第11部分(第5/7 頁)

remes。　I　must　either　defend　another　to　the　last

drop　of　my　blood　or　condemn　him　past　all　repenting。　I　mit　murder；

sleeping；　to　save　the　lives　of　others。　I　ascribe　to　those　I　love　best

acts　and　words　which　it　mortifies　me　to　remember；　and　I　cast　reproach

after　reproach　upon　them。　It　is　fortunate　for　our　peace　of　mind　that

most　wicked　dreams　are　soon　forgotten。　Death；　sudden　and　awful；　strange

loves　and　hates　remorselessly　pursued；　cunningly　plotted　revenge；　are

seldom　more　than　dim　haunting　recollections　in　the　morning；　and　during

the　day　they　are　erased　by　the　normal　activities　of　the　mind。　Sometimes

immediately　on　waking；　I　am　so　vexed　at　the　memory　of　a　dream…fracas；　I

wish　I　may　dream　no　more。　With　this　wish　distinctly　before　me　I　drop　off

again　into　a　new　turmoil　of　dreams。

Oh；　dreams；　what　opprobrium　I　heap　upon　you……you；　the　most　pointless

things　imaginable；　saucy　apes；　brewers　of　odious　contrasts；　haunting

birds　of　ill　omen；　mocking　echoes；　unseasonable　reminders；

oft…returning　vexations；　skeletons　in　my　morris…chair；　jesters　in　the

tomb；　death's…heads　at　the　wedding　feast；　outlaws　of　the　brain　that

every　night　defy　the　mind's　police　service；　thieves　of　my　Hesperidean

apples；　breakers　of　my　domestic　peace；　murderers　of　sleep。　〃Oh；　dreadful

dreams　that　do　fright　my　spirit　from　her　propriety！〃　No　wonder　that

Hamlet　preferred　the　ills　he　knew　rather　than　run　the　risk　of　one

dream…vision。

Yet　remove　the　dream…world；　and　the　loss　is　inconceivable。　The　magic

spell　which　binds　poetry　together　is　broken。　The　splendour　of　art　and

the　soaring　might　of　imagination　are　lessened　because　no　phantom　of

fad