第22部分(第2/7 頁)

keen　that　I　knew　not　whether　it　was　pain　or　delight。　For　the　sound　seemed　to　me　that　of　a　peasant's　song　which　I　once　heard　whilst　sitting　among　the　ruins　of　Paestum。　The　English　landscape　faded　before　my　eyes。　I　saw　great　Doric　columns　of　honey…golden　travertine；　between　them；　as　I　looked　one　way；　a　deep　strip　of　sea；　when　I　turned；　the　purple　gorges　of　the　Apennine；　and　all　about　the　temple；　where　I　sat　in　solitude；　a　wilderness　dead　and　still　but　for　that　long　note　of　wailing　melody。　I　had　not　thought　it　possible　that　here；　in　my　beloved　home；　where　regret　and　desire　are　all　but　unknown　to　me；　I　could　have　been　so　deeply　troubled　by　a　thought　of　things　far　off。　I　returned　with　head　bent；　that　voice　singing　in　my　memory。　All　the　delight　I　have　known　in　Italian　travel　burned　again　within　my　heart。　The　old　spell　has　not　lost　its　power。　Never；　I　know；　will　it　again　draw　me　away　from　England；　but　the　Southern　sunlight　cannot　fade　from　my　imagination；　and　to　dream　of　its　glow　upon　the　ruins　of　old　time　wakes　in　me　the　voiceless　desire　which　once　was　anguish。

In　his　Italienische　Reise；　Goethe　tells　that　at　one　moment　of　his　life　the　desire　for　Italy　became　to　him　a　scarce　endurable　suffering；　at　length　he　could　not　bear　to　hear　or　to　read　of　things　Italian；　even　the　sight　of　a　Latin　book　so　tortured　him　that　he　turned　away　from　it；　and　the　day　arrived　when；　in　spite　of　every　obstacle；　he　yielded　to　the　sickness　of　longing；　and　in　secret　stole　away　southward。　When　first　I　read　that　passage；　it　represented　exactly　the　state　of　my　own　mind；　to　think　of　Italy　was　to　feel　myself　goaded　by　a　longing　which；　at　times；　made　me　literally　ill；　I；　too；　had　put　aside　my　Latin　books；　simply　because　I　could　not　endure　the　torment　of　imagination　they　caused　me。　And　I　had　so　little　h