第22部分(第4/7 頁)

　my　Calabrian　wine。

How　many　such　moments　e　back　to　me　as　my　thoughts　wander！　Dim　little　trattorie　in　city　byways；　inns　smelling　of　the　sun　in　forgotten　valleys；　on　the　mountain　side；　or　by　the　tideless　shore；　where　the　grape　has　given　me　of　its　blood；　and　made　life　a　rapture。　Who　but　the　veriest　fanatic　of　teetotalism　would　grudge　me　those　hours　so　gloriously　redeemed？　No　draught　of　wine　amid　the　old　tombs　under　the　violet　sky　but　made　me　for　the　time　a　better　man；　larger　of　brain；　more　courageous；　more　gentle。　'Twas　a　revelry　whereon　came　no　repentance。　Could　I　but　live　for　ever　in　thoughts　and　feelings　such　as　those　born　to　me　in　the　shadow　of　the　Italian　vine！　There　I　listened　to　the　sacred　poets；　there　I　walked　with　the　wise　of　old；　there　did　the　gods　reveal　to　me　the　secret　of　their　eternal　calm。　I　hear　the　red　rillet　as　it　flows　into　the　rustic　glass；　I　see　the　purple　light　upon　the　hills。　Fill　to　me　again；　thou　of　the　Roman　visage　and　all　but　Roman　speech！　Is　not　yonder　the　long　gleaming　of　the　Appian　Way？　Chant　in　the　old　measure；　the　song　imperishable

〃dum　Capitolium　Scandet　cum　tacita　virgine　pontifex……〃

aye；　and　for　how　many　an　age　when　Pontiff　and　Vestal　sleep　in　the　eternal　silence。　Let　the　slave　of　the　iron　gods　chatter　what　he　will；　for　him　flows　no　Falernian；　for　him　the　Muses　have　no　smile；　no　melody。　Ere　the　sun　set；　and　the　darkness　fall　about　us；　fill　again！

XXI

Is　there；　at　this　moment；　any　boy　of　twenty；　fairly　educated；　but　without　means；　without　help；　with　nothing　but　the　glow　in　his　brain　and　steadfast　courage　in　his　heart；　who　sits　in　a　London　garret；　and　writes　for　dear　life？　There　must　be；　I　suppose；　yet　all　that　I　have　read　and　heard　of　late　years　about　young　writers；　shows　them　in　a　very　different　aspect。