第22部分(第3/7 頁)

ope　（nay；　for　years　no　shadow　of　reasonable　hope）　that　I　should　ever　be　able　to　appease　my　desire。　I　taught　myself　to　read　Italian；　that　was　something。　I　worked　（half…heartedly）　at　a　colloquial　phrase…book。　But　my　sickness　only　grew　towards　despair。

Then　came　into　my　hands　a　sum　of　money　（such　a　poor　little　sum）　for　a　book　I　had　written。　It　was　early　autumn。　I　chanced　to　hear　some　one　speak　of　Naples……and　only　death　would　have　held　me　back。

XX

Truly；　I　grow　aged。　I　have　no　longer　much　delight　in　wine。

But　then；　no　wine　ever　much　rejoiced　me　save　that　of　Italy。　Wine…　drinking　in　England　is；　after　all；　only　make…believe；　a　mere　playing　with　an　exotic　inspiration。　Tennyson　had　his　port；　whereto　clings　a　good　old　tradition；　sherris　sack　belongs　to　a　nobler　age；　these　drinks　are　not　for　us。　Let　him　who　will；　toy　with　dubious　Bordeaux　or　Burgundy；　to　get　good　of　them；　soul's　good；　you　must　be　on　the　green　side　of　thirty。　Once　or　twice　they　have　plucked　me　from　despair；　I　would　not　speak　unkindly　of　anything　in　cask　or　bottle　which　bears　the　great　name　of　wine。　But　for　me　it　is　a　thing　of　days　gone　by。　Never　again　shall　I　know　the　mellow　hour　cum　regnat　rosa；　cum　madent　capilli。　Yet　how　it　lives　in　memory！

〃What　call　you　this　wine？〃　I　asked　of　the　temple…guardian　at　Paestum；　when　he　ministered　to　my　thirst。　〃Vino　di　Calabria；〃　he　answered；　and　what　a　glow　in　the　name！　There　I　drank　it；　seated　against　the　column　of　Poseidon's　temple。　There　I　drank　it；　my　feet　resting　on　acanthus；　my　eyes　wandering　from　sea　to　mountain；　or　peering　at　little　shells　niched　in　the　crumbling　surface　of　the　sacred　stone。　The　autumn　day　declined；　a　breeze　of　evening　whispered　about　the　forsaken　shore；　on　the　far　summit　lay　a　long；　still　cloud；　and　its　hue　was　that　of