第14部分(第4/7 頁)

t　is　honey。

There　is　as　much　difference；　said　Johnson；　between　a　lettered　and　an　unlettered　man　as　between　the　living　and　the　dead；　and；　in　a　way；　it　was　no　extravagance。　Think　merely　how　one's　view　of　mon　things　is　affected　by　literary　association。　What　were　honey　to　me　if　I　knew　nothing　of　Hymettus　and　Hybla？……if　my　mind　had　no　stores　of　poetry；　no　memories　of　romance？　Suppose　me　town…pent；　the　name　might　bring　with　it　some　pleasantness　of　rustic　odour；　but　of　what　poor　significance　even　that；　if　the　country　were　to　me　mere　grass　and　corn　and　vegetables；　as　to　the　man　who　has　never　read　nor　wished　to　read。　For　the　Poet　is　indeed　a　Maker：　above　the　world　of　sense；　trodden　by　hidebound　humanity；　he　builds　that　world　of　his　own　whereto　is　summoned　the　unfettered　spirit。　Why　does　it　delight　me　to　see　the　bat　flitting　at　dusk　before　my　window；　or　to　hear　the　hoot　of　the　owl　when　all　the　ways　are　dark？　I　might　regard　the　bat　with　disgust；　and　the　owl　either　with　vague　superstition　or　not　heed　it　at　all。　But　these　have　their　place　in　the　poet's　world；　and　carry　me　above　this　idle　present。

I　once　passed　a　night　in　a　little　market…town　where　I　had　arrived　tired　and　went　to　bed　early。　I　slept　forthwith；　but　was　presently　awakened　by　I　knew　not　what；　in　the　darkness　there　sounded　a　sort　of　music；　and；　as　my　brain　cleared；　I　was　aware　of　the　soft　chiming　of　church　bells。　Why；　what　hour　could　it　be？　I　struck　a　light　and　looked　at　my　watch。　Midnight。　Then　a　glow　came　over　me。　〃We　have　heard　the　chimes　at　midnight；　Master　Shallow！〃　Never　till　then　had　I　heard　them。　And　the　town　in　which　I　slept　was　Evesham；　but　a　few　miles　from　Stratford…on…Avon。　What　if　those　midnight　bells　had　been　to　me　but　as　any　other；　and　I　had　reviled　them　for　breaking　my　sleep？……Johnson　did　not