It was one of those moments of amiable13 weakness which make us all akin14, when sublime15 ambition, the mystical predispositions of genius, the solemn sense of duty, all the heaped-up lore16 of ages, and the dogmas of a high philosophy alike desert us, or sink into nothingness. The voice of his mother sounded in his ear, and he was haunted by his father’s anxious glance. Why was he there? Why was he, the child of a northern isle17, in the heart of the Stony18 Arabia, far from the scene of his birth and of his duties? A disheartening, an awful question, which, if it could not be satisfactorily answered by Tancred of Montacute, it seemed to him that his future, wherever or however passed, must be one of intolerable bale.
Was he, then, a stranger there? uncalled, unexpected, intrusive19, unwelcome? Was it a morbid20 curiosity, or the proverbial restlessness of a satiated aristocrat21, that had drawn22 him to these wilds? What wilds? Had he no connection with them? Had he not from his infancy23 repeated, in the congregation of his people, the laws which, from the awful summit of these surrounding mountains, the Father of all had Himself delivered for the government of mankind? These Arabian laws regulated his life. And the wanderings of an Arabian tribe in this ‘great and terrible wilderness24,’ under the immediate25 direction of the Creator, sanctified by His miracles, governed by His counsels, illumined by His presence, had been the first and guiding history that had been entrusted26 to his young intelligence, from which it had drawn its first pregnant examples of human conduct and divine interposition, and formed its first dim conceptions of the relations between man and God. Why, then, he had a right to be here! He had a connection with these regions; they had a hold upon him. He was not here like an Indian Brahmin, who visits Europe from a principle of curiosity, however rational or however refined. The land which the Hindoo visits is not his land, nor his father’s land; the laws which regulate it are not his laws, and the faith which fills its temples is not the revelation that floats upon his sacred Ganges. But for this English youth, words had been uttered and things done, more than thirty centuries ago, in this stony wilderness, which influenced his opinions and regulated his conduct every day of his life, in that distant and seagirt home, which, at the time of their occurrence, was not as advanced in civilisation27 as the Polynesian groups or the islands of New Zealand. The life and property of England are protected by the laws of Sinai. The hard-working people of England are secured in every seven days a day of rest by the laws of Sinai. And yet they persecute28 the Jews, and hold up to odium the race to whom they are indebted for the sublime legislation which alleviates29 the inevitable30 lot of the labouring multitude!
And when that labouring multitude cease for a while from a toil31 which equals almost Egyptian bondage32, and demands that exponent33 of the mysteries of the heart, that soother34 of the troubled spirit, which poetry can alone afford, to whose harp35 do the people of England fly for sympathy and solace36? Who is the most popular poet in this country? Is he to be found among the Mr. Wordsworths and the Lord Byrons, amid sauntering reveries or monologues37 of sublime satiety38? Shall we seek him among the wits of Queen Anne? Even to the myriad-minded Shakespeare can we award the palm? No; the most popular poet in England is the sweet singer of Israel. Since the days of the heritage, when every man dwelt safely under his vine and under his fig39 tree, there never was a race who sang so often the odes of David as the people of Great Britain.
Vast as the obligations of the whole human family are to the Hebrew race, there is no portion of the modern population so much indebted to them as the British people. It was ‘the sword of the Lord and of Gideon’ that won the boasted liberties of England; chanting the same canticles that cheered the heart of Judah amid their glens, the Scotch40, upon their hillsides, achieved their religious freedom.
Then why do these Saxon and Celtic societies persecute an Arabian race, from whom they have adopted laws of sublime benevolence41, and in the pages of whose literature they have found perpetual delight, instruction, and consolation42? That is a great question, which, in an enlightened age, may be fairly asked, but to which even the self-complacent nineteenth century would find some difficulty in contributing a reply. Does it stand thus? Independently of their admirable laws which have elevated our condition, and of their exquisite43 poetry which has charmed it; independently of their heroic history which has animated44 us to the pursuit of public liberty, we are indebted to the Hebrew people for our knowledge of the true God and for the redemption from our sins.
‘Then I have a right to be here,’ said Tancred of Montacute, as his eyes were fixed45 in abstraction on the stars of Arabia; ‘I am not a travelling dilettante46, mourning over a ruin, or in ecstasies47 at a deciphered inscription48. I come to the land whose laws I obey, whose religion I profess49, and I seek, upon its sacred soil, those sanctions which for ages were abundantly accorded. The angels who visited the Patriarchs, and announced the advent50 of the Judges, who guided the pens of Prophets and bore tidings to the Apostles, spoke51 also to the Shepherds in the field. I look upon the host of heaven; do they no longer stand before the Lord? Where are the Cherubim, where the Seraphs? Where is Michael the Destroyer? Gabriel of a thousand missions?’
At this moment, the sound of horsemen recalled Tancred from his reverie, and, looking up, he observed a group of Arabs approaching him, three of whom were mounted. Soon he recognised the great Sheikh Amalek, and Hassan, the late commander of his escort. The young Syrian Emir was their companion. This was a visit of hospitable52 ceremony from the great Sheikh to his distinguished53 prisoner. Amalek, pressing his hand to his heart, gave Tancred the salute54 of peace, and then, followed by Hassan, who had lost nothing of his calm self-respect, but who conducted himself as if he were still free, the great Sheikh seated himself on the carpet that was spread before the tent, and took the pipe, which was immediately offered him by Freeman and Trueman, following the instructions of an attendant of the Emir Fakredeen.
After the usual compliments and some customary observations about horses and pistols, Fakredeen, who had seated himself close to Tancred, with a kind of shrinking cajolery, as if he were seeking the protection of some superior being, addressing Amalek in a tone of easy assurance, which remarkably55 contrasted with the sentimental56 deference57 he displayed towards his prisoner, said:
‘Sheikh of Sheikhs, there is but one God: now is it Allah, or Jehovah?’
‘The palm tree is sometimes called a date tree,’ replied Amalek, ‘but there is only one tree.’
‘Good,’ said Fakredeen, ‘but you do not pray to Allah?’
‘I pray as my fathers prayed,’ said Amalek.
‘And you pray to Jehovah?’
‘It is said.’
‘Sheikh Hassan,’ said the Emir, ‘there is but one God, and his name is Jehovah. Why do you not pray to Jehovah?’
‘Truly there is but one God,’ said Sheikh Hassan, ‘and Mahomet is his Prophet. He told my fathers to pray to Allah, and to Allah I pray.’
‘Is Mahomet the prophet of God, Sheikh of Sheikhs?’
‘It may be,’ replied Amalek, with a nod of assent58.
‘Then why do you not pray as Sheikh Hassan?’
‘Because Moses, without doubt the prophet of God — for all believe in him, Sheikh Hassan, and Emir Fakredeen, and you too, Prince, brother of queens — married into our family and taught us to pray to Jehovah. There may be other prophets, but the children of Jethro would indeed ride on asses59 were they not content with Moses.’
‘And you have his five books?’ inquired Tancred.
‘We had them from the beginning, and we shall keep them to the end.’
‘And you learnt in them that Moses married the daughter of Jethro?’
‘Did I learn in them that I have wells and camels? We want no books to tell us who married our daughters.’
‘And yet it is not yesterday that Moses fled from Egypt into Midian?’
‘It is not yesterday for those who live in cities, where they say at one gate that it is morning, and at another it is night. Where men tell lies, the deed of the dawn is the secret of sunset. But in the desert nothing changes; neither the acts of a man’s life, nor the words of a man’s lips. We drink at the same well where Moses helped Zipporah, we tend the same flocks, we live under the same tents; our words have changed as little as our waters, our habits, or our dwellings60. What my father learnt from those before him, he delivered to me, and I have told it to my son. What is time and what is truth, that I should forget that a prophet of Jehovah married into my house?’
‘Where little is done, little is said,’ observed Sheikh Hassan, ‘and silence is the mother of truth.
Since the Hegira61, nothing has happened in Arabia, and before that was Moses, and before him the giants.’
‘Let truth always be spoken,’ said Amalek; ‘your words are a flowing stream, and the children of Rechab and the tribes of the Senites never joined him of Mecca, for they had the five books, and they said, “Is not that enough?” They withdrew to the Syrian wilderness, and they multiplied. But the sons of Koreidha, who also had the five books, but who were not children of Rechab, but who came into the desert near Medina after Nebuchadnezzar had destroyed El Khuds, they first joined him of Mecca, and then they made war on him, and he broke their bows and led them into captivity; and they are to be found in the cities of Yemen to this day; the children of Israel who live in the cities of Yemen are the tribe of Koreidha.’
‘Unhappy sons of Koreidha, who made war upon the Prophet, and who live in cities!’ said Sheikh Hassan, taking a fresh pipe.
‘And perhaps,’ said the young Emir, ‘if you had not been children of Jethro, you might have acknowledged him of Mecca, Sheikh of Sheikhs.’
‘There is but one God,’ said Amalek; ‘but there may be many prophets. It becomes not a son of jethro to seek other than Moses. But I will not say that the Koran comes not from God, since it was written by one who was of the tribe of Koreish, and the tribe of Koreish are the lineal descendants of Ibrahim.’
‘And you believe that the Word of God could come only to the seed of Abraham?’ asked Tancred, eagerly.
‘I and my fathers have watered our flocks in the wilderness since time was,’ replied Amalek; ‘we have seen the Pharaohs, and Nebuchadnezzar, and Iskander, and the Romans, and the Sultan of the French: they conquered everything except us; and where are they? They are sand. Let men doubt of unicorns62: but of one thing there can be no doubt, that God never spoke except to an Arab.’
Tancred covered his face with his hands. Then, after a few moments’ pause, looking up, he said, ‘Sheikh of Sheikhs, I am your prisoner; and was, when you captured me, a pilgrim to Mount Sinai, a spot which, in your belief, is not less sacred than in mine. We are, as I have learned, only two days’ journey from that holy place. Grant me this boon63, that I may at once proceed thither64, guarded as you will. I pledge you the word of a Christian65 noble, that I will not attempt to escape. Long before you have received a reply from Jerusalem, I shall have returned; and whatever may be the result of the visit of Baroni, I shall, at least, have fulfilled my pilgrimage.’
‘Prince, brother of queens,’ replied Amalek, with that politeness which is the characteristic of the Arabian chieftains; ‘under my tents you have only to command; go where you like, return when you please. My children shall attend you as your guardians66, not as your guards.’ And the great Sheikh rose and retired67.
Tancred reentered his tent, and, reclining, fell into a reverie of distracting thoughts. The history of his life and mind seemed with a whirling power to pass before him; his birth, in clime unknown to the Patriarchs; his education, unconsciously to himself, in an Arabian literature; his imbibing68, from his tender infancy, oriental ideas and oriental creeds69; the contrast that the occidental society in which he had been reared presented to them; his dissatisfaction with that social system; his conviction of the growing melancholy70 of enlightened Europe, veiled, as it may be, with sometimes a conceited71 bustle72, sometimes a desperate shipwreck73 gaiety, sometimes with all the exciting empiricism of science; his perplexity that, between the Asian revelation and the European practice there should be so little conformity74, and why the relations between them should be so limited and imperfect; above all, his passionate75 desire to penetrate76 the mystery of the elder world, and share its celestial77 privileges and divine prerogative78. Tancred sighed.
He looked round; some one had gently drawn his hand. It was the young Emir kneeling, his beautiful blue eyes bedewed with tears.
‘You are unhappy, said Fakredeen, in a tone of plaintiveness79.
‘It is the doom80 of man,’ replied Tancred; ‘and in my position sadness should not seem strange.’
‘The curse of ten thousand mothers on those who made you a prisoner; the curse of twenty thousand mothers on him who inflicted81 on you a wound!’
”Tis the fortune of life,’ said Tancred, more cheerfully; ‘and in truth I was perhaps thinking of other things.’
‘Do you know why I trouble you when your heart is dark?’ said the young Emir. ‘See now, if you will it, you are free. The great Sheikh has consented that you should go to Sinai. I have two dromedaries here, fleeter than the Kamsin. At the well of Mokatteb, where we encamp for the night, I will serve raki to the Bedouins; I have some with me, strong enough to melt the snow of Lebanon; if it will not do, they shall smoke some timbak, that will make them sleep like pashas. I know this desert as a man knows his father’s house; we shall be at Hebron before they untie82 their eyelids83. Tell me, is it good?’
‘Were I alone,’ said Tancred, ‘without a single guard, I must return.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have pledged the word of a Christian noble.’
‘To a man who does not believe in Christ. Faugh! Is it not itself a sin to keep faith with heretics?’
‘But is he one?’ said Tancred. ‘He believes in Moses; he disbelieves in none of the seed of Abraham. He is of that seed himself! Would I were such a heretic as Sheikh Amalek!’
‘If you will only pay me a visit in the Lebanon, I would introduce you to our patriarch, and he would talk as much theology with you as you like. For my own part it is not a kind of knowledge that I have much cultivated; you know I am peculiarly situated84, we have so many religions on the mountain; but time presses; tell me, my prince, shall Hebron be our point?’
‘If Amalek believed in Baal, I must return,’ said Tancred; ‘even if it were to certain death. Besides, I could not desert my men; and Baroni, what would become of him?’
‘We could easily make some plan that would extricate85 them. Dismiss them from your mind, and trust yourself to me. I know nothing that would delight me more than to baulk these robbers of their prey86.’
‘I should not talk of such things,’ said Tancred; ‘I must remain here, or I must return.’
‘What can you want to do on Mount Sinai?’ murmured the prince rather pettishly87. ‘Now if it were Mount Lebanon, and you had a wish to employ yourself, there is an immense field! We might improve the condition of the people; we might establish manufactures, stimulate88 agriculture extend commerce get an appalto of the silk, buy it all up at sixty piastres per oke, and sell it at Marseilles at two hundred and at the same time advance the interests of true religion as much as you please.’
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1 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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2 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 captivity | |
n.囚禁;被俘;束缚 | |
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4 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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5 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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6 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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7 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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8 excavated | |
v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 );开凿;挖出;发掘 | |
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9 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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10 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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11 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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12 suffused | |
v.(指颜色、水气等)弥漫于,布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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14 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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15 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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16 lore | |
n.传说;学问,经验,知识 | |
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17 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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18 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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19 intrusive | |
adj.打搅的;侵扰的 | |
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20 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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21 aristocrat | |
n.贵族,有贵族气派的人,上层人物 | |
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22 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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23 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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24 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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25 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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26 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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28 persecute | |
vt.迫害,虐待;纠缠,骚扰 | |
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29 alleviates | |
减轻,缓解,缓和( alleviate的名词复数 ) | |
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30 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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31 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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32 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
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33 exponent | |
n.倡导者,拥护者;代表人物;指数,幂 | |
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34 soother | |
n.抚慰者,橡皮奶头 | |
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35 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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36 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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37 monologues | |
n.(戏剧)长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 );滔滔不绝的讲话;独角戏 | |
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38 satiety | |
n.饱和;(市场的)充分供应 | |
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39 fig | |
n.无花果(树) | |
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40 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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41 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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42 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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43 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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44 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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45 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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46 dilettante | |
n.半瓶醋,业余爱好者 | |
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47 ecstasies | |
狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 ); 出神; 入迷; 迷幻药 | |
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48 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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49 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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50 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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51 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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52 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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53 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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54 salute | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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55 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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56 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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57 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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58 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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59 asses | |
n. 驴,愚蠢的人,臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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60 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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61 hegira | |
n.逃亡 | |
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62 unicorns | |
n.(传说中身体似马的)独角兽( unicorn的名词复数 );一角鲸;独角兽标记 | |
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63 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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64 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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65 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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66 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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67 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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68 imbibing | |
v.吸收( imbibe的现在分词 );喝;吸取;吸气 | |
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69 creeds | |
(尤指宗教)信条,教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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70 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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71 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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72 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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73 shipwreck | |
n.船舶失事,海难 | |
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74 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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75 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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76 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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77 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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78 prerogative | |
n.特权 | |
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79 plaintiveness | |
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80 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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81 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82 untie | |
vt.解开,松开;解放 | |
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83 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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84 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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85 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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86 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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87 pettishly | |
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88 stimulate | |
vt.刺激,使兴奋;激励,使…振奋 | |
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