The morning after my arrival, I rose at an early hour. The daylight was peering brightly between the window curtains, and drawing them apart, I gazed through the Gothic casement1 upon a scene that accorded in character with the interior of the ancient mansion2. It was the old Abbey garden, but altered to suit the tastes of different times and occupants. In one direction were shady walls and alleys3, broad terraces and lofty groves4; in another, beneath a gray monastic-looking angle of the edifice6, overrun with ivy7 and surmounted8 by a cross, lay a small French garden, with formal flower-pots, gravel9 walks, and stately stone balustrades.
The beauty of the morning, and the quiet of the hour, tempted10 me to an early stroll; for it is pleasant to enjoy such old-time places alone, when one may indulge poetical11 reveries, and spin cobweb fancies, without interruption. Dressing12 myself, therefore, with all speed, I descended13 a small flight of steps from the state apartment into the long corridor over the cloisters14, along which I passed to a door at the farther end. Here I emerged into the open air, and, descending15 another flight of stone steps, found myself in the centre of what had once been the Abbey chapel16.
Nothing of the sacred edifice remained, however, but the Gothic front, with its deep portal and grand lancet window, already described. The nave17, the side walls, the choir18, the sacristy, all had disappeared. The open sky was over my head, a smooth shaven grass-plot beneath my feet. Gravel walks and shrubberies had succeeded to the shadowy isles19, and stately trees to the clustering columns.
"Where now the grass exhales20 a murky21 dew,
The humid pall22 of life-extinguished clay,
In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,
Nor raised their pious23 voices but to pray.
Where now the bats their wavering wings extend,
Soon as the gloaming spreads her warning shade,
The choir did oft their mingling24 vespers blend,
Or matin orisons to Mary paid."
Instead of the matin orisons of the monks26, however, the ruined walls of the chapel now resounded27 to the cawing of innumerable rooks that were fluttering and hovering28 about the dark grove5 which they inhabited, and preparing for their morning flight.
My ramble29 led me along quiet alleys, bordered by shrubbery, where the solitary30 water-hen would now and then scud31 across my path, and take refuge among the bushes. From hence I entered upon a broad terraced walk, once a favorite resort of the friars, which extended the whole length of the old Abbey garden, passing along the ancient stone wall which bounded it. In the centre of the garden lay one of the monkish32 fish-pools, an oblong sheet of water, deep set like a mirror, in green sloping banks of turf. In its glassy bosom33 was reflected the dark mass of a neighboring grove, one of the most important features of the garden. This grove goes by the sinister34 name of "the Devil's Wood," and enjoys but an equivocal character in the neighborhood. It was planted by "The Wicked Lord Byron," during the early part of his residence at the Abbey, before his fatal duel35 with Mr. Chaworth. Having something of a foreign and classical taste, he set up leaden statues of satyrs or fauns at each end of the grove. The statues, like everything else about the old Lord, fell under the suspicion and obloquy36 that overshadowed him in the latter part of his life. The country people, who knew nothing of heathen mythology37 and its sylvan38 deities39, looked with horror at idols40 invested with the diabolical41 attributes of horns and cloven feet. They probably supposed them some object of secret worship of the gloomy and secluded42 misanthrope43 and reputed murderer, and gave them the name of "The old Lord's Devils."
I penetrated44 the recesses45 of the mystic grove. There stood the ancient and much slandered46 statues, overshadowed by tall larches47, and stained by dank green mold. It is not a matter of surprise that strange figures, thus behoofed and be-horned, and set up in a gloomy grove, should perplex the minds of the simple and superstitious48 yeomanry. There are many of the tastes and caprices of the rich, that in the eyes of the uneducated must savor49 of insanity50.
I was attracted to this grove, however, by memorials of a more touching51 character. It had been one of the favorite haunts of the late Lord Byron. In his farewell visit to the Abbey, after he had parted with the possession of it, he passed some time in this grove, in company with his sister; and as a last memento52, engraved53 their names on the bark of a tree.
The feelings that agitated54 his bosom during this farewell visit, when he beheld55 round him objects dear to his pride, and dear to his juvenile56 recollections, but of which the narrowness of his fortune would not permit him to retain possession, may be gathered from a passage in a poetical epistle, written to his sister in after years:
I did remind you of our own dear lake
By the old hall, which may be mine no more;
Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake57
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:
Sad havoc58 Time must with my memory make
Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before;
Though, like all things which I have loved, they are
Resign'd for ever, or divided far.
I feel almost at times as I have felt
In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks59.
Which do remember me of where I dwelt
Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books,
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt
My heart with recognition, of their looks;
And even at moments I would think I see
Some living things I love—but none like thee."
I searched the grove for some time, before I found the tree on which Lord Byron had left his frail60 memorial. It was an elm of peculiar61 form, having two trunks, which sprang from the same root, and, after growing side by side, mingled63 their branches together. He had selected it, doubtless, as emblematical65 of his sister and himself. The names of BYRON and AUGUSTA were still visible. They had been deeply cut in the bark, but the natural growth of the tree was gradually rendering66 them illegible67, and a few years hence, strangers will seek in vain for this record of fraternal affection.
Leaving the grove, I continued my ramble along a spacious68 terrace, overlooking what had once been the kitchen garden of the Abbey. Below me lay the monks' stew69, or fish pond, a dark pool, overhung by gloomy cypresses70, with a solitary water-hen swimming about in it.
A little farther on, and the terrace looked down upon the stately scene on the south side of the Abbey; the flower garden, with its stone balustrades and stately peacocks, the lawn, with its pheasants and partridges, and the soft valley of Newstead beyond.
At a distance, on the border of the lawn, stood another memento of Lord Byron; an oak planted by him in his boyhood, on his first visit to the Abbey. With a superstitious feeling inherent in him, he linked his own destiny with that of the tree. "As it fares," said he, "so will fare my fortunes." Several years elapsed, many of them passed in idleness and dissipation. He returned to the Abbey a youth scarce grown to manhood, but, as he thought, with vices72 and follies73 beyond his years. He found his emblem64 oak almost choked by weeds and brambles, and took the lesson to himself.
"Young oak, when I planted thee deep in the ground,
I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine,
That thy dark waving branches would flourish around,
And ivy thy trunk with its mantle74 entwine.
"Such, such was my hope—when in infancy's years
On the laud75 of my fathers I reared thee with pride;
They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears—
Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide."
I leaned over the stone balustrade of the terrace, and gazed upon the valley of Newstead, with its silver sheets of water gleaming in the morning sun. It was a sabbath morning, which always seems to have a hallowed influence over the landscape, probably from the quiet of the day, and the cessation of all kinds of week-day labor76. As I mused77 upon the mild and beautiful scene, and the wayward destinies of the man, whose stormy temperament78 forced him from this tranquil79 paradise to battle with the passions and perils80 of the world, the sweet chime of bells from a village a few miles distant came stealing up the valley. Every sight and sound this morning seemed calculated to summon up touching recollections of poor Byron. The chime was from the village spire81 of Hucknall Torkard, beneath which his remains82 lie buried!
——I have since visited his tomb. It is in an old gray country church, venerable with the lapse71 of centuries. He lies buried beneath the pavement, at one end of the principal aisle83. A light falls on the spot through the stained glass of a Gothic window, and a tablet on the adjacent wall announces the family vault84 of the Byrons. It had been the wayward intention of the poet to be entombed, with his faithful dog, in the monument erected85 by him in the garden of Newstead Abbey. His executors showed better judgment86 and feeling, in consigning87 his ashes to the family sepulchre, to mingle62 with those of his mother and his kindred. Here,
"After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well.
Malice88 domestic, foreign levy89, nothing
Can touch him further!"
How nearly did his dying hour realize the wish made by him, but a few years previously90, in one of his fitful moods of melancholy91 and misanthropy:
"When time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls92 the dead,
Oblivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
"No band of friends or heirs be there,
To weep or wish the coining blow:
No maiden93 with dishevelled hair,
To feel, or fein decorous woe94.
"But silent let me sink to earth.
With no officious mourners near:
I would not mar25 one hour of mirth,
Nor startle friendship with a tear."
He died among strangers, in a foreign land, without a kindred hand to close his eyes; yet he did not die unwept. With all his faults and errors, and passions and caprices, he had the gift of attaching his humble95 dependents warmly to him. One of them, a poor Greek, accompanied his remains to England, and followed them to the grave. I am told that, during the ceremony, he stood holding on by a pew in an agony of grief, and when all was over, seemed as if he would have gone down into the tomb with the body of his master.—A nature that could inspire such attachments96, must have been generous and beneficent.
点击收听单词发音
1 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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2 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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3 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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4 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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5 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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6 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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7 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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8 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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9 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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10 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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11 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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12 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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13 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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14 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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15 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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16 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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17 nave | |
n.教堂的中部;本堂 | |
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18 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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19 isles | |
岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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20 exhales | |
v.呼出,发散出( exhale的第三人称单数 );吐出(肺中的空气、烟等),呼气 | |
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21 murky | |
adj.黑暗的,朦胧的;adv.阴暗地,混浊地;n.阴暗;昏暗 | |
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22 pall | |
v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
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23 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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24 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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25 mar | |
vt.破坏,毁坏,弄糟 | |
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26 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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27 resounded | |
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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28 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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29 ramble | |
v.漫步,漫谈,漫游;n.漫步,闲谈,蔓延 | |
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30 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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31 scud | |
n.疾行;v.疾行 | |
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32 monkish | |
adj.僧侣的,修道士的,禁欲的 | |
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33 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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34 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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35 duel | |
n./v.决斗;(双方的)斗争 | |
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36 obloquy | |
n.斥责,大骂 | |
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37 mythology | |
n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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38 sylvan | |
adj.森林的 | |
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39 deities | |
n.神,女神( deity的名词复数 );神祗;神灵;神明 | |
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40 idols | |
偶像( idol的名词复数 ); 受崇拜的人或物; 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物; 神像 | |
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41 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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42 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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43 misanthrope | |
n.恨人类的人;厌世者 | |
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44 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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45 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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46 slandered | |
造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 larches | |
n.落叶松(木材)( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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48 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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49 savor | |
vt.品尝,欣赏;n.味道,风味;情趣,趣味 | |
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50 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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51 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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52 memento | |
n.纪念品,令人回忆的东西 | |
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53 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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54 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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55 beheld | |
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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56 juvenile | |
n.青少年,少年读物;adj.青少年的,幼稚的 | |
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57 forsake | |
vt.遗弃,抛弃;舍弃,放弃 | |
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58 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
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59 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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60 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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61 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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62 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
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63 mingled | |
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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64 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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65 emblematical | |
adj.标志的,象征的,典型的 | |
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66 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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67 illegible | |
adj.难以辨认的,字迹模糊的 | |
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68 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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69 stew | |
n.炖汤,焖,烦恼;v.炖汤,焖,忧虑 | |
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70 cypresses | |
n.柏属植物,柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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71 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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72 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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73 follies | |
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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74 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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75 laud | |
n.颂歌;v.赞美 | |
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76 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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77 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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78 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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79 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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80 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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81 spire | |
n.(教堂)尖顶,尖塔,高点 | |
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82 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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83 aisle | |
n.(教堂、教室、戏院等里的)过道,通道 | |
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84 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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85 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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86 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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87 consigning | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的现在分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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88 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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89 levy | |
n.征收税或其他款项,征收额 | |
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90 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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91 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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92 lulls | |
n.间歇期(lull的复数形式)vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的第三人称单数形式) | |
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93 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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94 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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95 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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96 attachments | |
n.(用电子邮件发送的)附件( attachment的名词复数 );附着;连接;附属物 | |
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