I will begin by recalling my nearest approach to any experience of mountain ascent11.
202 I was staying in Herefordshire with my brother, in his parish among the hills and woods. When a friend is with us, we seem to think it a necessity, both for his sake and our own, to rove somewhat, and to explore some of the more distant country. Accordingly we fell to planning expeditions, and after divers12 suggestions, contemplations, and rejections13, fixed14 upon a small village beside a lovely stream renowned15 for its trout16 and grayling, and near a hill famous in those parts, and named Croft Ambrey. We were to sleep two nights at a small inn near the stream, and from that stream we were to extract our breakfast. There is always a great charm about these expeditions—a novelty, an independence, a breaking through the trammels of life’s daily routine, in their enterprising pic-nic character. And so my brother, his wife and I, started on the appointed morning, in high glee. We were, I remember, however, employed half the day in the vain endeavour to catch the white pony17; and were at one time almost in despair of our getting off at all. The little rogue18 had been put up to some sly tricks by a horse with whom he had been observed to have been conferring over the fence for some days previously19, and I remember the almost comic provocation20 with which he let us sidle up to him, with blandishments and barley21, until just within range for the halter, and then, at the very moment of attainment22, was off, and anon standing demure23 and meek24 at the other end of the field. Nor did we fare better if we altered our tactics, and, like wolves over the northern snows, tried to hem25 in our prey26 in a deadly half-circle. He ever contrived27 to give us the slip, and it was203 not until we were wearied out, and on the point of giving up our expedition for that day, that he surrendered at discretion29.
We started, nevertheless, wound up again as to our spirits for the excursion, and thoroughly30 enjoying a twenty-miles drive through lovely scenery. It was so late, however, when we arrived near Croft Ambrey, that we had but time that afternoon for a walk towards it, and up a lesser31 hill, and so back to our quiet little inn, close to the Lugg. How one enjoys the meals on these occasions! That broiled32 ham and eggs, and home-brewed beer, in the little sanded room; what venison and champagne33 refection could for a moment compare with them? It is the charm of novelty, I suppose, in scene and room and everything. Of course, it is easy to understand the zest34 that attends a dish of trout and grayling of your own catching35.
But to return to Croft Ambrey. Next day we were prevented by other engagements from fulfilling that with our hill. And, since we were to start quite early on the morrow, the chance of my ascending37 it seemed over when I retired38 to my homely39 but clean little bedroom at night. However, I had not quite given the thing up. It was in my mind, could I but contrive28 to wake at five in the morning, to sally forth40, while great part of the world was asleep, and explore the peaks, passes, and glaciers41 of that noble hill. I am not good at waking, unless called. But—and this seems an illustration of how the mind controls the body—it is certain that if you go to sleep with a strong desire or sense of duty concerning the waking at a certain hour, you not unfrequently, after a careful fumbling204 under the pillow, find your watch demonstrating pretty nearly the time that your mind had appointed. This may be a mere42 coincidence, but it is one whose recurrence43 I have often marked. At any rate, I know that next morning I awoke, with a sudden instinct consulted my privy45 counsellor, and was by it informed that five o’clock was yet a few minutes distant. And so I arose, and drew the blind, and looked out upon the still world, in the sharp cool morning air. The light seemed clear and cold, and there was an incessant46 twitter and loud chirping47 dialogue of many awakened48 birds. A thin mist was withdrawing from the fields, and yet lay upon the course of the river. I hastened my dressing50, and quietly slid down stairs. How well most of us know the weird51 strangeness of the house at the early morning hour, when all in it are still asleep, but day is peering in through closed shutters52, and above locked doors! The darkling light; the breathing hush53; the dog curled on the mat, rising uneasily, and surveying matters suspiciously, but, reassured54, settling himself down again with a preliminary shake, when
“His sagacious eye an inmate55 owns”;
the sullen56 disturbing sound at the street door, of bolts and locks, and bars, that would have seemed noiseless enough by day. And then the clear sharp feeling of the air, when you step into the road; the silent unpeopled worship of nature at its matins’ hour; the shadows, long as those of evening, and more grey and pearly, along the white empty road. And, enhancing the stillness, perhaps one lonely traveller met, seeming the world’s only inhabitant;205 and, as you walk farther on into the day, presently
“The carter, and his arch-necked, sturdy team, Following their shadows on the early road.”
Thus, then, I sallied forth, and to my mind the details of that morning walk are even more distinct than when I trod it. The pause of consideration as to the turning to be taken; the selection, as it happened, of just the right gate; the belt of pines half-way up the hill, that from below seemed so near the highest point, but attained58, showed a great height still to be surmounted—much like all striving upwards59 here after any excellence60, especially after holiness; the pleasure when at last the summit was attained; the little incidents connected with that attainment; the frail61 harebell plucked, and pressed even now in my pocket-book; the curious war that I found and left going on between a hawk62 and a rook; each striving to get above the other, each making and each avoiding the hostile swoop63; all these slight matters are the details which make that day’s whole still a distinct sharp picture to my mind.
And very full of matter for musing64 appears to me now that morning expedition. I forget how many counties of England and Wales lay outspread before me; some six or seven, I think. Certainly a mist brooded over them, and I did not see them clearly; but yet there they were, and I know not but that the half-appearance may have more impressed (imagination being called in to complete the scene) than a clear panorama65 would have done. The world’s ordinary sights and sounds lay far beneath me; the narrow scope of the ordinary206 view was widened; for fields, I surveyed counties in my landscape, and for hedges, lines of distant hills. All things were wider and larger, and I breathed a more expansive, freer air; and I seemed, I think, a little raised above life’s pettinesses, by the quiet and the breadth of view of that early morning ascent.
* * * * *
Ah, friends,—and brothers in both the meannesses and the great expectations of this strange finite, infinite existence,—how we need, how we need, these periodical ascents66 into207 Higher ground! How large life is; and yet, how little! How we fret67 and fume68 about fields and hedges—merest trifles, when counties and hills—nay, continents and seas—nay, worlds or systems, and space, might lie under the ken49 of our perception and contemplation, which, indeed, has no bounds, forward, through eternal time, and infinite space! How, in the littleness of things, are we apt to swamp the largeness which they might present to our thought! How life’s pettinesses overmaster the mighty tremendous prospect69 that God has set before us, looming70 indeed through a veil of mist, far below our feet! Oh, how grand, how stupendous, how magnificent, might this our life, rightly thought of, become! Money, love, fame, power; it is, while we stand on the mountain, the tinkle71 of a sheep-bell far below us in the valley; it is the pigmy form, it is the muffled72 cry of those things which seemed to us large and of full growth, when we met them down far below in the bustle73 and busy intercourse74 of life. I think of Martha, with the ordering of a meal the great matter in her eyes; Mary, indeed at the Saviour’s feet, but thus seated, placed, in good truth, upon a mountain, from whose wide range of view all merely of this world seemed petty, worthless, mean. Oh, for a mountain view of life! Oh, for an angel’s view! Then money, power, talents, influence, all would be noble, as offerings to Christ; contemptible75 in any other aspect. How I crave76 to take always that standing-point; to survey life—so far as such as I am can—from God’s point of sight; to look at time as, after all, only a tooth in the great cog-wheel of Eternity77, as something very small, that fits into something very large! The littleness of208 life; its scandals, its jealousies78, its irritations79, its safe voyages or its wrecks80, its gains or losses of a fast-flying hour; its loves and hopes, its hates and despairs, its ecstasies81 and anguishes82; these are the fields and hedges that are perceived no longer, when we have ascended84 above this brief and transient state of things, and look down upon counties, continents, worlds.
How I mourn over life’s pettinesses! How I grieve, in my better mountain hours, to find myself always easily moved and disturbed, either to enjoyment85 or vexation, by the merest and most absolute trifles! How bitter it is to me, next time I get the wider view, to perceive how easily, and naturally, and contemptibly86, I descended88, after the last ascent, down among the thronging89, chafing90, soul-lowering interests and phantasies of this lower world, this span-long life again! Ah, spark of the Infinite, that finite things can so absorb thee! Ah, heir of Eternity, that time’s dancing motes91 can affect thee so much! Ah, member of Christ, child of God and inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven, that it can much concern thee in what station of life, in what external condition, it may please Him that thou shouldst serve Him, here, and now, in this minute of space and time!
* * * * *
In life’s morning we may all, I think, be said to stand on the mountain, and, although it be a morning view, made illusive92 by mist and early sunshine, obtain the widest, least petty, view. More wide, more noble, more expansive—all these the scope of youth’s sight must be conceded to be. There is not the suspicion, the narrow thought, the selfishness, the intent consideration of the present interest; there is a broader,209 more generous way of contemplating life than we shall find later in its course. Doubtless there is the greater proneness93 to be deceived. The eye is not yet trained to calculate distances; arduous95 undertakings96 are misjudged; easy attainments97 are regarded with admiration98 and awe99; there are many mistakes, much proof of want of experience. But as life goes on, and as men descend87 to gain this knowledge and correctness of estimation, often the wider view narrows, the freer air is left behind, and the eye that roamed over and took in that nobler scope becomes shut in by surrounding trees and hedges into the range of but one small field. Could we, as a few have done, not barter100 youth’s aspirations101 and superb ideas for manhood’s experience and practical mind, but add the riches of manhood to the riches of youth, how much greater a thing we might make this life of ours to be! For certainly in youth we do stand upon an eminence3, and look round upon counties and hills, and gradually, as manhood gains upon us, are apt to descend towards mere gardens, fields, and fences.
And so the evil to be guarded against—or to be deplored—will be the declension of the mind and heart from this wider, more open and generous view, a loss inward, not outward. Mixing, as we soon must, among life’s pettinesses, how many of us forget the mountain upon which we once stood, nor care to ascend36 it still from time to time, but are content to sink into hardness, coldness of heart, narrow-mindedness, selfishness, a cynical102, unsympathetic temper, a habit of low suspicion, a littleness of caution, a close hand, an absorbed heart. So that we should try, from time to time, to draw apart from the highways and byways and crowded walks of life’s daily cares and210 concerns, and to ascend a point which overlooks them and brings them more into their just proportion with that wider view which diminishes if it does not absorb them.
In reading some of the highest poetry I have found this ascent gained. It carries you up into the ideal, from life’s mean realities and commonplaces; there is an atmosphere of honour and love and generosity103; men think and act grandly, and money-getting is not the mainspring of all. And this is one profit of high and wholesome104 poetry, that it does water and keep alive those nobler greater ideas and yearnings that the dust of the world’s traffic might otherwise choke. For the heart’s true poetic105 sense (I do not mean mere sentimentality) is no doubt one of the links nearest to God in the chain which connects us with Him.
How much of the sublimest106 poetry we find, in truth, in the Bible. And here I would point out especially how we may indeed breathe a mountain air—indeed obtain a mountain view, namely, in the sacredly-kept times of morning devotional reading. In a trouble, whether a small worry or a crushing anguish83, how sweet, when the time has come round for the reading and meditation107 on the things of Eternity and of God. How, as we go on with our upward winding108 path, the fret or the agony insensibly takes its place in the wider landscape, and diminishes by an imperceptible process from the exaggerated size it presented to us when we stood beside it on the plain. Other greater objects open upon our view, and attract our attention; the far scenery of God’s mighty workings widens out before us, and the vast Ocean of Eternity stretching round and embracing the little island213 of Time; and we seem to feel a cool air fanning our hot tear-tired eyes, and we breathe more freely, and our heart, despite of itself, loses somewhat of its weary load. The world is left below; even the clouds sleep under our feet; and heaven is nearer, not only for that hour, but during the rest of the day.
And how naturally may this thought of mountain-quiet and distance from earth’s noises lead us to the consideration of that most exquisite109 and precious communion with God which we know by the name of Prayer. In associating the time of prayer with the idea of mountain seclusion110, two pictures rise at once before the mind, because in them actually a mountain was the scene, and not only the type, of earnest and retired prayer. We see first the top of Carmel, bare and burnt under the sun of Palestine, and overlooking the intensely blue sea. Upon it the solitary111 prophet Elijah bends to the ground, prostrate112 on the earth, with his face between his knees. A watching form stands on a point towards the sea, until, at last, far away over the water, in the sultry horizon, a little dark speck113, like a man’s hand, arises, and, on rapid wing, the delicious cool clouds gather and spread their awning114 between the burnt earth and the pitiless sun. Then the glorious sudden rush of the restoring rain, steady, incessant, abundant, settling in pools on the caked ground, streaming down the sides of the orange hills, sending eddying115 torrents116 to brim the parched117 cracked river-beds. Thus impetuous and profuse118 came the answer to the prophet’s lonely mountain prayer.
And another dearer picture we never weary of contemplating; another account of One who, after the day’s toil7 of214 healing, of teaching, of feeding the multitudes, sends the thronging crowd away, dismisses even His disciples119 in a ship across the lake, and then, when
“The feast is o’er, the guests are gone, And over all that upland lone57, The breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old,”
retires up into a mountain apart to pray, and continues all night in prayer to God. What a lesson! The crush and press dismissed; even the closest and most intimate companions avoided, and a quiet time secured for we know not what prayers to the co-equal Father.
Ah, that we more entirely120 followed His example: how, if our prayers had more leisure secured for them, were more strictly121 protected from intrusion and disturbance122, more lonely—how they would aid us to breathe the air of the mountain, to keep ever before us its wider view, even when we had descended to mix again with life’s thronging necessities in the plain. Even in our room, when the door is closed upon us (for I am speaking here of private prayer, not of public worship),—even thus, we are not necessarily upon the mountain, speaking through the stars to God. The larger crowd may have been satisfied and dismissed, but we have taken with us into our retirement123 some few that were more intimate and close to our heart, and we have not been careful enough to be alone. The preparation of dismissing the multitude, and even the disciples, then the ascent of the mountain, by the winding path of meditation, and then the unrestricted view, the sky nearest, indeed touching124 us, and earth spread out far below, and the soul left to calm, leisure, unharassed communion with God; all215 these are necessary; all these we learn from the example of that mild yet awful Being who is God manifest in the flesh. Let us arm ourselves with the same mind.
But my thoughts, returning to that morning walk which introduced this essay, remind me that there is one suggestive point in it which deserves a little attention. It is the time of day at which the ascent was made. Early prayer, while the world’s cares are asleep, and the road lies hushed and still, not thronged125 with jostling passengers, nor stunned126 with noisy vehicles—this is that, which of all our private devotions, most aids in consecrating127 life to God. Descending128 from that early hour of high communion, to take our part in the awakening129 toil and interest of earth, it is then easier to give their proper proportion to the events and employments of the day. Be it a joy or a sorrow, be it a loss or a gain, it takes its just place in the grand scheme of things, and does not monopolise the heart, nor obscure the vision; far less will the mere straws in the path, or the butterflies that dance by, catch and retain the absorbed regard of the heirs of immortality130. The trifling131 irritations, the mean jealousies, the little rankling132 grudges133, the petty quarrels, also the transitory enjoyments134 and short-lived profits, of each day’s life, will not greatly, nor for long, move the heart that retains its memory of that far-stretching Morning view. And it will be less difficult to rescue life from its proneness to become ignoble135, and to free ourselves from the narrowing, stunting136, dwarfing137 process which it often is, but which it was never intended to be. Yet, but for these mountain-pauses, but for these retirements138 from the over-familiarity and intrusiveness139 of trifles, how shall we avoid the216 danger of habitually140, and soon, entirely bounding our view and mode of thought by the hedges which shut in our eyes and hearts, down in the valley of our ordinary employments?
And how much the saints of God have valued this early hour of prayer! It has been called the Dew which the later hours have irretrievably dried up; the Manna which has vanished when the sun has gained strength. And there is no doubt in my mind that the quality of the spiritual life greatly depends upon the jealous guarding of this priceless hour, which so easily and quickly escapes us. At that hour Jordan stands in a heap, and leaves us a clear passage heavenward, but the rapid stream of cares, businesses, anxieties, worries, returns to its strength as the morning appeareth, and if we would cross at all, it must be during a distracting and wearisome buffeting141 with those crowding waters.
Let me say here how valuable appear to me to be the retreats that are being established in many parts of England. Who does not know how the routine of little cares, and small wearing anxieties, and petty, yet necessary employments, are apt to eat out the spirituality from even the clergyman’s life, especially if he be placed in a sphere which presents labour after which he is ever toiling, but which he can never overtake? They seem to me, at least, formed upon the very model of our Lord’s custom, and at once to commend themselves to any unprejudiced mind, or even any prejudiced mind that has preserved the power of calm and fair thought. I will let Cowper continue and conclude this train of musing for me:
219
“Not that I mean to approve, or would enforce A superstitious142 and monastic course; Truth is not local, God alike pervades143 And fills the world of traffic and the shades, And may be feared amid the busiest scenes, Or scorned where business never intervenes. But ’tis not easy, with a mind like ours, Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers, And in a world, where, other ills apart, The roving eye misleads the careless heart, To limit thought, by nature prone94 to stray Wherever freakish fancy points the way; To bid the pleadings of self-love be still, Resign our own, and seek our Teacher’s will; To spread the page of Scripture144, and compare Our conduct with the laws engraven there; To measure all that passes in the breast, Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test; To dive into the secret deeps within, To spare no passion and no favourite sin, And search the themes, important above all, Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall, —But leisure, silence, and a mind released From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increased; How to secure, in some propitious145 hour, The point of interest, or the post of power; A soul serene146, and equally retired From objects too much dreaded147 or desired, Safe from the clamours of perverse148 dispute,— At least are friendly to the great pursuit.”
To complete the ideal of a mountain, at least in a picture, it seems necessary to see a lake lying at its foot. I have such a picture in my mind’s eye, besides that of Scott’s,
“—On yonder liquid lawn, In hues149 of bright reflection drawn150, Distinct the shaggy mountains lie, Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky.”
“In hues of bright reflection drawn, distinct the shaggy mountains lie.”
220 And a beautiful lesson seems by their association suggested to my mind. For thus ought the mirror of our daily life, which lies at their foot, clearly and constantly to reflect the calm and the beauty and the elevation151 of those mountain-hours. Beware of influences, sudden winds and treacherous152 currents, which, ruffling153 and wrinkling the lake, shall mar44 and blur154 the image of those high moments, and of the heaven yet far above the mountains.
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1
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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eminences
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| 卓越( eminence的名词复数 )； 著名； 高地； 山丘 | |
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5
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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6
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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rejections
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| 拒绝( rejection的名词复数 )； 摒弃； 剔除物； 排斥 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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46
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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47
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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48
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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49
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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50
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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51
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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52
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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53
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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54
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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55
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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56
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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57
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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58
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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59
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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60
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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61
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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62
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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63
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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64
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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65
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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66
ascents
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| n.上升( ascent的名词复数 )；（身份、地位等的）提高；上坡路；攀登 | |
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67
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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68
fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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69
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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70
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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71
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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72
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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73
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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74
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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75
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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76
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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77
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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78
jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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79
irritations
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| n.激怒( irritation的名词复数 )；恼怒；生气；令人恼火的事 | |
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80
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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81
ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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82
anguishes
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| v.（尤指心理上的）极度的痛苦( anguish的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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84
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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86
contemptibly
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| adv.卑鄙地，下贱地 | |
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87
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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88
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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89
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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90
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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91
motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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92
illusive
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| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
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93
proneness
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| n.俯伏，倾向 | |
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94
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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95
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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96
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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97
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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98
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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99
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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100
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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101
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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102
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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103
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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104
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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105
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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106
sublimest
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| 伟大的( sublime的最高级 )； 令人赞叹的； 极端的； 不顾后果的 | |
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107
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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108
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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109
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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110
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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111
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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112
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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113
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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114
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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115
eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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116
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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117
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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118
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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119
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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120
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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121
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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122
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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123
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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124
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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125
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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127
consecrating
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| v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的现在分词 )；奉献 | |
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128
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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129
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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130
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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131
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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132
rankling
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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133
grudges
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| 不满，怨恨，妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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134
enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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135
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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136
stunting
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| v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的现在分词 ) | |
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137
dwarfing
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| n.矮化病 | |
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138
retirements
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| 退休( retirement的名词复数 )； 退职； 退役； 退休的实例 | |
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139
intrusiveness
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140
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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141
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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142
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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143
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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144
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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145
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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146
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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147
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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148
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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149
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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150
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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151
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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152
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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153
ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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154
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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