SOPHOCLES- Antig.
UNA. “Born again?”
MONOS. Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, “born again.” These were the words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting the explanations of the priesthood, until Death itself resolved for me the secret.
UNA. Death!
MONOS. How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my words! I observe, too, a vacillation1 in your step, a joyous2 inquietude in your eyes. You are confused and oppressed by the majestic3 novelty of the Life Eternal. Yes, it was of Death I spoke4. And here how singularly sounds that word which of old was wont5 to bring terror to all hearts, throwing a mildew6 upon all pleasures!
UNA. Ah, Death, the spectre which sate7 at all feasts! How often, Monos, did we lose ourselves in speculations8 upon its nature! How mysteriously did it act as a check to human bliss9, saying unto it “thus far and no further!” That earnest mutual10 love, my own Monos, which burned within our bosoms12 — how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling happy in its first upspringing, that our happiness would strengthen with its strength! Alas13! as it grew, so grew in our hearts the dread14 of that evil hour which was hurrying to separate us forever! Thus, in time, it became painful to love. Hate would have been mercy then.
MONOS. Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una — mine, mine, forever now!
UNA. But the memory of past sorrow — is it not present joy? I have much to say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I burn to know the incidents of your own passage through the dark Valley and Shadow.
MONOS. And when did the radiant Una ask any thing of her Monos in vain? I will be minute in relating all — but at what point shall the weird15 narrative16 begin?
UNA. At what point?
MONOS. You have said.
UNA. Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the propensity17 of man to define the indefinable. I will not say, then, commence with the moment of life’s cessation — but commence with that sad, sad instant when, the fever having abandoned you, you sank into a breathless and motionless torpor18, and I pressed down your pallid19 eyelids20 with the passionate21 fingers of love.
MONOS. One word first, my Una, in regard to man’s general condition at this epoch22. You will remember that one or two of the wise among our forefathers23 — wise in fact, although not in the world’s esteem24 — had ventured to doubt the propriety25 of the term “improvement,” as applied26 to the progress of our civilization. There were periods in each of the five or six centuries immediately preceding our dissolution, when arose some vigorous intellect, boldly contending for those principles whose truth appears now, to our disenfranchised reason, so utterly27 obvious — principles which should have taught our race to submit to the guidance of the natural laws, rather than attempt their control. At long intervals28 some master-minds appeared, looking upon each advance in practical science as a retro-gradation in the true utility. Occasionally the poetic29 intellect — that intellect which we now feel to have been the most exalted30 of all — since those truths which to us were of the most enduring importance could only be reached by that analogy which speaks in proof-tones to the imagination alone, and to the unaided reason bears no weight — occasionally did this poetic intellect proceed a step farther in the evolving of the vague idea of the philosophic31, and find in the mystic parable32 that tells of the tree of knowledge, and of its forbidden fruit, death-producing, a distinct intimation that knowledge was not meet for man in the infant condition of his soul. And these men, the poets, living and perishing amid the scorn of the “utilitarians” — or rough pedants33, who arrogated34 to themselves a title which could have been properly applied only to the scorned — these men, the poets, ponder piningly, yet not unwisely, upon the ancient days when our wants were not more simple than our enjoyments35 were keen — days when mirth was a word unknown, so solemnly deep-toned was happiness — holy, august and blissful days, when blue rivers ran undammed, between hills unhewn, into far forest solitudes36, primeval, odorous, and unexplored.
Yet these noble exceptions from the general misrule served but to strengthen it by opposition37. Alas! we had fallen upon the most evil of all our evil days. The great “movement” — that was the cant38 term — went on: a diseased commotion39, moral and physical. Art — the Arts — arose supreme40, and, once enthroned, cast chains upon the intellect which had elevated them to power. Man, because he could not but acknowledge the majesty41 of Nature, fell into childish exultation42 at his acquired and still increasing dominion43 over her elements. Even while he stalked a God in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came over him. As might be supposed from the origin of his disorder44, he grew infected with system, and with abstraction. He enwrapped himself in generalities. Among other odd ideas, that of universal equality gained ground; and in the face of analogy and of God — in despite of the loud warning voice of the laws of gradation so visibly pervading45 all things in Earth and Heaven — wild attempts at an omni-prevalent Democracy were made. Yet this evil sprang necessarily from the leading evil — Knowledge. Man could not both know and succumb46. Meantime huge smoking cities arose, innumerable. Green leaves shrank before the hot breath of furnaces. The fair face of Nature was deformed47 as with the ravages48 of some loathsome49 disease. And methinks, sweet Una, even our slumbering50 sense of the forced and of the farfetched might have arrested us here. But now it appears that we had worked out our own destruction in the perversion51 of our taste, or rather in the blind neglect of its culture in the schools. For, in truth, it was at this crisis that taste alone — that faculty52 which, holding a middle position between the pure intellect and the moral sense, could never safely have been disregarded — it was now that taste alone could have led us gently back to Beauty, to Nature, and to Life. But alas for the pure contemplative spirit and majestic intuition of Plato! Alas for the mousika which he justly regarded as an all sufficient education for the soul! Alas for him and for it! — since both were most desperately53 needed when both were most entirely54 forgotten or despised.2
2 It will be hard to discover a better [method of education] than that which the experience of so many ages has already discovered; and this may be summed up as consisting in gymnastics for the body and music for the soul.” — Repub. lib. 2. “For this reason is a musical education most essential; since it causes Rhythm and Harmony to penetrate55 most intimately into the soul, taking the strangest hold upon it, filling it with beauty and making the man beautiful-minded . . . He will praise and admire the beautiful; will receive it with joy into his soul, will feed upon it, and assimilate his own condition with it.” Ibid. lib. 3. Music mousika had, among the Athenians, a far more comprehensive signification than with us. It included not only the harmonies of time and of tune57, but the poetic diction, sentiment and creation each in its widest sense. The study of music was with them in fact, the general cultivation58 of the taste — of that which recognizes the beautiful — in contra-distinction from reason, which deals only with the true.
Pascal, a philosopher whom we both love, has said, how truly! — “que tout59 notre raisonnement se reduit a ceder au sentiment,” and it is not impossible that the sentiment of the natural, had time permitted it, would have regained60 its old ascendancy61 over the harsh mathematical reason of the schools. But this thing was not to be. Prematurely62 induced by intemperance63 of knowledge, the old age of the world drew on. This the mass of mankind saw not, or, living lustily although unhappily, affected64 not to see. But, for myself, the Earth’s records had taught me to look for widest ruin as the price of highest civilization. I had imbibed65 a prescience of our Fate from comparison of China the simple and enduring, with Assyria the architect, with Egypt the astrologer, with Nubia, more crafty66 than either, the turbulent mother of all Arts. In history3 of these regions I met with a ray from the Future. The individual artificialities of the three latter were local diseases of the Earth, and in their individual overthrows68 we had seen local remedies applied; but for the infected world at large I could anticipate no regeneration save in death. That man, as a race, should not become extinct, I saw that he must be “born again.”
3 “History,” from istorein, to contemplate69.
And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we wrapped our spirits, daily, in dreams, Now it was that, in twilight70, we discoursed71 of the days to come, when the Art-scarred surface of the Earth, having undergone that purification4 which alone could efface72 its rectangular obscenities, should clothe itself anew in the verdure and the mountain-slopes and the smiling waters of Paradise, and be rendered at length a fit dwelling-place for man:— for man the Death-purged — for man to whose now exalted intellect there should be poison in knowledge no more — for the redeemed73, regenerated74, blissful, and now immortal75, but still for the material, man.
4 The word “purification” seems here to be used with reference to its root in the Greek, pur, fire.
UNA. Well do I remember these conversations, dear Monos; but the epoch of the fiery76 overthrow67 was not so near at hand as we believed, and as the corruption77 you indicate did surely warrant us in believing. Men lived; and died individually. You yourself sickened, and passed into the grave; and thither78 your constant Una speedily followed you. And though the century which has since elapsed, and whose conclusion brings us thus together once more, tortured our slumbering senses with no impatience79 of duration, yet, my Monos, it was a century still.
MONOS. Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity80. Unquestionably, it was in the Earth’s dotage81 that I died. Wearied at heart with anxieties which had their origin in the general turmoil82 and decay, I succumbed83 to the fierce fever. After some few days of pain, and many of dreamy delirium84 replete85 with ecstasy86, the manifestations87 of which you mistook for pain, while I longed but was impotent to undeceive you — after some days there came upon me, as you have said, a breathless and motionless torpor; and this was termed Death by those who stood around me.
Words are vague things. My condition did not deprive me of sentience88. It appeared to me not greatly dissimilar to the extreme quiescence89 of him, who, having slumbered90 long and profoundly, lying motionless and fully91 prostrate92 in a midsummer noon, begins to steal slowly back into consciousness, through the mere93 sufficiency of his sleep, and without being awakened94 by external disturbances95.
I breathed no longer. The pulses were still. The heart had ceased to beat. Volition96 had not departed, but was powerless. The senses were unusually active, although eccentrically so — assuming often each other’s functions at random97. The taste and the smell were inextricably confounded, and became one sentiment, abnormal and intense. The rosewater with which your tenderness had moistened my lips to the last, affected me with sweet fancies of flowers — fantastic flowers, far more lovely than any of the old Earth, but whose prototypes we have here blooming around us. The eyelids, transparent98 and bloodless, offered no complete impediment to vision. As volition was in abeyance99 the balls could not roll in their sockets100 — but all objects within the range of the visual hemisphere were seen with more or less distinctness; the rays which fell upon the external retina, or into the corner of the eye, producing a more vivid effect than those which struck the front or anterior101 surface. Yet, in the former instance, this effect was so far anomalous102 that I appreciated it only as sound — sound sweet or discordant103 as the matters presenting themselves at my side were light or dark in shade — curved or angular in outline. The hearing at the same time, although excited in degree, was not irregular in action — estimating real sounds with an extravagance of precision, not less than of sensibility. Touch had undergone a modification104 more peculiar105. Its impressions were tardily106 received, but pertinaciously107 retained, and resulted always in the highest physical pleasure. Thus the pressure of your sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at first only recognized through vision, at length, long after their removal, filled my whole being with a sensual delight immeasurable. I say with a sensual delight. All my perceptions were purely108 sensual. The materials furnished the passive brain by the senses were not in the least degree wrought109 into shape by the deceased understanding. Of pain there was some little; of pleasure there was much; but of moral pain or pleasure none at all. Thus your wild sobs110 floated into my ears with all their mournful cadences111, and were appreciated in their every variation of sad tone; but they were soft musical sounds and no more; they conveyed to the extinct reason no intimation of the sorrows which gave them birth; while the large and constant tears which fell upon my face, telling the bystanders of a heart which broke, thrilled every fibre of my frame with ecstasy alone. And this was in truth the Death of which these bystanders spoke reverently112, in low whispers — you, sweet Una, gaspingly, with loud cries.
They attired113 me for the coffin114 — three or four dark figures which flitted busily to and fro. As these crossed the direct line of my vision they affected me as forms; but upon passing to my side their images impressed me with the idea of shrieks115, groans116, and other dismal117 expressions of terror, of horror, or of wo. You alone, habited in a white robe, passed in all directions musically about me.
The day waned118; and, as its light faded away, I became possessed119 by a vague uneasiness — an anxiety such as the sleeper120 feels when sad real sounds fall continuously within his ear — low distant bell tones, solemn, at long but equal intervals, and commingling121 with melancholy123 dreams. Night arrived; and with its shadows a heavy discomfort124. It oppressed my limbs with the oppression of some dull weight, and was palpable. There was also a moaning sound, not unlike the distant reverberation125 of surf, but more continuous, which beginning with the first twilight, had grown in strength with the darkness. Suddenly lights were brought into the room, and this reverberation became forthwith interrupted into frequent unequal bursts of the same sound, but less dreary127 and less distinct. The ponderous128 oppression was in a great measure relieved; and, issuing from the flame of each lamp, (for there were many,) there flowed unbrokenly into my ears a strain of melodious129 monotone. And when now, dear Una, approaching the bed upon which I lay outstretched, you sat gently by my side, breathing odor from your sweet lips, and pressing them upon my brow, there arose tremulously within my bosom11, and mingling122 with the merely physical sensations which circumstances had called forth126, a something akin56 to sentiment itself — a feeling that, half appreciating, half responded to your earnest love and sorrow, — but this feeling took no root in the pulseless heart, and seemed indeed rather a shadow than a reality, and faded quickly away, first into extreme quiescence, and then into a purely sensual pleasure as before.
And now, from the wreck130 and the chaos131 of the usual senses, there appeared to have arisen within me a sixth, all perfect. In its exercise I found a wild delight yet a delight still physical, inasmuch as the understanding had in it no part. Motion in the animal frame had fully ceased. No muscle quivered; no nerve thrilled; no artery132 throbbed133. But there seemed to have sprung up in the brain, that of which no words could convey to the merely human intelligence even an indistinct conception. Let me term it a mental pendulous134 pulsation135. It was the moral embodiment of man’s abstract idea of Time. By the absolute equalization of this movement — or of such as this — had the cycles of the firmamental136 orbs137 themselves, been adjusted. By its aid I measured the irregularities of the clock upon the mantel, and of the watches of the attendants. Their tickings came sonorously138 to my ears. The slightest deviation139 from the true proportion — and these deviations140 were omni-prevalent — affected me just as violations141 of abstract truth were wont, on earth, to affect the moral sense. Although no two of the time-pieces in the chamber142 struck individual seconds accurately143 together, yet I had no difficulty in holding steadily144 in mind the tones, and the respective momentary145 errors of each. And this — this keen, perfect, self-existing sentiment of duration — this sentiment existing (as man could not possibly have conceived it to exist) independently of any succession of events — this idea — this sixth sense, upspringing from the ashes of the rest, was the first obvious and certain step of the intemporal soul upon the threshold of the temporal Eternity146.
It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. All others had departed from the chamber of Death. They had deposited me in the coffin. The lamps burned flickeringly; for this I knew by the tremulousness of the monotonous147 strains. But, suddenly these strains diminished in distinctness and in volume. Finally they ceased. The perfume in my nostrils148 died away. Forms affected my vision no longer. The oppression of the Darkness uplifted itself from my bosom. A dull shock like that of electricity pervaded149 my frame, and was followed by total loss of the idea of contact. All of what man has termed sense was merged150 in the sole consciousness of entity151, and in the one abiding152 sentiment of duration. The mortal body had been at length stricken with the hand of the deadly Decay.
Yet had not all of sentience departed; for the consciousness and the sentiment remaining supplied some of its functions by a lethargic153 intuition. I appreciated the direful change now in operation upon the flesh, and, as the dreamer is sometimes aware of the bodily presence of one who leans over him, so, sweet Una, I still dully felt that you sat by my side. So, too, when the noon of the second day came, I was not unconscious of those movements which displaced you from my side, which confined me within the coffin, which deposited me within the hearse, which bore me to the grave, which lowered me within it, which heaped heavily the mould upon me, and which thus left me, in blackness and corruption, to my sad and solemn slumbers154 with the worm.
And here, in the prison-house which has few secrets to disclose, they rolled away days and weeks and months; and the soul watched narrowly each second as it flew, and, without effort, took record of its flight — without effort and without object.
A year passed. The consciousness of being had grown hourly more indistinct, and that of mere locality had, in great measure, usurped155 its position. The idea of entity was becoming merged in that of place. The narrow space immediately surrounding what had been the body, was now growing to be the body itself. At length, as often happens to the sleeper (by sleep and its world alone is Death imaged) — at length, as sometimes happened on Earth to the deep slumberer156, when some flitting light half startled him into awaking, yet left him half enveloped157 in dreams — so to me, in the strict embrace of the Shadow, came that light which alone might have had power to startle — the light of enduring Love. Men toiled158 at the grave in which I lay darkling. They upthrew the damp earth. Upon my mouldering159 bones there descended160 the coffin of Una.
And now again all was void. That nebulous light had been extinguished. That feeble thrill had vibrated itself into quiescence. Many lustra had supervened. Dust had returned to dust. The worm had food no more. The sense of being at length utterly departed, and there reigned161 in its stead — instead of all things — dominant162 and perpetual — the autocrats163 Place and Time. For that which was not — for that which had no form — for that which had no thought — for that which had no sentience — for that which was soulless, yet of which matter formed no portion — for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality164, the grave was still a home, and the corrosive165 hours, co-mates.
点击收听单词发音
1 vacillation | |
n.动摇;忧柔寡断 | |
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2 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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3 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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4 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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5 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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6 mildew | |
n.发霉;v.(使)发霉 | |
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7 sate | |
v.使充分满足 | |
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8 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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9 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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10 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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11 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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12 bosoms | |
胸部( bosom的名词复数 ); 胸怀; 女衣胸部(或胸襟); 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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13 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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14 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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15 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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16 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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17 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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18 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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19 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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20 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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21 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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22 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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23 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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24 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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25 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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26 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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27 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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28 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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29 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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30 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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31 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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32 parable | |
n.寓言,比喻 | |
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33 pedants | |
n.卖弄学问的人,学究,书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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34 arrogated | |
v.冒称,妄取( arrogate的过去式和过去分词 );没来由地把…归属(于) | |
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35 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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36 solitudes | |
n.独居( solitude的名词复数 );孤独;荒僻的地方;人迹罕至的地方 | |
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37 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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38 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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39 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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40 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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41 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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42 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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43 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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44 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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45 pervading | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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46 succumb | |
v.屈服,屈从;死 | |
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47 deformed | |
adj.畸形的;变形的;丑的,破相了的 | |
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48 ravages | |
劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
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49 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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50 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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51 perversion | |
n.曲解;堕落;反常 | |
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52 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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53 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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54 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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55 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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56 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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57 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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58 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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59 tout | |
v.推销,招徕;兜售;吹捧,劝诱 | |
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60 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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61 ascendancy | |
n.统治权,支配力量 | |
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62 prematurely | |
adv.过早地,贸然地 | |
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63 intemperance | |
n.放纵 | |
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64 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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65 imbibed | |
v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 );喝;吸取;吸气 | |
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66 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
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67 overthrow | |
v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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68 overthrows | |
n.推翻,终止,结束( overthrow的名词复数 )v.打倒,推翻( overthrow的第三人称单数 );使终止 | |
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69 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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70 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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71 discoursed | |
演说(discourse的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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72 efface | |
v.擦掉,抹去 | |
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73 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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74 regenerated | |
v.新生,再生( regenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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76 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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77 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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78 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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79 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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80 infinity | |
n.无限,无穷,大量 | |
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81 dotage | |
n.年老体衰;年老昏聩 | |
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82 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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83 succumbed | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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84 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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85 replete | |
adj.饱满的,塞满的;n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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86 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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87 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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88 sentience | |
n.感觉性;感觉能力;知觉 | |
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89 quiescence | |
n.静止 | |
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90 slumbered | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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91 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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92 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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93 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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94 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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95 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
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96 volition | |
n.意志;决意 | |
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97 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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98 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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99 abeyance | |
n.搁置,缓办,中止,产权未定 | |
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100 sockets | |
n.套接字,使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 );孔( socket的名词复数 );(电器上的)插口;托座;凹穴 | |
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101 anterior | |
adj.较早的;在前的 | |
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102 anomalous | |
adj.反常的;不规则的 | |
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103 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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104 modification | |
n.修改,改进,缓和,减轻 | |
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105 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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106 tardily | |
adv.缓慢 | |
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107 pertinaciously | |
adv.坚持地;固执地;坚决地;执拗地 | |
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108 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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109 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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110 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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111 cadences | |
n.(声音的)抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 );节奏;韵律;调子 | |
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112 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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113 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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115 shrieks | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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117 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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118 waned | |
v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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119 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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120 sleeper | |
n.睡眠者,卧车,卧铺 | |
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121 commingling | |
v.混合,掺和,合并( commingle的现在分词 ) | |
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122 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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123 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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124 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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125 reverberation | |
反响; 回响; 反射; 反射物 | |
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126 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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127 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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128 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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129 melodious | |
adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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130 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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131 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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132 artery | |
n.干线,要道;动脉 | |
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133 throbbed | |
抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 ); (心脏、脉搏等)跳动 | |
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134 pendulous | |
adj.下垂的;摆动的 | |
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135 pulsation | |
n.脉搏,悸动,脉动;搏动性 | |
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136 firmamental | |
adj.天空的,苍天的 | |
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137 orbs | |
abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球,天体,圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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138 sonorously | |
adv.圆润低沉地;感人地;堂皇地;朗朗地 | |
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139 deviation | |
n.背离,偏离;偏差,偏向;离题 | |
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140 deviations | |
背离,偏离( deviation的名词复数 ); 离经叛道的行为 | |
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141 violations | |
违反( violation的名词复数 ); 冒犯; 违反(行为、事例); 强奸 | |
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142 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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143 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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144 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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145 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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146 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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147 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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148 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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149 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150 merged | |
(使)混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 ); 相融; 融入; 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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151 entity | |
n.实体,独立存在体,实际存在物 | |
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152 abiding | |
adj.永久的,持久的,不变的 | |
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153 lethargic | |
adj.昏睡的,懒洋洋的 | |
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154 slumbers | |
睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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155 usurped | |
篡夺,霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 ); 盗用; 篡夺,篡权 | |
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156 slumberer | |
睡眠者,微睡者 | |
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157 enveloped | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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159 mouldering | |
v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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160 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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161 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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162 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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163 autocrats | |
n.独裁统治者( autocrat的名词复数 );独断专行的人 | |
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164 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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165 corrosive | |
adj.腐蚀性的;有害的;恶毒的 | |
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