And the little Ambrose had understood not much of all this, and if he had been asked — even at fifteen — what it all meant, he would probably have said that it was a great issue between Norman mouldings and Mr. Horbury, an Armageddon of Selden Abbey versus5 rocker. Indeed, it is doubtful whether old Nicholas Meyrick would have been very much clearer, for he forgot everything that might be said on the other side. He forgot that Anglo–Saxonism (save in the United States of America) makes generally for equal laws; that civil riot (“Labour” movements, of course, excepted) is more a Celtic than a Saxon vice6; that the penalty of burning alive is unknown amongst Anglo–Saxons, unless the provocation7 be extreme; that Englishmen have substituted “Indentured Labour” for the old-world horrors of slavery; that English justice smites8 the guilty rich equally with the guilty poor; that men are no longer poisoned with swift and secret drugs, though somewhat unwholesome food may still be sold very occasionally. Indeed, the old Meyrick once told his rector that he considered a brothel a house of sanctity compared with a modern factory, and he was beginning to relate some interesting tales concerning the Three Gracious Courtesans of the Isle9 of Britain when the rector fled in horror — he came from Sydenham. And all this was a nice preparation for Lupton.
A wonderful joy, an ecstasy10 of bliss11, swelled12 in Ambrose’s heart as he assured himself that he was a witness, though a mean one, for the old faith, for the faith of secret and beautiful and hidden mysteries as opposed to the faith of rocker and sticker and mucker, and “the thought of the school as an inspiring motive13 in life”— the text on which the Head had preached the Sunday before. He bared his arms and kissed the purple swollen14 flesh and prayed that it might ever be so, that in body and mind and spirit he might ever be beaten and reviled15 and made ridiculous for the sacred things, that he might ever be on the side of the despised and the unsuccessful, that his life might ever be in the shadow — in the shadow of the mysteries.
He thought of the place in which he was, of the hideous16 school, the hideous town, the weary waves of the dun Midland scenery bounded by the dim, hopeless horizon; and his soul revisited the faery hills and woods and valleys of the West. He remembered how, long ago, his father had roused him early from sleep in the hush17 and wonder of a summer morning. The whole world was still and windless; all the magic odours of the night rose from the earth, and as they crossed the lawn the silence was broken by the enchanted18 song of a bird rising from a thorn tree by the gate. A high white vapour veiled the sky, and they only knew that the sun had risen by the brightening of this veil, by the silvering of the woods and the meadows and the water in the rejoicing brook19. They crossed the road, and crossed the brook in the field beneath, by the old foot-bridge tremulous with age, and began to climb the steep hillside that one could see from the windows, and, the ridge20 of the hill once surmounted21, the little boy found himself in an unknown land: he looked into deep, silent valleys, watered by trickling22 streams; he saw still woods in that dreamlike morning air; he saw winding23 paths that climbed into yet remoter regions. His father led him onward24 till they came to a lonely height — they had walked scarcely two miles, but to Ambrose it seemed a journey into another world — and showed him certain irregular markings in the turf.
And Nicholas Meyrick murmured:
“The cell of Iltyd is by the seashore,
The ninth wave washes its altar,
There is a fair shrine25 in the land of Morgan.
“The cell of Dewi is in the City of the Legions,
Nine altars owe obedience26 to it,
Sovereign is the choir27 that sings about it.
“The cell of Cybi is the treasure of Gwent,
Nine hills are its perpetual guardians28,
Nine songs befit the memory of the saint.”
“See,” he said, “there are the Nine Hills.” He pointed29 them out to the boy, telling him the tale of the saint and his holy bell, which they said had sailed across the sea from Syon and had entered the Severn, and had entered the Usk, and had entered the Soar, and had entered the Canthwr; and so one day the saint, as he walked beside the little brook that almost encompassed31 the hill in its winding course, saw the bell “that was made of metal that no man might comprehend,” floating under the alders32, and crying:
“Sant, sant, sant,
I sail from Syon
To Cybi Sant!”
“And so sweet was the sound of that bell,” Ambrose’s father went on, “that they said it was as the joy of angels ym Mharadwys, and that it must have come not from the earthly, but from the heavenly and glorious Syon.”
And there they stood in the white morning, on the uneven33 ground that marked the place where once the Saint rang to the sacrifice, where the quickening words were uttered after the order of the Old Mass of the Britons.
“And then came the Yellow Hag of Pestilence34, that destroyed the bodies of the Cymri; then the Red Hag of Rome, that caused their souls to stray; last is come the Black Hag of Geneva, that sends body and soul quick to hell. No honour have the saints any more.”
Then they turned home again, and all the way Ambrose thought he heard the bell as it sailed the great deeps from Syon, crying aloud: “Sant, Sant, Sant!” And the sound seemed to echo from the glassy water of the little brook, as it swirled35 and rippled36 over the shining stones circling round those lonely hills.
So they made strange pilgrimages over the beloved land, going farther and farther afield as the boy grew older. They visited deep wells in the heart of the woods, where a few broken stones, perhaps, were the last remains38 of the hermitage. “Ffynnon Ilar Bysgootwr — the well of Saint Ilar the Fisherman,” Nicholas Meyrick would explain, and then would follow the story of Ilar; how no man knew whence he came or who his parents were. He was found, a little child, on a stone in a river in Armorica, by King Alan, and rescued by him. And ever after they discovered on the stone in the river where the child had lain every day a great and shining fish lying, and on this fish Ilar was nourished. And so he came with a great company of the saints to Britain, and wandered over all the land.
“So at last Ilar Sant came to this wood, which people now call St. Hilary’s wood because they have forgotten all about Ilar. And he was weary with his wandering, and the day was very hot; so he stayed by this well and began to drink. And there on that great stone he saw the shining fish, and so he rested, and built an altar and a church of willow39 boughs40, and offered the sacrifice not only for the quick and the dead, but for all the wild beasts of the woods and the streams.
“And when this blessed Ilar rang his holy bell and began to offer, there came not only the Prince and his servants, but all the creatures of the wood. There, under the hazel boughs, you might see the hare, which flies so swiftly from men, come gently and fall down, weeping greatly on account of the Passion of the Son of Mary. And, beside the hare, the weasel and the pole-cat would lament41 grievously in the manner of penitent42 sinners; and wolves and lambs together adored the saint’s hierurgy; and men have beheld43 tears streaming from the eyes of venomous serpents when Ilar Agios uttered ‘Curiluson’ with a loud voice — since the serpent is not ignorant that by its wickedness sorrow came to the whole world. And when, in the time of the holy ministry44, it is necessary that frequent Alleluyas should be chanted and vociferated, the saint wondered what should be done, for as yet none in that place was skilled in the art of song. Then was a great miracle, since from all the boughs of the wood, from every bush and from every green tree, there resounded45 Alleluyas in enchanting46 and prolonged harmony; never did the Bishop47 of Rome listen to so sweet a singing in his church as was heard in this wood. For the nightingale and thrush and blackbird and blackcap, and all their companions, are gathered together and sing praises to the Lord, chanting distinct notes and yet concluding in a melody of most ravishing sweetness; such was the mass of the Fisherman. Nor was this all, for one day as the saint prayed beside the well he became aware that a bee circled round and round his head, uttering loud buzzing sounds, but not endeavouring to sting him. To be short; the bee went before Ilar, and led him to a hollow tree not far off, and straightway a swarm48 of bees issued forth49, leaving a vast store of wax behind them. This was their oblation50 to the Most High, for from their wax Ilar Sant made goodly candles to burn at the Offering; and from that time the bee is holy, because his wax makes light to shine upon the Gifts.”
This was part of the story that Ambrose’s father read to him; and they went again to see the Holy Well. He looked at the few broken and uneven stones that were left to distinguish it from common wells; and there in the deep green wood, in the summer afternoon, under the woven boughs, he seemed to hear the strange sound of the saint’s bell, to see the woodland creatures hurrying through the undergrowth that they might be present at the Offering. The weasel beat his little breast for his sins; the big tears fell down the gentle face of the hare; the adders51 wept in the dust; and all the chorus of the birds sang: “Alleluya, Alleluya, Alleluya!”
Once they drove a long way from the Wern, going towards the west, till they came to the Great Mountain, as the people called it. After they had turned from the high road they went down a narrow lane, and this led them with many windings52 to a lower ridge of the mountain, where the horse and trap were put up at a solitary53 tavern54. Then they began to toil55 upward on foot, crossing many glistening56 and rejoicing streams that rushed out cold from the limestone57 rock, mounting up and up, through the wet land where the rare orchis grew amongst the rushes, through hazel brakes, through fields that grew wilder as they still went higher, and the great wind came down from the high dome58 above them. They turned, and all the shining land was unrolled before them; the white houses were bright in the sunlight, and there, far away, was the yellow sea and the two islands, and the coasts beyond.
Nicholas Meyrick pointed out a tuft of trees on a hill a long way off and told his son that the Wern was hidden beyond it; and then they began to climb once more, till they came at last to the line where the fields and hedges ended, and above there was only the wild mountain land. And on this verge59 stood an old farmhouse60 with strong walls, set into the rock, sheltered a little from the winds by a line of twisted beeches62. The walls of the house were gleaming white, and by the porch there was a shrub63 covered with bright yellow flowers. Mr. Meyrick beat upon the oak door, painted black and studded with heavy nails. An old man, dressed like a farmer, opened it, and Ambrose noticed that his father spoke64 to him with something of reverence65 in his voice, as if he were some very great person. They sat down in a long room, but dimly lighted by the thick greenish glass in the quarried66 window, and presently the old farmer set a great jug67 of beer before them. They both drank heartily68 enough, and Mr. Meyrick said:
“Aren’t you about the last to brew69 your own beer, Mr. Cradock?”
“Iss; I be the last of all. They do all like the muck the brewer70 sends better than cwrw dda.”
“The whole world likes muck better than good drink, now.”
“You be right, Sir. Old days and old ways of our fathers, they be gone for ever. There was a blasted preacher down at the chapel71 a week or two ago, saying — so they do tell me — that they would all be damned to hell unless they took to ginger-beer directly. Iss indeed now; and I heard that he should say that a man could do a better day’s work on that rot-belly stuff than on good beer. Wass you ever hear of such a liarr as that?”
The old man was furious at the thought of these infamies73 and follies74; his esses hissed75 through his teeth and his r’s rolled out with fierce emphasis. Mr. Meyrick nodded his approval of this indignation.
“We have what we deserve,” he said. “False preachers, bad drink, the talk of fools all the day long — even on the mountain. What is it like, do you think, in London?”
There fell a silence in the long, dark room. They could hear the sound of the wind in the beech61 trees, and Ambrose saw how the boughs were tossed to and fro, and he thought of what it must be like in winter nights, here, high upon the Great Mountain, when the storms swept up from the sea, or descended76 from the wilds of the north; when the shafts78 of rain were like the onset79 of an army, and the winds screamed about the walls.
“May we see It?” said Mr. Meyrick suddenly.
“I did think you had come for that. There be very few now that remember.”
He went out, and returned carrying a bunch of keys. Then he opened a door in the room and warned “the young master” to take care of the steps. Ambrose, indeed, could scarcely see the way. His father led him down a short flight of uneven stone steps, and they were in a room which seemed at first quite dark, for the only light came from a narrow window high up in the wall, and across the glass there were heavy iron bars.
Cradock lit two tall candles of yellow wax that stood in brass80 candlesticks on a table; and, as the flame grew clear, Ambrose saw that he was opening a sort of aumbry constructed in the thickness of the wall. The door was a great slab81 of solid oak, three or four inches thick — as one could see when it was opened — and from the dark place within the farmer took an iron box and set it carefully upon the floor, Mr. Meyrick helping82 him. They were strong men, but they staggered under the weight of the chest; the iron seemed as thick as the door of the cupboard from which it was taken, and the heavy, antique lock yielded, with a grating scream, to the key. Inside it there was another box of some reddish metal, which, again, held a case of wood black with age; and from this, with reverent83 hands, the farmer drew out a veiled and splendid cup and set it on the table between the two candles. It was a bowl-like vessel84 of the most wonderful workmanship, standing85 on a short stem. All the hues86 of the world were mingled87 on it, all the jewels of the regions seemed to shine from it; and the stem and foot were encrusted with work in enamel88, of strange and magical colours that shone and dimmed with alternating radiance, that glowed with red fires and pale glories, with the blue of the far sky, the green of the faery seas, and the argent gleam of the evening star. But before Ambrose had gazed more than a moment he heard the old man say, in pure Welsh, not in broken English, in a resonant89 and chanting voice:
“Let us fall down and adore the marvellous and venerable work of the Lord God Almighty91.”
To which his father responded:
“Agyos, Agyos, Agyos. Mighty92 and glorious is the Lord God Almighty, in all His works and wonderful operations. Curiluson, Curiluson, Curiluson.”
They knelt down, Cradock in the midst, before the cup, and Ambrose and his father on either hand. The holy vessel gleamed before the boy’s eyes, and he saw clearly its wonder and its beauty. All its surface was a marvel90 of the most delicate intertwining lines in gold and silver, in copper93 and in bronze, in all manner of metals and alloys94; and these interlacing patterns in their brightness, in the strangeness of their imagery and ornament95, seemed to enthral his eyes and capture them, as it were, in a maze96 of enchantment97; and not only the eyes; for the very spirit was rapt and garnered98 into that far bright world whence the holy magic of the cup proceeded. Among the precious stones which were set into the wonder was a great crystal, shining with the pure light of the moon; about the rim37 of it there was the appearance of faint and feathery clouds, but in the centre it was a white splendour; and as Ambrose gazed he thought that from the heart of this jewel there streamed continually a shower of glittering stars, dazzling his eyes with their incessant99 motion and brightness. His body thrilled with a sudden ineffable100 rapture101, his breath came and went in quick pantings; bliss possessed102 him utterly103 as the three crowned forms passed in their golden order. Then the interwoven sorcery of the vessel became a ringing wood of golden, and bronze, and silver trees; from every side resounded the clear summons of the holy bells and the exultant104 song of the faery birds; he no longer heard the low-chanting voices of Cradock and his father as they replied to one another in the forms of some antique liturgy105. Then he stood by a wild seashore; it was a dark night, and there was a shrilling106 wind that sang about the peaks of the sharp rock, answering to the deep voices of the heaving sea. A white moon, of fourteen days old, appeared for a moment in the rift107 between two vast black clouds, and the shaft77 of light showed all the savage108 desolation of the shore — cliffs that rose up into mountains, into crenellated heights that were incredible, whose bases were scourged109 by the torrents110 of hissing111 foam112 that were driven against them from the hollow-sounding sea. Then, on the highest of those awful heights, Ambrose became aware of walls and spires113, of towers and battlements that must have touched the stars; and, in the midst of this great castle, there surged up the aspiring114 vault115 of a vast church, and all its windows were ablaze116 with a light so white and glorious that it was as if every pane117 were a diamond. And he heard the voices of a praising host, or the clamour of golden trumpets118 and the unceasing choir of the angels. And he knew that this place was the Sovereign Perpetual Choir, Cor-arbennic, into whose secret the deadly flesh may scarcely enter. But in the vision he lay breathless, on the floor before the gleaming wall of the sanctuary119, while the shadows of the hierurgy were enacted120; and it seemed to him that, for a moment of time, he saw in unendurable light the Mystery of Mysteries pass veiled before him, and the Image of the Slain121 and Risen.
For a brief while this dream was broken. He heard his father singing softly:
“Gogoniant y Tad ac y Mab ac yr Yspryd Glan.”
And the old man answered:
“Agya Trias eleeson ymas.”
Then again his spirit was lost in the bright depths of the crystal, and he saw the ships of the saints, without oar30 or sail, afloat on the faery sea, seeking the Glassy Isle. All the whole company of the Blessed Saints of the Isle of Britain sailed on the adventure; dawn and sunset, night and morning, their illuminated122 faces never wavered; and Ambrose thought that at last they saw bright shores in the dying light of a red sun, and there came to their nostrils123 the scent124 of the deep apple-garths in Avalon, and odours of Paradise.
When he finally returned to the presence of earthly things he was standing by his father; while Cradock reverently125 wrapped the cup in the gleaming veils which covered it, saying as he did so, in Welsh:
“Remain in peace, O holy and divine cup of the Lord. Henceforth I know not whether I shall return to thee or not; but may the Lord vouchsafe126 me to see thee in the Church of the Firstborn which is in Heaven, on the Altar of the Sacrifice which is from age unto ages.”
Ambrose went up the steps and out into the sunshine on the mountain side with the bewilderment of strange dreams, as a coloured mist, about him. He saw the old white walls, the yellow blossoms by the porch; above, the wild, high mountain wall; and, below, all the dear land of Gwent, happy in the summer air, all its woods and fields, its rolling hills and its salt verge, rich in a golden peace. Beside him the cold water swelled from the earth and trickled127 from the grey rock, and high in the air an exultant lark128 was singing. The mountain breeze was full of life and gladness, and the rustling129 and tossing of the woods, the glint and glimmer130 of the leaves beneath, made one think that the trees, with every creature, were merry on that day. And in that dark cell beneath many locks, beneath wood and iron, concealed131 in golden, glittering veils, lay hidden that glorious and awful cup, glass of wonderful vision, portal and entrance of the Spiritual Place.
His father explained to him something of that which he had seen. He told him that the vessel was the Holy Cup of Teilo sant, which he was said to have received from the Lord in the state of Paradise, and that when Teilo said Mass, using that Chalice132, the choir of angels was present visibly; that it was a cup of wonders and mysteries, the bestower of visions and heavenly graces.
“But whatever you do,” he said, “do not speak to anyone of what you have seen to-day, because if you do the mystery will be laughed at and blasphemed. Do you know that your uncle and aunt at Lupton would say that we were all mad together? That is because they are fools, and in these days most people are fools, and malignant133 fools too, as you will find out for yourself before you are much older. So always remember that you must hide the secrets that you have seen; and if you do not do so you will be sorry.”
Mr. Meyrick told his son why old Cradock was to be treated with respect — indeed, with reverence.
“He is just what he looks,” he said, “an old farmer with a small freehold up here on the mountain side; and, as you heard, his English is no better than that of any other farmer in this country. And, compared with Cradock, the Duke of Norfolk is a man of yesterday. He is of the tribe of Teilo the Saint; he is the last, in direct descent, of the hereditary134 keepers of the holy cup; and his race has guarded that blessed relic135 for thirteen hundred years. Remember, again, that to-day, on this mountain, you have seen great marvels136 which you must keep in silence.”
Poor Ambrose! He suffered afterwards for his forgetfulness of his father’s injunction. Soon after he went to Lupton one of the boys was astonishing his friends with a brilliant account of the Crown jewels, which he had viewed during the Christmas holidays. Everybody was deeply impressed, and young Meyrick, anxious to be agreeable in his turn, began to tell about the wonderful cup that he had once seen in an old farmhouse. Perhaps his manner was not convincing, for the boys shrieked137 with laughter over his description. A monitor who was passing asked to hear the joke, and, having been told the tale, clouted138 Ambrose over the head for an infernal young liar72. This was a good lesson, and it served Ambrose in good stead when one of the masters having, somehow or other, heard the story, congratulated him in the most approved scholastic139 manner before the whole form on his wonderful imaginative gifts.
“I see the budding novelist in you, Meyrick,” said this sly master. “Besant and Rice will be nowhere when you once begin. I suppose you are studying character just at present? Let us down gently, won’t you? [To the delighted form.] We must be careful, mustn’t we, how we behave? ‘A chiel’s amang us takin’ notes,’” etc. etc.
But Meyrick held his tongue. He did not tell his form master that he was a beast, a fool and a coward, since he had found out that the truth, like many precious things, must often be concealed from the profane140. A late vengeance141 overtook that foolish master. Long years after, he was dining at a popular London restaurant, and all through dinner he had delighted the ladies of his party by the artful mixture of brutal142 insolence143 and vulgar chaff144 with which he had treated one of the waiters, a humble-looking little Italian. The master was in the highest spirits at the success of his persiflage145; his voice rose louder and louder, and his offensiveness became almost supernaturally acute. And then he received a heavy earthen casserole, six quails146, a few small onions and a quantity of savoury but boiling juices full in the face. The waiter was a Neapolitan.
The hours of the night passed on, as Ambrose sat in his bedroom at the Old Grange, recalling many wonderful memories, dreaming his dreams of the mysteries, of the land of Gwent and the land of vision, just as his uncle, but a few yards away in another room of the house, was at the same time rapt into the world of imagination, seeing the new Lupton descending147 like a bride from the heaven of headmasters. But Ambrose thought of the Great Mountain, of the secret valleys, of the sanctuaries148 and hallows of the saints, of the rich carven work of lonely churches hidden amongst the hills and woods. There came into his mind the fragment of an old poem which he loved:
“In the darkness of old age let not my memory fail,
Let me not forget to celebrate the beloved land of Gwent.
If they imprison149 me in a deep place, in a house of pestilence,
Still shall I be free, when I remember the sunshine upon Mynydd Maen.
There have I listened to the singing of the lark, my soul has ascended150 with the song of the little bird;
The great white clouds were the ships of my spirit, sailing to the haven151 of the Almighty.
Equally to be held in honour is the site of the Great Mountain,
Adorned152 with the gushing153 of many waters —
Sweet is the shade of its hazel thickets154,
There a treasure is preserved, which I will not celebrate,
It is glorious, and deeply concealed.
If Teilo should return, if happiness were restored to the Cymri,
Dewi and Dyfrig should serve his Mass; then a great marvel would be made visible.
O blessed and miraculous155 work, then should my bliss be as the bliss of angels;
I had rather behold156 this Offering than kiss the twin lips of dark Gwenllian.
Dear my land of Gwent, O quam dilecta tabernacula!
Thy rivers are like precious golden streams of Paradise,
Thy hills are as the Mount Syon —
Better a grave on Twyn Barlwm than a throne in the palace of the Saxons at Caer–Ludd.”
And then, by the face of contrast, he thought of the first verse of the great school song, “Rocker,” one of the earliest of the many poems which his uncle had consecrated157 to the praise of the dear old school:
“Once on a time, in the books that bore me,
I read that in olden days before me
Lupton town had a wonderful game,
It was a game with a noble story
(Lupton town was then in its glory,
Kings and Bishops158 had brought it fame).
It was a game that you all must know,
And ‘rocker’ they called it, long ago.
Chorus.
“Look out for ‘brooks,’ or you’re sure to drown,
Look out for ‘quarries,’ or else you’re down —
That was the way
‘Rocker’ to play —
Once on a day
That was the way,
Once on a day,
That was the way that they used to play in Lupton town.”
Thinking of the two songs, he put out his light and, wearied, fell into a deep sleep.
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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smites
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isle
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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reviled
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hideous
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hush
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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surmounted
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trickling
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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24
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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25
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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26
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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27
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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28
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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29
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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30
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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31
encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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32
alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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33
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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34
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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35
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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37
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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38
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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39
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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40
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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41
lament
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|
| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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42
penitent
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|
| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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43
beheld
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|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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44
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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45
resounded
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|
| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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46
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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47
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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48
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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49
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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50
oblation
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| n.圣餐式；祭品 | |
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51
adders
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| n.加法器，（欧洲产）蝰蛇（小毒蛇），（北美产无毒的）猪鼻蛇( adder的名词复数 ) | |
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52
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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53
solitary
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|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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54
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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55
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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56
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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57
limestone
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|
| n.石灰石 | |
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58
dome
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|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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59
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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60
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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61
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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62
beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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63
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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64
spoke
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| 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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65
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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66
quarried
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| v.从采石场采得( quarry的过去式和过去分词 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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67
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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68
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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69
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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70
brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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71
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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72
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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73
infamies
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| n.声名狼藉( infamy的名词复数 )；臭名；丑恶；恶行 | |
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74
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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75
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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76
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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77
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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78
shafts
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|
| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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79
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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80
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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81
slab
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|
| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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82
helping
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|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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83
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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84
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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85
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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86
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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87
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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88
enamel
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|
| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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89
resonant
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|
| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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90
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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91
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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92
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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93
copper
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|
| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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94
alloys
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| n.合金( alloy的名词复数 ) | |
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95
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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96
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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97
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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98
garnered
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| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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100
ineffable
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|
| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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101
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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102
possessed
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|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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103
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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104
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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105
liturgy
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| n.礼拜仪式 | |
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106
shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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107
rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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108
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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109
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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110
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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111
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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112
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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113
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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114
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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115
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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116
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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117
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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118
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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119
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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120
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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122
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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123
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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124
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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125
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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126
vouchsafe
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| v.惠予，准许 | |
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127
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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128
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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129
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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130
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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131
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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132
chalice
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| n.圣餐杯；金杯毒酒 | |
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133
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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134
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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135
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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136
marvels
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|
| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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137
shrieked
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|
| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
clouted
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|
| adj.缀补的，凝固的v.（尤指用手）猛击，重打( clout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
scholastic
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|
| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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140
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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141
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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142
brutal
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|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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143
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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144
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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145
persiflage
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| n.戏弄；挖苦 | |
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146
quails
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| 鹌鹑( quail的名词复数 )； 鹌鹑肉 | |
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147
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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148
sanctuaries
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| n.避难所( sanctuary的名词复数 )；庇护；圣所；庇护所 | |
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149
imprison
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| vt.监禁，关押，限制，束缚 | |
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150
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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152
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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153
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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154
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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155
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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156
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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157
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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158
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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