,
To explore the depths of science--to unveil
The mysteries of nature--and beyond
The narrow sphere of human ken, to make
Discoveries, which might damp the rea-
soning pride
Of dabblers in philosophy, and prove
That things they cannot understand, exist,
That other men have higher faculties,
And thence might lead them to imagine,
beings
Yet higher in the scale of intellect:
Truths which no human mind could ever
grasp.
There, to my weak perception, seem some
ends
By providence proposed in sending down
At times, those high intelligences,
And those were sure not answer'd if they
came
At once, or in a cluster on the stage;
Then other parts and space of time would
want
Their share of lustre--and to fill the void,
If more of first rate genius were produc'd
This world's affairs would run into confu-
sion,
Too mean, too little to employ such minds.
And thus, immortal Klopstock, souls like
thine,
Of friendship worthy, because capable,
Can scarce expect to meet their like on
earth;
Since for the general good they come, and
not their
Private happiness:--better attain'd,
By staying in their native country, heaven,
If with their equals only they convers'd.
'Tis true thou wast a little while most blest:
But 'twas to the end that thy example,
When Divine command recall'd the trea-
sure lent,
Might prove an useful lesson to the world;
Teaching more feelingly than precepts
could,
Loving as thou didst to resign like thee.