I. HISTORICAL SUMMARY
The Puritan Movement. In its broadest sense the Puritan movement may be regarded as a second and greater Renaissance1, a rebirth of the moral nature of man following the intellectual awakening2 of Europe in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In Italy, whose influence had been uppermost in Elizabethan literature, the Renaissance had been essentially3 pagan and sensuous4. It had hardly touched the moral nature of man, and it brought little relief from the despotism of rulers. One can hardly read the horrible records of the Medici or the Borgias, or the political observations of Machiavelli, without marveling at the moral and political degradation6 of a cultured nation. In the North, especially among the German and English peoples, the Renaissance was accompanied by a moral awakening, and it is precisely7 that awakening in England, "that greatest moral and political reform which ever swept over a nation in the short space of half a century," which is meant by the Puritan movement. We shall understand it better if we remember that it had two chief objects: the first was personal righteousness; the second was civil and religious liberty. In other words, it aimed to make men honest and to make them free.
Wrong Ideas of the Puritans.Such a movement should be cleared of all the misconceptions which have clung to it since the Restoration, when the very name of Puritan was made ridiculous by the jeers8 of the gay courtiers of Charles II. Though the spirit of the movement was profoundly religious, the Puritans were not a religious sect10; neither was the Puritan a narrow-minded and gloomy dogmatist, as he is still pictured even in the histories. Pym and Hampden and Eliot and Milton were Puritans; and in the long struggle for human liberty there are few names more honored by freemen everywhere. Cromwell and Thomas Hooker were Puritans; yet Cromwell stood like a rock for religious tolerance12; and Thomas Hooker, in Connecticut, gave to the world the first written constitution, in which freemen, before electing their officers, laid down the strict limits of the offices to which they were elected. That is a Puritan document, and it marks one of the greatest achievements in the history of government.
From a religious view point Puritanism included all shades of belief. The name was first given to those who advocated certain changes in the form of worship of the reformed English Church under Elizabeth; but as the ideal of liberty rose in men's minds, and opposed to it were the king and his evil counselors13 and the band of intolerant churchmen of whom Laud14 is the great example, then Puritanism became a great national movement. It included English churchmen as well as extreme Separatists, Calvinists, Covenanters, Catholic noblemen,--all bound together in resistance to despotism in Church and State, and with a passion for liberty and righteousness such as the world has never since seen. Naturally such a movement had its extremes and excesses, and it is from a few zealots and fanatics17 that most of our misconceptions about the Puritans arise. Life was stern in those days, too stern perhaps, and the intensity18 of the struggle against despotism made men narrow and hard. In the triumph of Puritanism under Cromwell severe laws were passed, many simple pleasures were forbidden, and an austere19 standard of living was forced upon an unwilling20 people. So the criticism is made that the wild outbreak of immorality21 which followed the restoration of Charles was partly due to the unnatural22 restrictions23 of the Puritan era. The criticism is just; but we must not forget the whole spirit of the movement. That the Puritan prohibited Maypole dancing and horse racing24 is of small consequence beside the fact that he fought for liberty and justice, that he overthrew25 despotism and made a man's life and property safe from the tyranny of rulers. A great river is not judged by the foam26 on its surface, and certain austere laws and doctrines27 which we have ridiculed29 are but froth on the surface of the mighty30 Puritan current that has flowed steadily31, like a river of life, through English and American history since the Age of Elizabeth.
Changing Ideals. The political upheaval32 of the period is summed up in the terrible struggle between the king and Parliament, which resulted in the death of Charles at the block and the establishment of the Commonwealth33 under Cromwell. For centuries the English people had been wonderfully loyal to their sovereigns; but deeper than their loyalty35 to kings was the old Saxon love for personal liberty. At times, as in the days of Alfred and Elizabeth, the two ideals went hand in hand; but more often they were in open strife36, and a final struggle for supremacy37 was inevitable38. The crisis came when James I, who had received the right of royalty39 from an act of Parliament, began, by the assumption of "divine right," to ignore the Parliament which had created him. Of the civil war which followed in the reign34 of Charles I, and of the triumph of English freedom, it is unnecessary to write here. The blasphemy40 of a man's divine right to rule his fellow-men was ended. Modern England began with the charge of Cromwell's brigade of Puritans at Naseby.
Religious Ideals.Religiously the age was one of even greater ferment41 than that which marked the beginning of the Reformation. A great ideal, the ideal of a national church, was pounding to pieces, like a ship in the breakers, and in the confusion of such an hour the action of the various sects42 was like that of frantic43 passengers, each striving to save his possessions from the wreck44. The Catholic church, as its name implies, has always held true to the ideal of a united church, a church which, like the great Roman government of the early centuries, can bring the splendor45 and authority of Rome to bear upon the humblest village church to the farthest ends of the earth. For a time that mighty ideal dazzled the German and English reformers; but the possibility of a united Protestant church perished with Elizabeth. Then, instead of the world-wide church which was the ideal of Catholicism, came the ideal of a purely46 national Protestantism. This was the ideal of Laud and the reactionary47 bishops49, no less than of the scholarly Richard Hooker, of the rugged50 Scotch51 Covenanters, and of the Puritans of Massachusetts Bay. It is intensely interesting to note that Charles called Irish rebels and Scotch Highlanders to his aid by promising52 to restore their national religions; and that the English Puritans, turning to Scotland for help, entered into the solemn Covenant15 of 1643, establishing a national Presbyterianism, whose object was:
To bring the churches of God in the three kingdoms to uniformity in religion and government, to preserve the rights of Parliament and the liberties of the Kingdom; ... that we and our posterity54 may as brethren live in faith and love, and the Lord may delight to live in the midst of us.
In this famous Covenant we see the national, the ecclesiastical, and the personal dream of Puritanism, side by side, in all their grandeur55 and simplicity56.
Years passed, years of bitter struggle and heartache, before the impossibility of uniting the various Protestant sects was generally recognized. The ideal of a national church died hard, and to its death is due all the religious unrest of the period. Only as we remember the national ideal, and the struggle which it caused, can we understand the amazing life and work of Bunyan, or appreciate the heroic spirit of the American colonists57 who left home for a wilderness58 in order to give the new ideal of a free church in a free state its practical demonstration61.
Literary Characteristics. In literature also the Puritan Age was one of confusion, due to the breaking up of old ideals. Mediaeval standards of chivalry63, the impossible loves and romances of which Spenser furnished the types, perished no less surely than the ideal of a national church; and in the absence of any fixed64 standard of literary criticism there was nothing to prevent the exaggeration of the "metaphysical" poets, who are the literary parallels to religious sects like the Anabaptists. Poetry took new and startling forms in Donne and Herbert, and prose became as somber65 as Burton's Anatomy66 of Melancholy67. The spiritual gloom which sooner or later fastens upon all the writers of this age, and which is unjustly attributed to Puritan influence, is due to the breaking up of accepted standards in government and religion. No people, from the Greeks to those of our own day, have suffered the loss of old ideals without causing its writers to cry, "Ichabod! the glory has departed." That is the unconscious tendency of literary men in all times, who look backward for their golden age; and it need not concern the student of literature, who, even in the break-up of cherished institutions, looks for some foregleams of a better light which is to break upon the world. This so-called gloomy age produced some minor68 poems of exquisite69 workmanship, and one great master of verse whose work would glorify70 any age or people,--John Milton, in whom the indomitable Puritan spirit finds its noblest expression.
Puritan and Elizabethan Literature There are three main characteristics in which Puritan literature differs from that of the preceding age: (1) Elizabethan literature, with all its diversity, had a marked unity71 in spirit, resulting from the patriotism72 of all classes and their devotion to a queen who, with all her faults, sought first the nation's welfare. Under the Stuarts all this was changed. The kings were the open enemies of the people; the country was divided by the struggle for political and religious liberty; and the literature was as divided in spirit as were the struggling parties. (2) Elizabethan literature is generally inspiring; it throbs73 with youth and hope and vitality74. That which follows speaks of age and sadness; even its brightest hours are followed by gloom, and by the pessimism75 inseparable from the passing of old standards. (3) Elizabethan literature is intensely romantic; the romance springs from the heart of youth, and believes all things, even the impossible. The great schoolman's credo, "I believe because it is impossible," is a better expression of Elizabethan literature than of medi?val theology. In the literature of the Puritan period one looks in vain for romantic ardor77. Even in the lyrics79 and love poems a critical, intellectual spirit takes its place, and whatever romance asserts itself is in form rather than in feeling, a fantastic and artificial adornment80 of speech rather than the natural utterance81 of a heart in which sentiment is so strong and true that poetry is its only expression.
II. LITERATURE OF THE PURITAN PERIOD
The Transition Poets. When one attempts to classify the literature of the first half of the seventeenth century, from the death of Elizabeth (1603) to the Restoration (1660), he realizes the impossibility of grouping poets by any accurate standard. The classifications attempted here have small dependence83 upon dates or sovereigns, and are suggestive rather than accurate. Thus Shakespeare and Bacon wrote largely in the reign of James I, but their work is Elizabethan in spirit; and Bunyan is no less a Puritan because he happened to write after the Restoration. The name Metaphysical poets, given by Dr. Johnson, is somewhat suggestive but not descriptive of the followers85 of Donne; the name Caroline or Cavalier poets brings to mind the careless temper of the Royalists who followed King Charles with a devotion of which he was unworthy; and the name Spenserian poets recalls the little band of dreamers who clung to Spenser's ideal, even while his romantic medi?val castle was battered87 down by Science at the one gate and Puritanism at the other. At the beginning of this bewildering confusion of ideals expressed in literature, we note a few writers who are generally known as Jacobean poets, but whom we have called the Transition poets because, with the later dramatists, they show clearly the changing standards of the age.
Samuel Daniel (1562-1619). Daniel, who is often classed with the first Metaphysical poets, is interesting to us for two reasons,--for his use of the artificial sonnet88, and for his literary desertion of Spenser as a model for poets. His Delia, a cycle of sonnets89 modeled, perhaps, after Sidney's Astrophel and Stella, helped to fix the custom of celebrating love or friendship by a series of sonnets, to which some pastoral pseudonym90 was affixed91. In his sonnets, many of which rank with Shakespeare's, and in his later poetry, especially the beautiful "Complaint of Rosamond" and his "Civil Wars," he aimed solely92 at grace of expression, and became influential93 in giving to English poetry a greater individuality and independence than it had ever known. In matter he set himself squarely against the medi?val tendency:
Let others sing of kings and paladines
In aged94 accents and untimely words,
Paint shadows in imaginary lines.
This fling at Spenser and his followers marks the beginning of the modern and realistic school, which sees in life as it is enough poetic95 material, without the invention of allegories and impossible heroines. Daniel's poetry, which was forgotten soon after his death, has received probably more homage96 than it deserves in the praises of Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, and Coleridge. The latter says: "Read Daniel, the admirable Daniel. The style and language are just such as any pure and manly97 writer of the present day would use. It seems quite modern in comparison with the style of Shakespeare."
The Song Writers. In strong contrast with the above are two distinct groups, the Song Writers and the Spenserian poets. The close of the reign of Elizabeth was marked by an outburst of English songs, as remarkable98 in its sudden development as the rise of the drama. Two causes contributed to this result,--the increasing influence of French instead of Italian verse, and the rapid development of music as an art at the close of the sixteenth century. The two song writers best worth studying are Thomas Campion (1567?-1619) and Nicholas Breton (1545?-1626?). Like all the lyric78 poets of the age, they are a curious mixture of the Elizabethan and the Puritan standards. They sing of sacred and profane99 love with the same zest100, and a careless love song is often found on the same page with a plea for divine grace.
The Spenserian Poets. Of the Spenserian poets Giles Fletcher and Wither101 are best worth studying. Giles Fletcher (1588?-1623) has at times a strong suggestion of Milton (who was also a follower84 of Spenser in his early years) in the noble simplicity and majesty102 of his lines. His best known work, "Christ's Victory and Triumph" (1610), was the greatest religious poem that had appeared in England since "Piers103 Plowman," and is not an unworthy predecessor104 of Paradise Lost.
The life of George Wither (1588-1667) covers the whole period of English history from Elizabeth to the Restoration, and the enormous volume of his work covers every phase of the literature of two great ages. His life was a varied105 one; now as a Royalist leader against the Covenanters, and again announcing his Puritan convictions, and suffering in prison for his faith. At his best Wither is a lyric poet of great originality106, rising at times to positive genius; but the bulk of his poetry is intolerably dull. Students of this period find him interesting as an epitome107 of the whole age in which he lived; but the average reader is more inclined to note with interest that he published in 1623 Hymns109 and Songs of the Church, the first hymn108 book that ever appeared in the English language.
The Metaphysical Poets. This name--which was given by Dr. Johnson in derision, because of the fantastic form of Donne's poetry--is often applied110 to all minor poets of the Puritan Age. We use the term here in a narrower sense, excluding the followers of Daniel and that later group known as the Cavalier poets. It includes Donne, Herbert, Waller, Denham, Cowley, Vaughan, Davenant, Marvell, and Crashaw. The advanced student finds them all worthy86 of study, not only for their occasional excellent poetry, but because of their influence on later literature. Thus Richard Crashaw (1613?-1649), the Catholic mystic, is interesting because his troubled life is singularly like Donne's, and his poetry is at times like Herbert's set on fire.[160] Abraham Cowley (1618-1667), who blossomed young and who, at twenty-five, was proclaimed the greatest poet in England, is now scarcely known even by name, but his "Pindaric Odes"[161] set an example which influenced English poetry throughout the eighteenth century. Henry Vaughan (1622-1695) is worthy of study because he is in some respects the forerunner111 of Wordsworth;[162] and Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), because of his loyal friendship with Milton, and because his poetry shows the conflict between the two schools of Spenser and Donne. Edmund Waller (1606-1687) stands between the Puritan Age and the Restoration. He was the first to use consistently the "closed" couplet which dominated our poetry for the next century. By this, and especially by his influence over Dryden, the greatest figure of the Restoration, he occupies a larger place in our literature than a reading of his rather tiresome112 poetry would seem to warrant.
Of all these poets, each of whom has his special claim, we can consider here only Donne and Herbert, who in different ways are the types of revolt against earlier forms and standards of poetry. In feeling and imagery both are poets of a high order, but in style and expression they are the leaders of the fantastic school whose influence largely dominated poetry during the half century of the Puritan period.
JOHN DONNE (1573-1631)
Life. The briefest outline of Donne's life shows its intense human interest. He was born in London, the son of a rich iron merchant, at the time when the merchants of England were creating a new and higher kind of princes. On his father's side he came from an old Welsh family, and on his mother's side from the Heywoods and Sir Thomas More's family. Both families were Catholic, and in his early life persecution113 was brought near; for his brother died in prison for harboring a proscribed114 priest, and his own education could not be continued in Oxford115 and Cambridge because of his religion. Such an experience generally sets a man's religious standards for life; but presently Donne, as he studied law at Lincoln's Inn, was investigating the philosophic116 grounds of all faith. Gradually he left the church in which he was born, renounced117 all denominations118, and called himself simply Christian119. Meanwhile he wrote poetry and shared his wealth with needy120 Catholic relatives. He joined the expedition of Essex for Cadiz in 1596, and for the Azores in 1597, and on sea and in camp found time to write poetry. Two of his best poems, "The Storm" and "The Calm," belong to this period. Next he traveled in Europe for three years, but occupied himself with study and poetry. Returning home, he became secretary to Lord Egerton, fell in love with the latter's young niece, Anne More, and married her; for which cause Donne was cast into prison. Strangely enough his poetical121 work at this time is not a song of youthful romance, but "The Progress of the Soul," a study of transmigration. Years of wandering and poverty followed, until Sir George More forgave the young lovers and made an allowance to his daughter. Instead of enjoying his new comforts, Donne grew more ascetic123 and intellectual in his tastes. He refused also the nattering offer of entering the Church of England and of receiving a comfortable "living." By his "Pseudo Martyr124" he attracted the favor of James I, who persuaded him to be ordained126, yet left him without any place or employment. When his wife died her allowance ceased, and Donne was left with seven children in extreme poverty. Then he became a preacher, rose rapidly by sheer intellectual force and genius, and in four years was the greatest of English preachers and Dean of St. Paul's Cathedral in London. There he "carried some to heaven in holy raptures127 and led others to amend128 their lives," and as he leans over the pulpit with intense earnestness is likened by Izaak Walton to "an angel leaning from a cloud."
Here is variety enough to epitomize his age, and yet in all his life, stronger than any impression of outward weal or woe129, is the sense of mystery that surrounds Donne. In all his work one finds a mystery, a hiding of some deep thing which the world would gladly know and share, and which is suggested in his haunting little poem, "The Undertaking":
I have done one braver thing
Than all the worthies130 did;
And yet a braver thence doth spring,
Which is, to keep that hid.
Donne's Poetry. Donne's poetry is so uneven131, at times so startling and fantastic, that few critics would care to recommend it to others. Only a few will read his works, and they must be left to their own browsing132, to find what pleases them, like deer which, in the midst of plenty, take a bite here and there and wander on, tasting twenty varieties of food in an hour's feeding. One who reads much will probably bewail Donne's lack of any consistent style or literary standard. For instance, Chaucer and Milton are as different as two poets could well be; yet the work of each is marked by a distinct and consistent style, and it is the style as much as the matter which makes the Tales or the Paradise Lost a work for all time. Donne threw style and all literary standards to the winds; and precisely for this reason he is forgotten, though his great intellect and his genius had marked him as one of those who should do things "worthy to be remembered." While the tendency of literature is to exalt134 style at the expense of thought, the world has many men and women who exalt feeling and thought above expression; and to these Donne is good reading. Browning is of the same school, and compels attention. While Donne played havoc135 with Elizabethan style, he nevertheless influenced our literature in the way of boldness and originality; and the present tendency is to give him a larger place, nearer to the few great poets, than he has occupied since Ben Jonson declared that he was "the first poet of the world in some things," but likely to perish "for not being understood." For to much of his poetry we must apply his own satiric136 verses on another's crudities:
Infinite work! which doth so far extend
That none can study it to any end.
GEORGE HERBERT (1593-1633)
"O day most calm, most bright," sang George Herbert, and we may safely take that single line as expressive137 of the whole spirit of his writings. Professor Palmer, whose scholarly edition of this poet's works is a model for critics and editors, calls Herbert the first in English poetry who spoke138 face to face with God. That may be true; but it is interesting to note that not a poet of the first half of the seventeenth century, not even the gayest of the Cavaliers, but has written some noble verse of prayer or aspiration139, which expresses the underlying140 Puritan spirit of his age. Herbert is the greatest, the most consistent of them all. In all the others the Puritan struggles against the Cavalier, or the Cavalier breaks loose from the restraining Puritan; but in Herbert the struggle is past and peace has come. That his life was not all calm, that the Puritan in him had struggled desperately141 before it subdued142 the pride and idleness of the Cavalier, is evident to one who reads between his lines:
I struck the board and cry'd, No more!
I will abroad.
What? Shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free, free as the road,
Loose as the wind.
There speaks the Cavalier of the university and the court; and as one reads to the end of the little poem, which he calls by the suggestive name of "The Collar," he may know that he is reading condensed biography.
Those who seek for faults, for strained imagery and fantastic verse forms in Herbert's poetry, will find them in abundance; but it will better repay the reader to look for the deep thought and fine feeling that are hidden in these wonderful religious lyrics, even in those that appear most artificial. The fact that Herbert's reputation was greater, at times, than Milton's, and that his poems when published after his death had a large sale and influence, shows certainly that he appealed to the men of his age; and his poems will probably be read and appreciated, if only by the few, just so long as men are strong enough to understand the Puritan's spiritual convictions.
Life. Herbert's life is so quiet and uneventful that to relate a few biographical facts can be of little advantage. Only as one reads the whole story by Izaak Walton can he share the gentle spirit of Herbert's poetry. He was born at Montgomery Castle,[163] Wales, 1593, of a noble Welsh family. His university course was brilliant, and after graduation he waited long years in the vain hope of preferment at court. All his life he had to battle against disease, and this is undoubtedly143 the cause of the long delay before each new step in his course. Not till he was thirty-seven was he ordained and placed over the little church of Bemerton. How he lived here among plain people, in "this happy corner of the Lord's field, hoping all things and blessing144 all people, asking his own way to Sion and showing others the way," should be read in Walton. It is a brief life, less than three years of work before being cut off by consumption, but remarkable for the single great purpose and the glorious spiritual strength that shine through physical weakness. Just before his death he gave some manuscripts to a friend, and his message is worthy of John Bunyan:
Deliver this little book to my dear brother Ferrar, and tell him he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my master, in whose service I have now found perfect freedom. Desire him to read it; and then, if he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public; if not, let him burn it, for I and it are less than the least of God's mercies.
Herbert's Poems. Herbert's chief work, The Temple, consists of over one hundred and fifty short poems suggested by the Church, her holidays and ceremonials, and the experiences of the Christian life. The first poem, "The Church Porch," is the longest and, though polished with a care that foreshadows the classic school, the least poetical. It is a wonderful collection of condensed sermons, wise precepts145, and moral lessons, suggesting Chaucer's "Good Counsel," Pope's "Essay on Man," and Polonius's advice to Laertes, in Hamlet; only it is more packed with thought than any of these. Of truth-speaking he says:
Dare to be true. Nothing can need a lie;
A fault which needs it most grows two thereby146.
and of calmness in argument:
Calmness is great advantage: he that lets
Another chafe147 may warm him at his fire.
Among the remaining poems of The Temple one of the most suggestive is "The Pilgrimage." Here in six short stanzas148, every line close-packed with thought, we have the whole of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. The poem was written probably before Bunyan was born, but remembering the wide influence of Herbert's poetry, it is an interesting question whether Bunyan received the idea of his immortal149 work from this "Pilgrimage." Probably the best known of all his poems is the one called "The Pulley," which generally appears, however under the name "Rest," or "The Gifts of God."
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings150 standing151 by,
Let us, said he, pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which dispersed152 lie,
Contract into a span.
So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor, pleasure.
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that, alone of all his treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.
For, if I should, said he,
Bestow153 this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.
Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.
Among the poems which may be read as curiosities of versification, and which arouse the wrath154 of the critics against the whole metaphysical school, are those like "Easter Wings" and "The Altar," which suggest in the printed form of the poem the thing of which the poet sings. More ingenious is the poem in which rime155 is made by cutting off the first letter of a preceding word, as in the five stanzas of "Paradise ":
I bless thee, Lord, because I grow
Among thy trees, which in a row
To thee both fruit and order ow.
And more ingenious still are odd conceits156 like the poem "Heaven," in which Echo, by repeating the last syllable157 of each line, gives an answer to the poet's questions.
The Cavalier Poets. In the literature of any age there are generally found two distinct tendencies. The first expresses the dominant158 spirit of the times; the second, a secret or an open rebellion. So in this age, side by side with the serious and rational Puritan, lives the gallant159 and trivial Cavalier. The Puritan finds expression in the best poetry of the period, from Donne to Milton, and in the prose of Baxter and Bunyan; the Cavalier in a small group of poets,--Herrick, Lovelace, Suckling, and Carew,--who write songs generally in lighter160 vein161, gay, trivial, often licentious162, but who cannot altogether escape the tremendous seriousness of Puritanism.
Thomas Carew (1598?-1639?). Carew may be called the inventor of Cavalier love poetry, and to him, more than to any other, is due the peculiar163 combination of the sensual and the religious which marked most of the minor poets of the seventeenth century. His poetry is the Spenserian pastoral stripped of its refinement164 of feeling and made direct, coarse, vigorous. His poems, published in 1640, are generally, like his life, trivial or sensual; but here and there is found one, like the following, which indicates that with the Metaphysical and Cavalier poets a new and stimulating166 force had entered English literature:
Ask me no more where Jove bestows167,
When June is past, the fading rose,
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards168 fall in dead of night,
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixèd become as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix169 builds her spicy170 nest,
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant171 bosom172 dies.
Robert Herrick (1591-1674). Herrick is the true Cavalier, gay, devil-may-care in disposition173, but by some freak of fate a clergyman of Dean Prior, in South Devon, a county made famous by him and Blackmore. Here, in a country parish, he lived discontentedly, longing174 for the joys of London and the Mermaid175 Tavern176, his bachelor establishment consisting of an old housekeeper177, a cat, a dog, a goose, a tame lamb, one hen,--for which he thanked God in poetry because she laid an egg every day,--and a pet pig that drank beer with Herrick out of a tankard. With admirable good nature, Herrick made the best of these uncongenial surroundings. He watched with sympathy the country life about him and caught its spirit in many lyrics, a few of which, like "Corinna's Maying," "Gather ye rosebuds178 while ye may," and "To Daffodils," are among the best known in our language. His poems cover a wide range, from trivial love songs, pagan in spirit, to hymns of deep religious feeling. Only the best of his poems should be read; and these are remarkable for their exquisite sentiment and their graceful179, melodious180 expression. The rest, since they reflect something of the coarseness of his audience, may be passed over in silence.
Late in life Herrick published his one book, Hesperides and Noble Numbers (1648). The latter half contains his religious poems, and one has only to read there the remarkable "Litany" to see how the religious terror that finds expression in Bunyan's Grace Abounding181 could master even the most careless of Cavalier singers.
Suckling and Lovelace. Sir John Suckling (1609-1642) was one of the most brilliant wits of the court of Charles I, who wrote poetry as he exercised a horse or fought a duel182, because it was considered a gentleman's accomplishment183 in those days. His poems, "struck from his wild life like sparks from his rapier," are utterly184 trivial, and, even in his best known "Ballad185 Upon a Wedding," rarely rise above mere186 doggerel187. It is only the romance of his life--his rich, brilliant, careless youth, and his poverty and suicide in Paris, whither he fled because of his devotion to the Stuarts--that keeps his name alive in our literature.
In his life and poetry Sir Richard Lovelace (1618-1658) offers a remarkable parallel to Suckling, and the two are often classed together as perfect representatives of the followers of King Charles. Lovelace's Lucasta, a volume of love lyrics, is generally on a higher plane than Suckling's work; and a few of the poems like "To Lucasta," and "To Althea, from Prison," deserve the secure place they have won. In the latter occur the oft-quoted lines:
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.
JOHN MILTON (1608-1674)
Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart;
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea--
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic188, free;
So didst thou travel on life's common way
In cheerful godliness: and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
(From Wordsworth's "Sonnet on Milton")
Shakespeare and Milton are the two figures that tower conspicuously189 above the goodly fellowship of men who have made our literature famous. Each is representative of the age that produced him, and together they form a suggestive commentary upon the two forces that rule our humanity,--the force of impulse and the force of a fixed purpose. Shakespeare is the poet of impulse, of the loves, hates, fears, jealousies190, and ambitions that swayed the men of his age. Milton is the poet of steadfast191 will and purpose, who moves like a god amid the fears and hopes and changing impulses of the world, regarding them as trivial and momentary192 things that can never swerve193 a great soul from its course.
It is well to have some such comparison in mind while studying the literature of the Elizabethan and the Puritan Age. While Shakespeare and Ben Jonson and their unequaled company of wits make merry at the Mermaid Tavern, there is already growing up on the same London street a poet who shall bring a new force into literature, who shall add to the Renaissance culture and love of beauty the tremendous moral earnestness of the Puritan. Such a poet must begin, as the Puritan always began, with his own soul, to discipline and enlighten it, before expressing its beauty in literature. "He that would hope to write well hereafter in laudable things," says Milton, "ought himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and most honorable things." Here is a new proposition in art which suggests the lofty ideal of Fra Angelico, that before one can write literature, which is the expression of the ideal, he must first develop in himself the ideal man. Because Milton is human he must know the best in humanity; therefore he studies, giving his days to music, art, and literature, his nights to profound research and meditation194. But because he knows that man is more than mortal he also prays, depending, as he tells us, on "devout195 prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge." Such a poet is already in spirit far beyond the Renaissance, though he lives in the autumn of its glory and associates with its literary masters. "There is a spirit in man," says the old Hebrew poet, "and the inspiration of the Almighty196 giveth him understanding." Here, in a word, is the secret of Milton's life and writing. Hence his long silences, years passing without a word; and when he speaks it is like the voice of a prophet who begins with the sublime197 announcement, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me." Hence his style, producing an impression of sublimity198, which has been marked for wonder by every historian of our literature. His style was unconsciously sublime because he lived and thought consciously in a sublime atmosphere.
Life of Milton. Milton is like an ideal in the soul, like a lofty mountain on the horizon. We never attain199 the ideal; we never climb the mountain; but life would be inexpressibly poorer were either to be taken away.
From childhood Milton's parents set him apart for the attainment200 of noble ends, and so left nothing to chance in the matter of training. His father, John Milton, is said to have turned Puritan while a student at Oxford and to have been disinherited by his family; whereupon he settled in London and prospered201 greatly as a scrivener, that is, a kind of notary202. In character the elder Milton was a rare combination of scholar and business man, a radical203 Puritan in politics and religion, yet a musician, whose hymn tunes204 are still sung, and a lover of art and literature. The poet's mother was a woman of refinement and social grace, with a deep interest in religion and in local charities. So the boy grew up in a home which combined the culture of the Renaissance with the piety205 and moral strength of early Puritanism. He begins, therefore, as the heir of one great age and the prophet of another.
Illustration: JOHN MILTON
JOHN MILTON
Apparently206 the elder Milton shared Bacon's dislike for the educational methods of the time and so took charge of his son's training, encouraging his natural tastes, teaching him music, and seeking out a tutor who helped the boy to what he sought most eagerly, not the grammar and mechanism207 of Greek and Latin but rather the stories, the ideals, the poetry that hide in their incomparable literatures. At twelve years we find the boy already a scholar in spirit, unable to rest till after midnight because of the joy with which his study was rewarded. From boyhood two great principles seem to govern Milton's career: one, the love of beauty, of music, art, literature, and indeed of every form of human culture; the other, a steadfast devotion to duty as the highest object in human life.
A brief course at the famous St. Paul's school in London was the prelude208 to Milton's entrance to Christ's College, Cambridge. Here again he followed his natural bent209 and, like Bacon, found himself often in opposition210 to the authorities. Aside from some Latin poems, the most noteworthy song of this period of Milton's life is his splendid ode, '"On the Morning of Christ's Nativity," which was begun on Christmas day, 1629. Milton, while deep in the classics, had yet a greater love for his native literature. Spenser was for years his master; in his verse we find every evidence of his "loving study" of Shakespeare, and his last great poems show clearly how he had been influenced by Fletcher's Christ's Victory and Triumph. But it is significant that this first ode rises higher than anything of the kind produced in the famous Age of Elizabeth.
While at Cambridge it was the desire of his parents that Milton should take orders in the Church of England; but the intense love of mental liberty which stamped the Puritan was too strong within him, and he refused to consider the "oath of servitude," as he called it, which would mark his ordination211. Throughout his life Milton, though profoundly religious, held aloof212 from the strife of sects. In belief, he belonged to the extreme Puritans, called Separatists, Independents, Congregationalists, of which our Pilgrim Fathers are the great examples; but he refused to be bound by any creed213 or church discipline:
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.
In this last line of one of his sonnets[164] is found Milton's rejection214 of every form of outward religious authority in face of the supreme215 Puritan principle, the liberty of the individual soul before God.
A long period of retirement216 followed Milton's withdrawal217 from the university in 1632. At his father's country home in Horton he gave himself up for six years to solitary218 reading and study, roaming over the wide fields of Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Spanish, French, Italian, and English literatures, and studying hard at mathematics, science, theology, and music,--a curious combination. To his love of music we owe the melody of all his poetry, and we note it in the rhythm and balance which make even his mighty prose arguments harmonious219. In "Lycidas," "L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," "Arcades," "Comus," and a few "Sonnets," we have the poetic results of this retirement at Horton,--few, indeed, but the most perfect of their kind that our literature has recorded.
Out of solitude220, where his talent was perfected, Milton entered the busy world where his character was to be proved to the utmost. From Horton he traveled abroad, through France, Switzerland, and Italy, everywhere received with admiration221 for his learning and courtesy, winning the friendship of the exiled Dutch scholar Grotius, in Paris, and of Galileo in his sad imprisonment222 in Florence.[165] He was on his way to Greece when news reached him of the break between king and parliament. With the practical insight which never deserted223 him Milton saw clearly the meaning of the news. His cordial reception in Italy, so chary224 of praise to anything not Italian, had reawakened in Milton the old desire to write an epic225 which England would "not willingly let die"; but at thought of the conflict for human freedom all his dreams were flung to the winds. He gave up his travels and literary ambitions and hurried to England. "For I thought it base," he says, "to be traveling at my ease for intellectual culture while my fellow-countrymen at home were fighting for liberty."
Then for nearly twenty years the poet of great achievement and still greater promise disappears. We hear no more songs, but only the prose denunciations and arguments which are as remarkable as his poetry. In all our literature there is nothing more worthy of the Puritan spirit than this laying aside of personal ambitions in order to join in the struggle for human liberty. In his best known sonnet, "On His Blindness," which reflects his grief, not at darkness, but at his abandoned dreams, we catch the sublime spirit of this renunciation.
Milton's opportunity to serve came in the crisis of 1649. The king had been sent to the scaffold, paying the penalty of his own treachery, and England sat shivering at its own deed, like a child or a Russian peasant who in sudden passion resists unbearable226 brutality227 and then is afraid of the consequences. Two weeks of anxiety, of terror and silence followed; then appeared Milton's Tenure228 of Kings and Magistrates229. To England it was like the coming of a strong man, not only to protect the child, but to justify230 his blow for liberty. Kings no less than people are subject to the eternal principle of law; the divine right of a people to defend and protect themselves,--that was the mighty argument which calmed a people's dread231 and proclaimed that a new man and a new principle had arisen in England. Milton was called to be Secretary for Foreign Tongues in the new government; and for the next few years, until the end of the Commonwealth, there were two leaders in England, Cromwell the man of action, Milton the man of thought. It is doubtful to which of the two humanity owes most for its emancipation232 from the tyranny of kings and prelates.
Two things of personal interest deserve mention in this period of Milton's life, his marriage and his blindness. In 1643 he married Mary Powell, a shallow, pleasure-loving girl, the daughter of a Royalist; and that was the beginning of sorrows. After a month, tiring of the austere life of a Puritan household, she abandoned her husband, who, with the same radical reasoning with which he dealt with affairs of state, promptly233 repudiated234 the marriage. His Doctrine28 and Discipline of Divorce and his Tetrachordon are the arguments to justify his position; but they aroused a storm of protest in England, and they suggest to a modern reader that Milton was perhaps as much to blame as his wife, and that he had scant235 understanding of a woman's nature. When his wife, fearing for her position, appeared before him in tears, all his ponderous236 arguments were swept aside by a generous impulse; and though the marriage was never a happy one, Milton never again mentioned his wife's desertion. The scene in Paradise Lost, where Eve comes weeping to Adam, seeking peace and pardon, is probably a reflection of a scene in Milton's own household. His wife died in 1653, and a few years later he married another, whom we remember for the sonnet, "Methought I saw my late espoused237 saint," in which she is celebrated238. She died after fifteen months, and in 1663 he married a third wife, who helped the blind old man to manage his poor household.
From boyhood the strain on the poet's eyes had grown more and more severe; but even when his sight was threatened he held steadily to his purpose of using his pen in the service of his country. During the king's imprisonment a book appeared called Eikon Basilike (Royal Image), giving a rosy239 picture of the king's piety, and condemning240 the Puritans. The book speedily became famous and was the source of all Royalist arguments against the Commonwealth. In 1649 appeared Milton's Eikonoklastes (Image Breaker), which demolished241 the flimsy arguments of the Eikon Basilike as a charge of Cromwell's Ironsides had overwhelmed the king's followers. After the execution of the king appeared another famous attack upon the Puritans, Defensio Regia pro9 Carlo I, instigated242 by Charles II, who was then living in exile. It was written in Latin by Salmasius, a Dutch professor at Leyden, and was hailed by the Royalists as an invincible243 argument. By order of the Council of State Milton prepared a reply. His eyesight had sadly failed, and he was warned that any further strain would be disastrous244. His reply was characteristic of the man and the Puritan. As he had once sacrificed his poetry, so he was now ready, he said, to sacrifice his eyes also on the altar of English liberty. His magnificent Defensio pro Populo Anglicano is one of the most masterly controversial works in literature. The power of the press was already strongly felt in England, and the new Commonwealth owed its standing partly to Milton's prose, and partly to Cromwell's policy. The Defensio was the last work that Milton saw. Blindness fell upon him ere it was finished, and from 1652 until his death he labored245 in total darkness.
The last part of Milton's life is a picture of solitary grandeur unequaled in literary history. With the Restoration all his labors247 and sacrifices for humanity were apparently wasted. From his retirement he could hear the bells and the shouts that welcomed back a vicious monarch248, whose first act was to set his foot upon his people's neck. Milton was immediately marked for persecution; he remained for months in hiding; he was reduced to poverty, and his books were burned by the public hangman. His daughters, upon whom he depended in his blindness, rebelled at the task of reading to him and recording250 his thoughts. In the midst of all these sorrows we understand, in Samson, the cry of the blind champion of Israel:
Now blind, disheartened, shamed, dishonored, quelled251,
To what can I be useful? wherein serve
My nation, and the work from Heaven imposed?
But to sit idle on the household hearth252,
A burdenous drone; to visitants a gaze,
Or pitied object.
Milton's answer is worthy of his own great life. Without envy or bitterness he goes back to the early dream of an immortal poem and begins with superb consciousness of power to dictate253 his great epic.
Paradise Lost was finished in 1665, after seven years' labor246 in darkness. With great difficulty he found a publisher, and for the great work, now the most honored poem in our literature, he received less than certain verse makers254 of our day receive for a little song in one of our popular magazines. Its success was immediate249, though, like all his work, it met with venomous criticism. Dryden summed up the impression made on thoughtful minds of his time when he said, "This man cuts us all out, and the ancients too." Thereafter a bit of sunshine came into his darkened home, for the work stamped him as one of the world's great writers, and from England and the Continent pilgrims came in increasing numbers to speak their gratitude255.
The next year Milton began his Paradise Regained256. In 1671 appeared his last important work, Samson Agonistes, the most powerful dramatic poem on the Greek model which our language possesses. The picture of Israel's mighty champion, blind, alone, afflicted257 by thoughtless enemies but preserving a noble ideal to the end, is a fitting close to the life work of the poet himself. For years he was silent, dreaming who shall say what dreams in his darkness, and saying cheerfully to his friends, "Still guides the heavenly vision." He died peacefully in 1674, the most sublime and the most lonely figure in our literature.
Milton's Early Poetry.[166] In his early work Milton appears as the inheritor of all that was best in Elizabethan literature, and his first work, the ode "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity," approaches the high-water mark of lyric poetry in England. In the next six years, from 1631 to 1637, he wrote but little, scarcely more than two thousand lines, but these are among the most exquisite and the most perfectly258 finished in our language.
L'Allegro"L'Allegro" and "II Penseroso" are twin poems, containing many lines and short descriptive passages which linger in the mind like strains of music, and which are known and loved wherever English is spoken. "L'Allegro" (the joyous259 or happy man) is like an excursion into the English fields at sunrise. The air is sweet; birds are singing; a multitude of sights, sounds, fragrances260, fill all the senses; and to this appeal of nature the soul of man responds by being happy, seeing in every flower and hearing in every harmony some exquisite symbol of human life. "Il Penseroso" takes us over the same ground at twilight261 and at moonrise. The air is still fresh and fragrant; the symbolism is, if possible, more tenderly beautiful than before; but the gay mood is gone, though its memory lingers in the afterglow of the sunset. A quiet thoughtfulness takes the place of the pure, joyous sensation of the morning, a thoughtfulness which is not sad, though like all quiet moods it is akin62 to sadness, and which sounds the deeps of human emotion in the presence of nature. To quote scattered262 lines of either poem is to do injustice263 to both. They should be read in their entirety the same day, one at morning, the other at eventide, if one is to appreciate their beauty and suggestiveness.
ComusThe "Masque of Comus" is in many respects the most perfect of Milton's poems. It was written in 1634 to be performed at Ludlow Castle before the earl of Bridgewater and his friends. There is a tradition that the earl's three children had been lost in the woods, and, whether true or not, Milton takes the simple theme of a person lost, calls in an Attendant Spirit to protect the wanderer, and out of this, with its natural action and melodious songs, makes the most exquisite pastoral drama that we possess. In form it is a masque, like those gorgeous products of the Elizabethan age of which Ben Jonson was the master. England had borrowed the idea of the masque from Italy and had used it as the chief entertainment at all festivals, until it had become to the nobles of England what the miracle play had been to the common people of a previous generation. Milton, with his strong Puritan spirit, could not be content with the mere entertainment of an idle hour. "Comus" has the gorgeous scenic264 effects, the music and dancing of other masques; but its moral purpose and its ideal teachings are unmistakable. "The Triumph of Virtue265" would be a better name for this perfect little masque, for its theme is that virtue and innocence266 can walk through any peril267 of this world without permanent harm. This eternal triumph of good over evil is proclaimed by the Attendant Spirit who has protected the innocent in this life and who now disappears from mortal sight to resume its life of joy:
Mortals, that would follow me,
Love Virtue; she alone is free.
She can teach ye how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heaven itself would stoop to her.
While there are undoubted traces of Jonson and John Fletcher in Milton's "Comus," the poem far surpasses its predecessors268 in the airy beauty and melody of its verses.
LycidasIn the next poem, "Lycidas," a pastoral elegy269 written in 1637, and the last of his Horton poems, Milton is no longer the inheritor of the old age, but the prophet of a new. A college friend, Edward King, had been drowned in the Irish Sea, and Milton follows the poetic custom of his age by representing both his friend and himself in the guise270 of shepherds leading the pastoral life. Milton also uses all the symbolism of his predecessors, introducing fauns, satyrs, and sea nymphs; but again the Puritan is not content with heathen symbolism, and so introduces a new symbol of the Christian shepherd responsible for the souls of men, whom he likens to hungry sheep that look up and are not fed. The Puritans and Royalists at this time were drifting rapidly apart, and Milton uses his new symbolism to denounce the abuses that had crept into the Church. In any other poet this moral teaching would hinder the free use of the imagination; but Milton seems equal to the task of combining high moral purpose with the noblest poetry. In its exquisite finish and exhaustless imagery "Lycidas" surpasses most of the poetry of what is often called the pagan Renaissance.
SonnetsBesides these well-known poems, Milton wrote in this early period a fragmentary masque called "Arcades"; several Latin poems which, like his English, are exquisitely271 finished; and his famous "Sonnets," which brought this Italian form of verse nearly to the point of perfection. In them he seldom wrote of love, the usual subject with his predecessors, but of patriotism, duty, music, and subjects of political interest suggested by the struggle into which England was drifting. Among these sonnets each reader must find his own favorites. Those best known and most frequently quoted are "On His Deceased Wife," "To the Nightingale," "On Reaching the Age of Twenty-three," "The Massacre272 in Piedmont," and the two "On His Blindness."
Milton's Prose. Of Milton's prose works there are many divergent opinions, ranging from Macaulay's unbounded praise to the condemnation273 of some of our modern critics. From a literary view point Milton's prose would be stronger if less violent, and a modern writer would hardly be excused for using his language or his methods; but we must remember the times and the methods of his opponents. In his fiery274 zeal16 against injustice the poet is suddenly dominated by the soldier's spirit. He first musters275 his facts in battalions276, and charges upon the enemy to crush and overpower without mercy. For Milton hates injustice and, because it is an enemy of his people, he cannot and will not spare it. When the victory is won, he exults277 in a paean278 of victory as soul-stirring as the Song of Deborah. He is the poet again, spite of himself, and his mind fills with magnificent images. Even with a subject so dull, so barren of the bare possibilities of poetry, as his "Animadversions upon the Remonstrants' Defense," he breaks out into an invocation, "Oh, Thou that sittest in light and glory unapproachable, parent of angels and men," which is like a chapter from the Apocalypse. In such passages Milton's prose is, as Taine suggests, "an outpouring of splendors279," which suggests the noblest poetry.
AreopagiticaOn account of their controversial character these prose works are seldom read, and it is probable that Milton never thought of them as worthy of a place in literature. Of them all Areopagitica has perhaps the most permanent interest and is best worth reading. In Milton's time there was a law forbidding the publication of books until they were indorsed by the official censor280. Needless to say, the censor, holding his office and salary by favor, was naturally more concerned with the divine right of kings and bishops than with the delights of literature, and many books were suppressed for no better reason than that they were displeasing281 to the authorities. Milton protested against this, as against every other form of tyranny, and his Areopagitica--so called from the Areopagus or Forum282 of Athens, the place of public appeal, and the Mars Hill of St. Paul's address--is the most famous plea in English for the freedom of the press.
Milton's Later Poetry. Undoubtedly the noblest of Milton's works, written when he was blind and suffering, are Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and Samson Agonistes. The first is the greatest, indeed the only generally acknowledged epic in our literature since Beowulf; the last is the most perfect specimen283 of a drama after the Greek method in our language.
Paradise LostOf the history of the great epic we have some interesting glimpses. In Cambridge there is preserved a notebook of Milton's containing a list of nearly one hundred subjects[167] for a great poem, selected while he was a boy at the university. King Arthur attracted him at first; but his choice finally settled upon the Fall of Man, and we have four separate outlines showing Milton's proposed treatment of the subject. These outlines indicate that he contemplated284 a mighty drama or miracle play; but whether because of Puritan antipathy285 to plays and players, or because of the wretched dramatic treatment of religious subjects which Milton had witnessed in Italy, he abandoned the idea of a play and settled on the form of an epic poem; most fortunately, it must be conceded, for Milton had not the knowledge of men necessary for a drama. As a study of character Paradise Lost would be a grievous failure. Adam, the central character, is something of a prig; while Satan looms286 up a magnificent figure, entirely287 different from the devil of the miracle plays and completely overshadowing the hero both in interest and in manliness288. The other characters, the Almighty, the Son, Raphael, Michael, the angels and fallen spirits, are merely mouthpieces for Milton's declamations, without any personal or human interest. Regarded as a drama, therefore, Paradise Lost could never have been a success; but as poetry, with its sublime imagery, its harmonious verse, its titanic289 background of heaven, hell, and the illimitable void that lies between, it is unsurpassed in any literature.
In 1658 Milton in his darkness sat down to dictate the work which he had planned thirty years before. In order to understand the mighty sweep of the poem it is necessary to sum up the argument of the twelve books, as follows:
Argument of Paradise LostBook I opens with a statement of the subject, the Fall of Man, and a noble invocation for light and divine guidance. Then begins the account of Satan and the rebel angels, their banishment290 from heaven, and their plot to oppose the design of the Almighty by dragging down his children, our first parents, from their state of innocence. The book closes with a description of the land of fire and endless pain where the fallen spirits abide291, and the erection of Pandemonium292, the palace of Satan. Book II is a description of the council of evil spirits, of Satan's consent to undertake the temptation of Adam and Eve, and his journey to the gates of hell, which are guarded by Sin and Death. Book III transports us to heaven again. God, foreseeing the fall, sends Raphael to warn Adam and Eve, so that their disobedience shall be upon their own heads. Then the Son offers himself a sacrifice, to take away the sin of the coming disobedience of man. At the end of this book Satan appears in a different scene, meets Uriel, the Angel of the Sun, inquires from him the way to earth, and takes his journey thither293 disguised as an angel of light. Book IV shows us Paradise and the innocent state of man. An angel guard is set over Eden, and Satan is arrested while tempting294 Eve in a dream, but is curiously295 allowed to go free again. Book V shows us Eve relating her dream to Adam, and then the morning prayer and the daily employment of our first parents. Raphael visits them, is entertained by a banquet (which Eve proposes in order to show him that all God's gifts are not kept in heaven), and tells them of the revolt of the fallen spirits. His story is continued in Book VI. In Book VII we read the story of the creation of the world as Raphael tells it to Adam and Eve. In Book VIII Adam tells Raphael the story of his own life and of his meeting with Eve. Book IX is the story of the temptation by Satan, following the account in Genesis. Book X records the divine judgment296 upon Adam and Eve; shows the construction by Sin and Death of a highway through chaos297 to the earth, and Satan's return to Pandemonium. Adam and Eve repent298 of their disobedience and Satan and his angels are turned into serpents. In Book XI the Almighty accepts Adam's repentance299, but condemns300 him to be banished301 from Paradise, and the archangel Michael is sent to execute the sentence. At the end of the book, after Eve's feminine grief at the loss of Paradise, Michael begins a prophetic vision of the destiny of man. Book XII continues Michael's vision. Adam and Eve are comforted by hearing of the future redemption of their race. The poem ends as they wander forth302 out of Paradise and the door closes behind them.
It will be seen that this is a colossal303 epic, not of a man or a hero, but of the whole race of men; and that Milton's characters are such as no human hand could adequately portray304. But the scenes, the splendors of heaven, the horrors of hell, the serene305 beauty of Paradise, the sun and planets suspended between celestial306 light and gross darkness, are pictured with an imagination that is almost superhuman. The abiding307 interest of the poem is in these colossal pictures, and in the lofty thought and the marvelous melody with which they are impressed on our minds. The poem is in blank verse, and not until Milton used it did we learn the infinite variety and harmony of which it is capable. He played with it, changing its melody and movement on every page, "as an organist out of a single theme develops an unending variety of harmony."
Lamartine has described Paradise Lost as the dream of a Puritan fallen asleep over his Bible, and this suggestive description leads us to the curious fact that it is the dream, not the theology or the descriptions of Bible scenes, that chiefly interests us. Thus Milton describes the separation of earth and water, and there is little or nothing added to the simplicity and strength of Genesis; but the sunset which follows is Milton's own dream, and instantly we are transported to a land of beauty and poetry:
Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad;
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy308 couch, these to their nests
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
She all night long her amorous309 descant310 sung:
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament311
With living sapphires312; Hesperus, that led
The starry313 host, rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle314 threw.
So also Milton's Almighty, considered purely as a literary character, is unfortunately tinged315 with the narrow and literal theology of the time. He is a being enormously egotistic, the despot rather than the servant of the universe, seated upon a throne with a chorus of angels about him eternally singing his praises and ministering to a kind of divine vanity. It is not necessary to search heaven for such a character; the type is too common upon earth. But in Satan Milton breaks away from crude medi?val conceptions; he follows the dream again, and gives us a character to admire and understand:
"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,"
Said then the lost Archangel, "this the seat
That we must change for Heaven?--this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since He
Who now is sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from Him is best,
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal World! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor--one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven."
In this magnificent heroism316 Milton has unconsciously immortalized the Puritan spirit, the same unconquerable spirit that set men to writing poems and allegories when in prison for the faith, and that sent them over the stormy sea in a cockleshell to found a free commonwealth in the wilds of America.
For a modern reader the understanding of Paradise Lost presupposes two things,--a knowledge of the first chapters of the Scriptures317, and of the general principles of Calvinistic theology; but it is a pity to use the poem, as has so often been done, to teach a literal acceptance of one or the other. Of the theology of Paradise Lost the least said the better; but to the splendor of the Puritan dream and the glorious melody of its expression no words can do justice. Even a slight acquaintance will make the reader understand why it ranks with the Divina Commedia of Dante, and why it is generally accepted by critics as the greatest single poem in our literature.
Paradise RegainedSoon after the completion of Paradise Lost, Thomas Ellwood, a friend of Milton, asked one day after reading the Paradise manuscript, "But what hast thou to say of Paradise Found?" It was in response to this suggestion that Milton wrote the second part of the great epic, known to us as Paradise Regained. The first tells how mankind, in the person of Adam, fell at the first temptation by Satan and became an outcast from Paradise and from divine grace; the second shows how mankind, in the person of Christ, withstands the tempter and is established once more in the divine favor. Christ's temptation in the wilderness is the theme, and Milton follows the account in the fourth chapter of Matthew's gospel. Though Paradise Regained was Milton's favorite, and though it has many passages of noble thought and splendid imagery equal to the best of Paradise Lost, the poem as a whole falls below the level of the first, and is less interesting to read.
SamsonIn Samson Agonistes Milton turns to a more vital and personal theme, and his genius transfigures the story of Samson, the mighty champion of Israel, now blind and scorned, working as a slave among the Philistines320. The poet's aim was to present in English a pure tragedy, with all the passion and restraint which marked the old Greek dramas. That he succeeded where others failed is due to two causes: first, Milton himself suggests the hero of one of the Greek tragedies,--his sorrow and affliction give to his noble nature that touch of melancholy and calm dignity which is in perfect keeping with his subject. Second, Milton is telling his own story. Like Samson he had struggled mightily321 against the enemies of his race; he had taken a wife from the Philistines and had paid the penalty; he was blind, alone, scorned by his vain and thoughtless masters. To the essential action of the tragedy Milton could add, therefore, that touch of intense yet restrained personal feeling which carries more conviction than any argument. Samson is in many respects the most convincing of his works. Entirely apart from the interest of its subject and treatment, one may obtain from it a better idea of what great tragedy was among the Greeks than from any other work in our language.
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail133
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt,
Dispraise or blame,--nothing but well and fair,
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
III. PROSE WRITERS OF THE PURITAN PERIOD
JOHN BUNYAN (1628-1688)
As there is but one poet great enough to express the Puritan spirit, so there is but one commanding prose writer, John Bunyan. Milton was the child of the Renaissance, inheritor of all its culture, and the most profoundly educated man of his age. Bunyan was a poor, uneducated tinker. From the Renaissance he inherited nothing; but from the Reformation he received an excess of that spiritual independence which had caused the Puritan struggle for liberty. These two men, representing the extremes of English life in the seventeenth century, wrote the two works that stand to-day for the mighty Puritan spirit. One gave us the only epic since Beowulf; the other gave us our only great allegory, which has been read more than any other book in our language save the Bible.
Illustration: JOHN BUNYAN
JOHN BUNYAN
Life of Bunyan. Bunyan is an extraordinary figure; we must study him, as well as his books. Fortunately we have his life story in his own words, written with the same lovable modesty322 and sincerity323 that marked all his work. Reading that story now, in Grace Abounding, we see two great influences at work in his life. One, from within, was his own vivid imagination, which saw visions, allegories, parables324, revelations, in every common event. The other, from without, was the spiritual ferment of the age, the multiplication325 of strange sects,--Quakers, Free-Willers, Ranters, Anabaptists, Millenarians,--and the untempered zeal of all classes, like an engine without a balance wheel, when men were breaking away from authority and setting up their own religious standards. Bunyan's life is an epitome of that astonishing religious individualism which marked the close of the English Reformation.
He was born in the little village of Elstow, near Bedford, in 1628, the son of a poor tinker. For a little while the boy was sent to school, where he learned to read and write after a fashion; but he was soon busy in his father's shop, where, amid the glowing pots and the fire and smoke of his little forge, he saw vivid pictures of hell and the devils which haunted him all his life. When he was sixteen years old his father married the second time, whereupon Bunyan ran away and became a soldier in the Parliamentary army.
The religious ferment of the age made a tremendous impression on Bunyan's sensitive imagination. He went to church occasionally, only to find himself wrapped in terrors and torments326 by some fiery itinerant327 preacher; and he would rush violently away from church to forget his fears by joining in Sunday sports on the village green. As night came on the sports were forgotten, but the terrors returned, multiplied like the evil spirits of the parable76. Visions of hell and the demons59 swarmed328 in his brain. He would groan329 aloud in his remorse330, and even years afterwards he bemoans331 the sins of his early life. When we look for them fearfully, expecting some shocking crimes and misdemeanors, we find that they consisted of playing ball on Sunday and swearing. The latter sin, sad to say, was begun by listening to his father cursing some obstinate332 kettle which refused to be tinkered, and it was perfected in the Parliamentary army. One day his terrible swearing scared a woman, "a very loose and ungodly wretch," as he tells us, who reprimanded him for his profanity. The reproach of the poor woman went straight home, like the voice of a prophet. All his profanity left him; he hung down his head with shame. "I wished with all my heart," he says, "that I might be a little child again, that my father might learn me to speak without this wicked way of swearing." With characteristic vehemence333 Bunyan hurls334 himself upon a promise of Scripture318, and instantly the reformation begins to work in his soul. He casts out the habit, root and branch, and finds to his astonishment335 that he can speak more freely and vigorously than before. Nothing is more characteristic of the man than this sudden seizing upon a text, which he had doubtless heard many times before, and being suddenly raised up or cast down by its influence.
With Bunyan's marriage to a good woman the real reformation in his life began. While still in his teens he married a girl as poor as himself. "We came together," he says, "as poor as might be, having not so much household stuff as a dish or spoon between us both." The only dowry which the girl brought to her new home was two old, threadbare books, The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven, and The Practice of Piety[168] Bunyan read these books, which instantly gave fire to his imagination. He saw new visions and dreamed terrible new dreams of lost souls; his attendance at church grew exemplary; he began slowly and painfully to read the Bible for himself, but because of his own ignorance and the contradictory336 interpretations337 of Scripture which he heard on every side, he was tossed about like a feather by all the winds of doctrine.
The record of the next few years is like a nightmare, so terrible is Bunyan's spiritual struggle. One day he feels himself an outcast; the next the companion of angels; the third he tries experiments with the Almighty in order to put his salvation338 to the proof. As he goes along the road to Bedford he thinks he will work a miracle, like Gideon with his fleece. He will say to the little puddles339 of water in the horses' tracks, "Be ye dry"; and to all the dry tracks he will say, "Be ye puddles." As he is about to perform the miracle a thought occurs to him: "But go first under yonder hedge and pray that the Lord will make you able to perform a miracle." He goes promptly and prays. Then he is afraid of the test, and goes on his way more troubled than before.
After years of such struggle, chased about between heaven and hell, Bunyan at last emerges into a saner340 atmosphere, even as Pilgrim came out of the horrible Valley of the Shadow. Soon, led by his intense feelings, he becomes an open-air preacher, and crowds of laborers341 gather about him on the village green. They listen in silence to his words; they end in groans342 and tears; scores of them amend their sinful lives. For the Anglo-Saxon people are remarkable for this, that however deeply they are engaged in business or pleasure, they are still sensitive as barometers343 to any true spiritual influence, whether of priest or peasant; they recognize what Emerson calls the "accent of the Holy Ghost," and in this recognition of spiritual leadership lies the secret of their democracy. So this village tinker, with his strength and sincerity, is presently the acknowledged leader of an immense congregation, and his influence is felt throughout England. It is a tribute to his power that, after the return of Charles II, Bunyan was the first to be prohibited from holding public meetings.
Concerning Bunyan's imprisonment in Bedford jail, which followed his refusal to obey the law prohibiting religious meetings without the authority of the Established Church, there is a difference of opinion. That the law was unjust goes without saying; but there was no religious persecution, as we understand the term. Bunyan was allowed to worship when and how he pleased; he was simply forbidden to hold public meetings, which frequently became fierce denunciations of the Established Church and government. His judges pleaded with Bunyan to conform with the law. He refused, saying that when the Spirit was upon him he must go up and down the land, calling on men everywhere to repent. In his refusal we see much heroism, a little obstinacy344, and perhaps something of that desire for martyrdom which tempts82 every spiritual leader. That his final sentence to indefinite imprisonment was a hard blow to Bunyan is beyond question. He groaned345 aloud at the thought of his poor family, and especially at the thought of leaving his little blind daughter:
I found myself a man encompassed346 with infirmities; the parting was like pulling the flesh from my bones.... Oh, the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under would break my heart to pieces. Poor child, thought I, what sorrow thou art like to have for thy portion in this world; thou must be beaten, must beg, suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand calamities347, though I cannot now endure that the wind should blow upon thee.[169]
And then, because he thinks always in parables and seeks out most curious texts of Scripture, he speaks of "the two milch kine that were to carry the ark of God into another country and leave their calves348 behind them." Poor cows, poor Bunyan! Such is the mind of this extraordinary man.
With characteristic diligence Bunyan set to work in prison making shoe laces, and so earned a living for his family. His imprisonment lasted for nearly twelve years; but he saw his family frequently, and was for some time a regular preacher in the Baptist church in Bedford. Occasionally he even went about late at night, holding the proscribed meetings and increasing his hold upon the common people. The best result of this imprisonment was that it gave Bunyan long hours for the working of his peculiar mind and for study of his two only books, the King James Bible and Foxe's Book of Martyrs349. The result of his study and meditation was The Pilgrim's Progress, which was probably written in prison, but which for some reason he did not publish till long after his release.
The years which followed are the most interesting part of Bunyan's strange career. The publication of Pilgrim's Progress in 1678 made him the most popular writer, as he was already the most popular preacher, in England. Books, tracts350, sermons, nearly sixty works in all, came from his pen; and when one remembers his ignorance, his painfully slow writing, and his activity as an itinerant preacher, one can only marvel5. His evangelistic journeys carried him often as far as London, and wherever he went crowds thronged351 to hear him. Scholars, bishops, statesmen went in secret to listen among the laborers, and came away wondering and silent. At Southwark the largest building could not contain the multitude of his hearers; and when he preached in London, thousands would gather in the cold dusk of the winter morning, before work began, and listen until he had made an end of speaking. "Bishop48 Bunyan" he was soon called on account of his missionary352 journeys and his enormous influence.
What we most admire in the midst of all this activity is his perfect mental balance, his charity and humor in the strife of many sects. He was badgered for years by petty enemies, and he arouses our enthusiasm by his tolerance, his self-control, and especially by his sincerity. To the very end he retained that simple modesty which no success could spoil. Once when he had preached with unusual power some of his friends waited after the service to congratulate him, telling him what a "sweet sermon" he had delivered. "Aye," said Bunyan, "you need not remind me; the devil told me that before I was out of the pulpit."
For sixteen years this wonderful activity continued without interruption. Then, one day when riding through a cold storm on a labor of love, to reconcile a stubborn man with his own stubborn son, he caught a severe cold and appeared, ill and suffering but rejoicing in his success, at the house of a friend in Reading. He died there a few days later, and was laid away in Bunhill Fields burial ground, London, which has been ever since a campo santo to the faithful.
Works of Bunyan. The world's literature has three great allegories,--Spenser's Faery Queen, Dante's Divina Commedia, and Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. The first appeals to poets, the second to scholars, the third to people of every age and condition. Here is a brief outline of the famous work:
Argument of Pilgrim's Progress"As I walked through the wilderness of this world I lighted on a certain place where was a den11 [Bedford jail] and laid me down in that place to sleep; and, as I slept, I dreamed a dream." So the story begins. He sees a man called Christian setting out with a book in his hand and a great load on his back from the city of Destruction. Christian has two objects,--to get rid of his burden, which holds the sins and fears of his life, and to make his way to the Holy City. At the outset Evangelist finds him weeping because he knows not where to go, and points him to a wicket gate on a hill far away. As Christian goes forward his neighbors, friends, wife and children call to him to come back; but he puts his fingers in his ears, crying out, "Life, life, eternal life," and so rushes across the plain.
Then begins a journey in ten stages, which is a vivid picture of the difficulties and triumphs of the Christian life. Every trial, every difficulty, every experience of joy or sorrow, of peace or temptation, is put into the form and discourse353 of a living character. Other allegorists write in poetry and their characters are shadowy and unreal; but Bunyan speaks in terse354, idiomatic355 prose, and his characters are living men and women. There are Mr. Worldly Wiseman, a self-satisfied and dogmatic kind of man, youthful Ignorance, sweet Piety, courteous356 Demas, garrulous357 Talkative, honest Faithful, and a score of others, who are not at all the bloodless creatures of the Romance of the Rose, but men real enough to stop you on the road and to hold your attention. Scene after scene follows, in which are pictured many of our own spiritual experiences. There is the Slough358 of Despond, into which we all have fallen, out of which Pliable359 scrambles360 on the hither side and goes back grumbling361, but through which Christian struggles mightily till Helpful stretches him a hand and drags him out on solid ground and bids him go on his way. Then come Interpreter's house, the Palace Beautiful, the Lions in the way, the Valley of Humiliation362, the hard fight with the demon60 Apollyon, the more terrible Valley of the Shadow, Vanity Fair, and the trial of Faithful. The latter is condemned363 to death by a jury made up of Mr. Blindman, Mr. Nogood, Mr. Heady, Mr. Liveloose, Mr. Hatelight, and others of their kind to whom questions of justice are committed by the jury system. Most famous is Doubting Castle, where Christian and Hopeful are thrown into a dungeon364 by Giant Despair. And then at last the Delectable365 Mountains of Youth, the deep river that Christian must cross, and the city of All Delight and the glorious company of angels that come singing down the streets. At the very end, when in sight of the city and while he can hear the welcome with which Christian is greeted, Ignorance is snatched away to go to his own place; and Bunyan quaintly366 observes, "Then I saw that there was a way to hell even from the gates of heaven as well as from the city of Destruction. So I awoke, and behold367 it was a dream!"
Such, in brief, is the story, the great epic of a Puritan's individual experience in a rough world, just as Paradise Lost was the epic of mankind as dreamed by the great Puritan who had "fallen asleep over his Bible."
Success of Pilgrim's ProgressThe chief fact which confronts the student of literature as he pauses before this great allegory is that it has been translated into seventy-five languages and dialects, and has been read more than any other book save one in the English language.
As for the secret of its popularity, Taine says, "Next to the Bible, the book most widely read in England is the Pilgrim's Progress.... Protestantism is the doctrine of salvation by grace, and no writer has equaled Bunyan in making this doctrine understood." And this opinion is echoed by the majority of our literary historians. It is perhaps sufficient answer to quote the simple fact that Pilgrim's Progress is not exclusively a Protestant study; it appeals to Christians368 of every name, and to Mohammedans and Buddhists369 in precisely the same way that it appeals to Christians. When it was translated into the languages of Catholic countries, like France and Portugal, only one or two incidents were omitted, and the story was almost as popular there as with English readers. The secret of its success is probably simple. It is, first of all, not a procession of shadows repeating the author's declamations, but a real story, the first extended story in our language. Our Puritan fathers may have read the story for religious instruction; but all classes of men have read it because they found in it a true personal experience told with strength, interest, humor,--in a word, with all the qualities that such a story should possess. Young people have read it, first, for its intrinsic worth, because the dramatic interest of the story lured370 them on to the very end; and second, because it was their introduction to true allegory. The child with his imaginative mind--the man also, who has preserved his simplicity--naturally personifies objects, and takes pleasure in giving them powers of thinking and speaking like himself. Bunyan was the first writer to appeal to this pleasant and natural inclination371 in a way that all could understand. Add to this the fact that Pilgrim's Progress was the only book having any story interest in the great majority of English and American homes for a full century, and we have found the real reason for its wide reading.
Other Works of BunyanThe Holy War, published in 1665, is the first important work of Bunyan. It is a prose Paradise Lost, and would undoubtedly be known as a remarkable allegory were it not overshadowed by its great rival. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners, published in 1666, twelve years before Pilgrim's Progress, is the work from which we obtain the clearest insight into Bunyan's remarkable life, and to a man with historical or antiquarian tastes it is still excellent reading. In 1682 appeared The Life and Death of Mr. Badman, a realistic character study which is a precursor372 of the modern novel; and in 1684 the second part of Pilgrim's Progress, showing the journey of Christiana and her children to the city of All Delight. Besides these Bunyan published a multitude of treatises373 and sermons, all in the same style,--direct, simple, convincing, expressing every thought and emotion perfectly in words that even a child can understand. Many of these are masterpieces, admired by workingmen and scholars alike for their thought and expression. Take, for instance, "The Heavenly Footman," put it side by side with the best work of Latimer, and the resemblance in style is startling. It is difficult to realize that one work came from an ignorant tinker and the other from a great scholar, both engaged in the same general work. As Bunyan's one book was the Bible, we have here a suggestion of its influence in all our prose literature.
MINOR PROSE WRITERS
The Puritan Period is generally regarded as one destitute375 of literary interest; but that was certainly not the result of any lack of books or writers. Says Burton in his Anatomy of Melancholy:
I have ... new books every day, pamphlets, currantoes, stories, whole catalogues of volumes of all sorts, new paradoxes376, opinions, schisms377, heresies378, controversies379 in philosophy and religion. Now come tidings of weddings, maskings, entertainments, jubilees380, embassies, sports, plays; then again, as in a new-shipped scene, treasons, cheatings, tricks, robberies, enormous villainies in all kinds, funerals, deaths, new discoveries, expeditions; now comical, then tragical381 matters.....
So the record continues, till one rubs his eyes and thinks he must have picked up by mistake the last literary magazine. And for all these kaleidoscopic382 events there were waiting a multitude of writers, ready to seize the abundant material and turn it to literary account for a tract125, an article, a volume, or an encyclopedia383.
Three Good BooksIf one were to recommend certain of these books as expressive of this age of outward storm and inward calm, there are three that deserve more than a passing notice, namely, the Religio Medici, Holy Living, and The Compleat Angler. The first was written by a busy physician, a supposedly scientific man at that time; the second by the most learned of English churchmen; and the third by a simple merchant and fisherman. Strangely enough, these three great books--the reflections of nature, science, and revelation--all interpret human life alike and tell the same story of gentleness, charity, and noble living. If the age had produced only these three books, we could still be profoundly grateful to it for its inspiring message.
Robert Burton (1577-1640). Burton is famous chiefly as the author of the Anatomy of Melancholy, one of the most astonishing books in all literature, which appeared in 1621. Burton was a clergyman of the Established Church, an incomprehensible genius, given to broodings and melancholy and to reading of every conceivable kind of literature. Thanks to his wonderful memory, everything he read was stored up for use or ornament384, till his mind resembled a huge curiosity shop. All his life he suffered from hypochondria, but curiously traced his malady385 to the stars rather than to his own liver. It is related of him that he used to suffer so from despondency that no help was to be found in medicine or theology; his only relief was to go down to the river and hear the bargemen swear at one another.
Burton's Anatomy was begun as a medical treatise374 on morbidness386, arranged and divided with all the exactness of the schoolmen's demonstration of doctrines; but it turned out to be an enormous hodgepodge of quotations387 and references to authors, known and unknown, living and dead, which seemed to prove chiefly that "much study is a weariness to the flesh." By some freak of taste it became instantly popular, and was proclaimed one of the greatest books in literature. A few scholars still explore it with delight, as a mine of classic wealth; but the style is hopelessly involved, and to the ordinary reader most of his numerous references are now as unmeaning as a hyper-jacobian surface.
Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682). Browne was a physician who, after much study and travel, settled down to his profession in Norwich; but even then he gave far more time to the investigation388 of natural phenomena389 than to the barbarous practices which largely constituted the "art" of medicine in his day. He was known far and wide as a learned doctor and an honest man, whose scientific studies had placed him in advance of his age, and whose religious views were liberal to the point of heresy390. With this in mind, it is interesting to note, as a sign of the times, that this most scientific doctor was once called to give "expert" testimony391 in the case of two old women who were being tried for the capital crime of witchcraft392. He testified under oath that "the fits were natural, but heightened by the devil's co?perating with the witches, at whose instance he [the alleged393 devil] did the villainies."
Religio MediciBrowne's great work is the Religio Medici, i.e. The Religion of a Physician (1642), which met with most unusual success. "Hardly ever was a book published in Britain," says Oldys, a chronicler who wrote nearly a century later, "that made more noise than the Religio Medici." Its success may be due largely to the fact that, among thousands of religious works, it was one of the few which saw in nature a profound revelation, and which treated purely religious subjects in a reverent394, kindly395, tolerant way, without ecclesiastical bias396. It is still, therefore, excellent reading; but it is not so much the matter as the manner--the charm, the gentleness, the remarkable prose style--which has established the book as one of the classics of our literature.
Two other works of Browne are Vulgar Errors (1646), a curious combination of scientific and credulous397 research in the matter of popular superstition398, and Urn53 Burial, a treatise suggested by the discovery of Roman burial urns319 at Walsingham. It began as an inquiry399 into the various methods of burial, but ended in a dissertation400 on the vanity of earthly hope and ambitions. From a literary point of view it is Browne's best work, but is less read than the Religio Medici.
Thomas Fuller (1608-1661). Fuller was a clergyman and royalist whose lively style and witty401 observations would naturally place him with the gay Caroline poets. His best known works are The Holy War, The Holy State and the Profane State, Church History of Britain, and the History of the Worthies of England. The Holy and Profane State is chiefly a biographical record, the first part consisting of numerous historical examples to be imitated, the second of examples to be avoided. The Church History is not a scholarly work, notwithstanding its author's undoubted learning, but is a lively and gossipy account which has at least one virtue, that it entertains the reader. The Worthies, the most widely read of his works, is a racy account of the important men of England. Fuller traveled constantly for years, collecting information from out-of-the-way sources and gaining a minute knowledge of his own country. This, with his overflowing402 humor and numerous anecdotes403 and illustrations, makes lively and interesting reading. Indeed, we hardly find a dull page in any of his numerous books.
Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667). Taylor was the greatest of the clergymen who made this period famous, a man who, like Milton, upheld a noble ideal in storm and calm, and himself lived it nobly. He has been called "the Shakespeare of divines," and "a kind of Spenser in a cassock," and both descriptions apply to him very well. His writings, with their exuberant404 fancy and their noble diction, belong rather to the Elizabethan than to the Puritan age.
From the large number of his works two stand out as representative of the man himself: The Liberty of Prophesying405 (1646), which Hallam calls the first plea for tolerance in religion, on a comprehensive basis and on deep-seated foundations; and The Rules and Exercises of Holy Living (1650). To the latter might be added its companion volume, Holy Dying, published in the following year. The Holy Living and Dying, as a single volume, was for many years read in almost every English cottage. With Baxter's Saints' Rest, Pilgrim's Progress, and the King James Bible, it often constituted the entire library of multitudes of Puritan homes; and as we read its noble words and breathe its gentle spirit, we cannot help wishing that our modern libraries were gathered together on the same thoughtful foundations.
Richard Baxter (1615-1691). This "busiest man of his age" strongly suggests Bunyan in his life and writings. Like Bunyan, he was poor and uneducated, a nonconformist minister, exposed continually to insult and persecution; and, like Bunyan, he threw himself heart and soul into the conflicts of his age, and became by his public speech a mighty power among the common people. Unlike Jeremy Taylor, who wrote for the learned, and whose involved sentences and classical allusions406 are sometimes hard to follow, Baxter went straight to his mark, appealing directly to the judgment and feeling of his readers.
The number of his works is almost incredible when one thinks of his busy life as a preacher and the slowness of manual writing. In all, he left nearly one hundred and seventy different works, which if collected would make fifty or sixty volumes. As he wrote chiefly to influence men on the immediate questions of the day, most of this work has fallen into oblivion. His two most famous books are The Saints' Everlasting407 Rest and A Call to the Unconverted, both of which were exceedingly popular, running through scores of successive editions, and have been widely read in our own generation.
Izaak Walton (1593-1683). Walton was a small tradesman of London, who preferred trout408 brooks409 and good reading to the profits of business and the doubtful joys of a city life; so at fifty years, when he had saved a little money, he left the city and followed his heart out into the country. He began his literary work, or rather his recreation, by writing his famous Lives,--kindly and readable appreciations410 of Donne, Wotton, Hooker, Herbert, and Sanderson, which stand at the beginning of modern biographical writing.
The Compleat AnglerIn 1653 appeared The Compleat Angler, which has grown steadily in appreciation411, and which is probably more widely read than any other book on the subject of fishing. It begins with a conversation between a falconer, a hunter, and an angler; but the angler soon does most of the talking, as fishermen sometimes do; the hunter becomes a disciple412, and learns by the easy method of hearing the fisherman discourse about his art. The conversations, it must be confessed, are often diffuse413 and pedantic414; but they only make us feel most comfortably sleepy, as one invariably feels after a good day's fishing. So kindly is the spirit of the angler, so exquisite his appreciation of the beauty of the earth and sky, that one returns to the book, as to a favorite trout stream, with the undying expectation of catching415 something. Among a thousand books on angling it stands almost alone in possessing a charming style, and so it will probably be read as long as men go fishing. Best of all, it leads to a better appreciation of nature, and it drops little moral lessons into the reader's mind as gently as one casts a fly to a wary416 trout; so that one never suspects his better nature is being angled for. Though we have sometimes seen anglers catch more than they need, or sneak417 ahead of brother fishermen to the best pools, we are glad, for Walton's sake, to overlook such unaccountable exceptions, and agree with the milkmaid that "we love all anglers, they be such honest, civil, quiet men."
Summary of the Puritan Period. The half century between 1625 and 1675 is called the Puritan period for two reasons: first, because Puritan standards prevailed for a time in England; and second, because the greatest literary figure during all these years was the Puritan, John Milton. Historically the age was one of tremendous conflict. The Puritan struggled for righteousness and liberty, and because he prevailed, the age is one of moral and political revolution. In his struggle for liberty the Puritan overthrew the corrupt418 monarchy419, beheaded Charles I, and established the Commonwealth under Cromwell. The Commonwealth lasted but a few years, and the restoration of Charles II in 1660 is often put as the end of the Puritan period. The age has no distinct limits, but overlaps420 the Elizabethan period on one side, and the Restoration period on the other.
The age produced many writers, a few immortal books, and one of the world's great literary leaders. The literature of the age is extremely diverse in character, and the diversity is due to the breaking up of the ideals of political and religious unity. This literature differs from that of the preceding age in three marked ways: (1) It has no unity of spirit, as in the days of Elizabeth, resulting from the patriotic421 enthusiasm of all classes. (2) In contrast with the hopefulness and vigor165 of Elizabethan writings, much of the literature of this period is somber in character; it saddens rather than inspires us. (3) It has lost the romantic impulse of youth, and become critical and intellectual; it makes us think, rather than feel deeply.
In our study we have noted422 (1) the Transition Poets, of whom Daniel is chief; (2) the Song Writers, Campion and Breton; (3) the Spenserian Poets, Wither and Giles Fletcher; (4) the Metaphysical Poets, Donne and Herbert; (5) the Cavalier Poets, Herrick, Carew, Lovelace, and Suckling; (6) John Milton, his life, his early or Horton poems, his militant423 prose, and his last great poetical works; (7) John Bunyan, his extraordinary life, and his chief work, The Pilgrim's Progress; (8) the Minor Prose Writers, Burton, Browne, Fuller, Taylor, Baxter, and Walton. Three books selected from this group are Browne's Religio Medici, Taylor's Holy Living and Dying, and Walton's Complete Angler.
Selections for Reading. Milton. Paradise Lost, books 1-2, L'Allegro, Il Penseroso, Comus, Lycidas, and selected Sonnets,--all in Standard English Classics; same poems, more or less complete, in various other series; Areopagitica and Treatise on Education, selections, in Manly's English Prose, or Areopagitica in Arber's English Reprints, Clarendon Press Series, Morley's Universal Library, etc.
Minor Poets. Selections from Herrick, edited by Hale, in Athenaeum Press Series; selections from Herrick, Lovelace, Donne, Herbert, etc., in Manly's English Poetry, Golden Treasury424, Oxford Book of English Verse, etc.; Vaughan's Silex Scintillans, in Temple Classics, also in the Aldine Series; Herbert's The Temple, in Everyman's Library, Temple Classics, etc.
Bunyan. The Pilgrim's Progress, in Standard English Classics, Pocket Classics, etc.; Grace Abounding, in Cassell's National Library.
Minor Prose Writers. Wentworth's Selections from Jeremy Taylor; Browne's Religio Medici, Walton's Complete Angler, both in Everyman's Library, Temple Classics, etc.; selections from Taylor, Browne, and Walton in Manly's English Prose, also in Garnett's English Prose.
Bibliography425.[170]
History. Text-book, Montgomery, pp. 238-257; Cheyney, pp. 431-464; Green, ch. 8; Traill; Gardiner.
Special Works. Wakeling's King and Parliament (Oxford Manuals); Gardiner's The First Two Stuarts and the Puritan Revolution; Tulloch's English Puritanism and its Leaders; Lives of Cromwell by Harrison, by Church, and by Morley; Carlyle's Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches.
Literature. Saintsbury's Elizabethan Literature (extends to 1660); Masterman's The Age of Milton; Dowden's Puritan and Anglican.
Milton. Texts, Poetical Works, Globe edition, edited by Masson; Cambridge Poets edition, edited by Moody426; English Prose Writings, edited by Morley, in Carisbrooke Library; also in Bohn's Standard Library.
Masson's Life of John Milton (8 vols.); Life, by Garnett, by Pattison (English Men of Letters). Raleigh's Milton; Trent's John Milton; Corson's Introduction to Milton; Brooke's Milton, in Student's Library; Macaulay's Milton; Lowell's Essays, in Among My Books, and in Latest Literary Essays; M. Arnold's Essay, in Essays in Criticism; Dowden's Essay, in Puritan and Anglican.
Cavalier Poets. Schelling's Seventeenth Century Lyrics, in Athenaeum Press Series; Cavalier and Courtier Lyrists, in Canterbury Poets Series; Gosse's Jacobean Poets; Lovelace, etc., in Library of Old Authors.
Donne. Poems, in Muses427' Library; Life, in Walton's Lives, in Temple Classics, and in Morley's Universal Library; Life, by Gosse; Jessup's John Donne; Dowden's Essay, in New Studies; Stephen's Studies of a Biographer, vol. 3.
Herbert. Palmer's George Herbert; Poems and Prose Selections, edited by Rhys, in Canterbury Poets; Dowden's Essay, in Puritan and Anglican.
Bunyan. Brown's John Bunyan, His Life, Times, and Works; Life, by Venables, and by Froude (English Men of Letters); Essays by Macaulay, by Dowden, supra, and by Woodberry, in Makers of Literature.
Jeremy Taylor. Holy Living, Holy Dying, in Temple Classics, and in Bohn's Standard Library; Selections, edited by Wentworth; Life, by Heber, and by Gosse (English Men of Letters); Dowden's Essay, supra.
Thomas Browne. Works, edited by Wilkin; the same, in Temple Classics, and in Bohn's Library; Religio Medici, in Everyman's Library; essay by Pater, in Appreciations; by Dowden, supra; and by L. Stephen, in Hours in a Library; Life, by Gosse (English Men of Letters).
Izaak Walton. Works, in Temple Classics, Cassell's Library, and Morley's Library; Introduction, in A. Lang's Walton's Complete Angler; Lowell's Essay, in Latest Literary Essays.
Suggestive Questions. 1. What is meant by the Puritan period? What were the objects and the results of the Puritan movement in English history?
2. What are the main characteristics of the literature of this period? Compare it with Elizabethan literature. How did religion and politics affect Puritan literature? Can you quote any passages or name any works which justify your opinion?
3. What is meant by the terms Cavalier poets, Spenserian poets, Metaphysical poets? Name the chief writers of each group. To whom are we indebted for our first English hymn book? Would you call this a work of literature? Why?
4. What are the qualities of Herrick's poetry? What marked contrasts are found in Herrick and in nearly all the poets of this period?
5. Who was George Herbert? For what purpose did he write? What qualities are found in his poetry?
6. Tell briefly428 the story of Milton's life. What are the three periods of his literary work? What is meant by the Horton poems? Compare "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso." Are there any Puritan ideals in "Comus"? Why is "Lycidas" often put at the summit of English lyrical poetry? Give the main idea or argument of Paradise Lost. What are the chief qualities of the poem? Describe in outline Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes. What personal element entered into the latter? What quality strikes you most forcibly in Milton's poetry? What occasioned Milton's prose works? Do they properly belong to literature? Why? Compare Milton and Shakespsare with regard to (1) knowledge of men, (2) ideals of life, (3) purpose in writing.
7. Tell the story of Bunyan's life. What unusual elements are found in his life and writings? Give the main argument of The Pilgrim's Progress. If you read the story before studying literature, tell why you liked or disliked it. Why is it a work for all ages and for all races? What are the chief qualities of Bunyan's style?
8. Who are the minor prose writers of this age? Name the chief works of Jeremy Taylor, Thomas Browne, and Izaak Walton. Can you describe from your own reading any of these works? How does the prose of this age compare in interest with the poetry? (Milton is, of course, excepted in this comparison.)
CHRONOLOGY
Seventeenth Century
HISTORY LITERATURE
1621. Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy
1623. Wither's Hymn Book
1625. Charles I
Parliament dissolved
1628. Petition of Right 1629. Milton's Ode on the Nativity
1630-1640. King rules without
Parliament. Puritan migration122
to New England 1630-1633. Herbert's poems
1632-1637. Milton's Horton poems
1640. Long Parliament
1642. Civil War begins 1642. Browne's Religio Medici
1643. Scotch Covenant
1643. Press censorship 1644. Milton's Areopagitica
1645. Battle of Naseby;
triumph of Puritans
1649. Execution of Charles I.
Cavalier migration to Virginia
1649-1660. Commonwealth 1649. Milton's Tenure of Kings
1650. Baxter's Saints' Rest.
Jeremy Taylor's Holy Living
1651. Hobbes's Leviathan
1653-1658. Cromwell, Protector 1653. Walton's Complete Angler
1658-1660. Richard Cromwell
1660. Restoration of Charles II 1663-1694. Dryden's dramas
(next chapter)
1666. Bunyan's Grace Abounding
1667. Paradise Lost
1674. Death of Milton
1678. Pilgrim's Progress published
(written earlier)
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1 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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2 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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3 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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4 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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5 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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6 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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7 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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8 jeers | |
n.操纵帆桁下部(使其上下的)索具;嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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9 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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10 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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11 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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12 tolerance | |
n.宽容;容忍,忍受;耐药力;公差 | |
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13 counselors | |
n.顾问( counselor的名词复数 );律师;(使馆等的)参赞;(协助学生解决问题的)指导老师 | |
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14 laud | |
n.颂歌;v.赞美 | |
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15 covenant | |
n.盟约,契约;v.订盟约 | |
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16 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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17 fanatics | |
狂热者,入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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18 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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19 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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20 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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21 immorality | |
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22 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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23 restrictions | |
约束( restriction的名词复数 ); 管制; 制约因素; 带限制性的条件(或规则) | |
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24 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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25 overthrew | |
overthrow的过去式 | |
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26 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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27 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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28 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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29 ridiculed | |
v.嘲笑,嘲弄,奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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31 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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32 upheaval | |
n.胀起,(地壳)的隆起;剧变,动乱 | |
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33 commonwealth | |
n.共和国,联邦,共同体 | |
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34 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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35 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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36 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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37 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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38 inevitable | |
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39 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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40 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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41 ferment | |
vt.使发酵;n./vt.(使)激动,(使)动乱 | |
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42 sects | |
n.宗派,教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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43 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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44 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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45 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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46 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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47 reactionary | |
n.反动者,反动主义者;adj.反动的,反动主义的,反对改革的 | |
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48 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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49 bishops | |
(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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50 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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51 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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52 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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53 urn | |
n.(有座脚的)瓮;坟墓;骨灰瓮 | |
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54 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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55 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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56 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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57 colonists | |
n.殖民地开拓者,移民,殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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58 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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59 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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60 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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61 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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62 akin | |
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63 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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64 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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65 somber | |
adj.昏暗的,阴天的,阴森的,忧郁的 | |
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66 anatomy | |
n.解剖学,解剖;功能,结构,组织 | |
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67 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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68 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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69 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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70 glorify | |
vt.颂扬,赞美,使增光,美化 | |
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71 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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72 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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73 throbs | |
体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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74 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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75 pessimism | |
n.悲观者,悲观主义者,厌世者 | |
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76 parable | |
n.寓言,比喻 | |
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77 ardor | |
n.热情,狂热 | |
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78 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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79 lyrics | |
n.歌词 | |
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80 adornment | |
n.装饰;装饰品 | |
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81 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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82 tempts | |
v.引诱或怂恿(某人)干不正当的事( tempt的第三人称单数 );使想要 | |
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83 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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84 follower | |
n.跟随者;随员;门徒;信徒 | |
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85 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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86 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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87 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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88 sonnet | |
n.十四行诗 | |
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89 sonnets | |
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90 pseudonym | |
n.假名,笔名 | |
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91 affixed | |
adj.[医]附着的,附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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92 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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93 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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94 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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95 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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96 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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97 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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98 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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99 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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100 zest | |
n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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101 wither | |
vt.使凋谢,使衰退,(用眼神气势等)使畏缩;vi.枯萎,衰退,消亡 | |
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102 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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103 piers | |
n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 );(常设有娱乐场所的)突堤;柱子;墙墩 | |
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104 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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105 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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106 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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107 epitome | |
n.典型,梗概 | |
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108 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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109 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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110 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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111 forerunner | |
n.前身,先驱(者),预兆,祖先 | |
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112 tiresome | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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113 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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114 proscribed | |
v.正式宣布(某事物)有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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116 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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117 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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118 denominations | |
n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 );教派;面额;名称 | |
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119 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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120 needy | |
adj.贫穷的,贫困的,生活艰苦的 | |
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121 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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122 migration | |
n.迁移,移居,(鸟类等的)迁徙 | |
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123 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
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124 martyr | |
n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
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125 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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126 ordained | |
v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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127 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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128 amend | |
vt.修改,修订,改进;n.[pl.]赔罪,赔偿 | |
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129 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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130 worthies | |
应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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131 uneven | |
adj.不平坦的,不规则的,不均匀的 | |
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132 browsing | |
v.吃草( browse的现在分词 );随意翻阅;(在商店里)随便看看;(在计算机上)浏览信息 | |
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133 wail | |
vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
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134 exalt | |
v.赞扬,歌颂,晋升,提升 | |
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135 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
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136 satiric | |
adj.讽刺的,挖苦的 | |
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137 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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138 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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139 aspiration | |
n.志向,志趣抱负;渴望;(语)送气音;吸出 | |
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140 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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141 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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142 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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143 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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144 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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145 precepts | |
n.规诫,戒律,箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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146 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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147 chafe | |
v.擦伤;冲洗;惹怒 | |
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148 stanzas | |
节,段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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149 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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150 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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151 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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152 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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153 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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154 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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155 rime | |
n.白霜;v.使蒙霜 | |
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156 conceits | |
高傲( conceit的名词复数 ); 自以为; 巧妙的词语; 别出心裁的比喻 | |
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157 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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158 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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159 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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160 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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161 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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162 licentious | |
adj.放纵的,淫乱的 | |
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163 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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164 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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165 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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166 stimulating | |
adj.有启发性的,能激发人思考的 | |
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167 bestows | |
赠给,授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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168 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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169 phoenix | |
n.凤凰,长生(不死)鸟;引申为重生 | |
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170 spicy | |
adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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171 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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172 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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173 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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174 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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175 mermaid | |
n.美人鱼 | |
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176 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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177 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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178 rosebuds | |
蔷薇花蕾,妙龄少女,初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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179 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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180 melodious | |
adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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181 abounding | |
adj.丰富的,大量的v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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182 duel | |
n./v.决斗;(双方的)斗争 | |
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183 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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184 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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185 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
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186 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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187 doggerel | |
n.拙劣的诗,打油诗 | |
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188 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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189 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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190 jealousies | |
n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
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191 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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192 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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193 swerve | |
v.突然转向,背离;n.转向,弯曲,背离 | |
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194 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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195 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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196 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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197 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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198 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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199 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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200 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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201 prospered | |
成功,兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202 notary | |
n.公证人,公证员 | |
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203 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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204 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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205 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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206 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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207 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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208 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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209 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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210 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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211 ordination | |
n.授任圣职 | |
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212 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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213 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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214 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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215 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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216 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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217 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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218 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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219 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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220 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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221 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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222 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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223 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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224 chary | |
adj.谨慎的,细心的 | |
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225 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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226 unbearable | |
adj.不能容忍的;忍受不住的 | |
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227 brutality | |
n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
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228 tenure | |
n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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229 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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230 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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231 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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232 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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233 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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234 repudiated | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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235 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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236 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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237 espoused | |
v.(决定)支持,拥护(目标、主张等)( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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238 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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239 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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240 condemning | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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241 demolished | |
v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 );推翻;拆毁(尤指大建筑物);吃光 | |
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242 instigated | |
v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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243 invincible | |
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
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244 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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245 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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246 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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247 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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248 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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249 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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250 recording | |
n.录音,记录 | |
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251 quelled | |
v.(用武力)制止,结束,镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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252 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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253 dictate | |
v.口授;(使)听写;指令,指示,命令 | |
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254 makers | |
n.制造者,制造商(maker的复数形式) | |
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255 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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256 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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257 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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258 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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259 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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260 fragrances | |
n.芳香,香味( fragrance的名词复数 );香水 | |
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261 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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262 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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263 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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264 scenic | |
adj.自然景色的,景色优美的 | |
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265 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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266 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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267 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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268 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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269 elegy | |
n.哀歌,挽歌 | |
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270 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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271 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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272 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
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273 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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274 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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275 musters | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的第三人称单数 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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276 battalions | |
n.(陆军的)一营(大约有一千兵士)( battalion的名词复数 );协同作战的部队;军队;(组织在一起工作的)队伍 | |
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277 exults | |
狂喜,欢跃( exult的第三人称单数 ) | |
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278 paean | |
n.赞美歌,欢乐歌 | |
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279 splendors | |
n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 );壮丽;光辉;显赫 | |
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280 censor | |
n./vt.审查,审查员;删改 | |
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281 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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282 forum | |
n.论坛,讨论会 | |
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283 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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284 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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285 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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286 looms | |
n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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287 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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288 manliness | |
刚毅 | |
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289 titanic | |
adj.巨人的,庞大的,强大的 | |
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290 banishment | |
n.放逐,驱逐 | |
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291 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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292 pandemonium | |
n.喧嚣,大混乱 | |
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293 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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294 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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295 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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296 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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297 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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298 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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299 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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300 condemns | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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301 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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302 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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303 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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304 portray | |
v.描写,描述;画(人物、景象等) | |
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305 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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306 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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307 abiding | |
adj.永久的,持久的,不变的 | |
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308 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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309 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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310 descant | |
v.详论,絮说;n.高音部 | |
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311 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
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312 sapphires | |
n.蓝宝石,钢玉宝石( sapphire的名词复数 );蔚蓝色 | |
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313 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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314 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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315 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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316 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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317 scriptures | |
经文,圣典( scripture的名词复数 ); 经典 | |
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318 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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319 urns | |
n.壶( urn的名词复数 );瓮;缸;骨灰瓮 | |
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320 philistines | |
n.市侩,庸人( philistine的名词复数 );庸夫俗子 | |
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321 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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322 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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323 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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324 parables | |
n.(圣经中的)寓言故事( parable的名词复数 ) | |
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325 multiplication | |
n.增加,增多,倍增;增殖,繁殖;乘法 | |
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326 torments | |
(肉体或精神上的)折磨,痛苦( torment的名词复数 ); 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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327 itinerant | |
adj.巡回的;流动的 | |
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328 swarmed | |
密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 ); 云集; 成群地移动; 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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329 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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330 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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331 bemoans | |
v.为(某人或某事)抱怨( bemoan的第三人称单数 );悲悼;为…恸哭;哀叹 | |
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332 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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333 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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334 hurls | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的第三人称单数 );大声叫骂 | |
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335 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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336 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
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337 interpretations | |
n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 );表演;演绎;理解 | |
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338 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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339 puddles | |
n.水坑, (尤指道路上的)雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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340 saner | |
adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 );神志正常的;明智的;稳健的 | |
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341 laborers | |
n.体力劳动者,工人( laborer的名词复数 );(熟练工人的)辅助工 | |
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342 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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343 barometers | |
气压计,晴雨表( barometer的名词复数 ) | |
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344 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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345 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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346 encompassed | |
v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 );包围;包含;包括 | |
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347 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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348 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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349 martyrs | |
n.martyr的复数形式;烈士( martyr的名词复数 );殉道者;殉教者;乞怜者(向人诉苦以博取同情) | |
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350 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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351 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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352 missionary | |
adj.教会的,传教(士)的;n.传教士 | |
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353 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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354 terse | |
adj.(说话,文笔)精炼的,简明的 | |
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355 idiomatic | |
adj.成语的,符合语言习惯的 | |
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356 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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357 garrulous | |
adj.唠叨的,多话的 | |
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358 slough | |
v.蜕皮,脱落,抛弃 | |
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359 pliable | |
adj.易受影响的;易弯的;柔顺的,易驾驭的 | |
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360 scrambles | |
n.抢夺( scramble的名词复数 )v.快速爬行( scramble的第三人称单数 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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361 grumbling | |
adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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362 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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363 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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364 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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365 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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366 quaintly | |
adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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367 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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368 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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369 Buddhists | |
n.佛教徒( Buddhist的名词复数 ) | |
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370 lured | |
吸引,引诱(lure的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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371 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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372 precursor | |
n.先驱者;前辈;前任;预兆;先兆 | |
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373 treatises | |
n.专题著作,专题论文,专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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374 treatise | |
n.专著;(专题)论文 | |
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375 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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376 paradoxes | |
n.似非而是的隽语,看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 );用于语言文学中的上述隽语;有矛盾特点的人[事物,情况] | |
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377 schisms | |
n.教会分立,分裂( schism的名词复数 ) | |
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378 heresies | |
n.异端邪说,异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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379 controversies | |
争论 | |
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380 jubilees | |
n.周年纪念( jubilee的名词复数 ) | |
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381 tragical | |
adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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382 kaleidoscopic | |
adj.千变万化的 | |
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383 encyclopedia | |
n.百科全书 | |
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384 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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385 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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386 morbidness | |
(精神的)病态 | |
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387 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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388 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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389 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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390 heresy | |
n.异端邪说;异教 | |
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391 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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392 witchcraft | |
n.魔法,巫术 | |
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393 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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394 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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395 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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396 bias | |
n.偏见,偏心,偏袒;vt.使有偏见 | |
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397 credulous | |
adj.轻信的,易信的 | |
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398 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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399 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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400 dissertation | |
n.(博士学位)论文,学术演讲,专题论文 | |
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401 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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402 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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403 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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404 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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405 prophesying | |
v.预告,预言( prophesy的现在分词 ) | |
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406 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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407 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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408 trout | |
n.鳟鱼;鲑鱼(属) | |
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409 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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410 appreciations | |
n.欣赏( appreciation的名词复数 );感激;评定;(尤指土地或财产的)增值 | |
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411 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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412 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
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413 diffuse | |
v.扩散;传播;adj.冗长的;四散的,弥漫的 | |
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414 pedantic | |
adj.卖弄学问的;迂腐的 | |
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415 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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416 wary | |
adj.谨慎的,机警的,小心的 | |
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417 sneak | |
vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝);偷偷摸摸做;n.潜行;adj.暗中进行 | |
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418 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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419 monarchy | |
n.君主,最高统治者;君主政体,君主国 | |
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420 overlaps | |
v.部分重叠( overlap的第三人称单数 );(物体)部份重叠;交叠;(时间上)部份重叠 | |
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421 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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422 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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423 militant | |
adj.激进的,好斗的;n.激进分子,斗士 | |
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424 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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425 bibliography | |
n.参考书目;(有关某一专题的)书目 | |
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426 moody | |
adj.心情不稳的,易怒的,喜怒无常的 | |
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427 muses | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的第三人称单数 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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428 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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