If was upon a soft, sweet morning, toward the latter end of the month, and surely nothing more delicious could have been conceived by the fancy of the poet. The low west wind was fanning itself among the tender leaves of the new-budded trees, and stealing over the deep meadows, all redolent with dewy wild flowers, waving them with a gentle motion, and borrowing a thousand perfumes from their bosoms8. The hedgerows were as white with the dense9 blossoms of the hawthorn10 as though they had been powdered over by an untimely snowstorm; while everywhere along the wooded banks the saffron primrose11 and its sweet sister of the spring, the violet, were sunning their unnumbered blossoms in the calm warmth of the vernal sunshine. The heavens, of a pure, transparent12 blue, were laughing with a genial13 lustre15, not flooded by the dazzling glare of midsummer, but pouring over all beneath their influence a 86lovely, gentle light, in perfect keeping with the style of the young scenery; and all the air was literally16 vocal17 with the notes of innumerable birds, from the proud lark18, “rejoicing at heaven’s gate,” to the thrush and blackbird, trilling their full, rich chants from every dingle, and the poor linnet, piping on the spray. Nothing—no, nothing—can be imagined that so delights the fancy with sweet visions, that so enthrals the senses, shedding its influences even upon the secret heart, as a soft, old-fashioned May morning. Apart from the mere1 beauties of the scenery—from the mere enjoyment19 of the bright skies, the dewy perfumes that float on every breeze, the mild, unscorching warmth—apart from all these, there is something of a deeper and a higher nature in the thoughts called forth20 by the spirit of the time; a looking forward of the soul to fairer things to come; an excitement of a quiet hope within, not very definite, perhaps, nor easily explained, but one which almost every man has felt, and contrasted with the languid and pallid21 satiety22 produced by the full heat of summer, and yet more with the sober and reflective sadness that steals upon the mind as we survey the russet hues23 and the sere24 leaves of autumn. It is as if the newness, the fresh youth of the season, gave birth to a corresponding youth of the soul. Such are the sentiments which many men feel now-a-days, besides the painter, and the poet, and the soul-rapt enthusiast25 of nature: but those were iron days of which we write, and men spared little time in thought from action or from strife27, nor often paused to note their own sensations, much less to ponder on their origin or to investigate their causes.
The morning was such as we have described—the scene a spot of singular beauty within the precincts of the then-royal forest of Charnwood, in Leicestershire. A deep but narrow stream wound in a hundred graceful28 turns through the rich meadow-land that formed the bottom of a small, sloping vale,87 which had been partially29 reclaimed30, even at that day, from the waste; though many a willow-bush fringing its margin31, and many a waving ash, fluttering its delicate tresses in the air, betrayed the woodland origin of the soft meadow. A narrow road swept down the hill, with a course little less serpentine32 than that of the river below, and crossed it by a small, one-arched stone bridge, overshadowed by a gigantic oak-tree, and scaled the opposite acclivity in two or three sharp, sandy zigzags34. Both the hillsides were clothed with forest, but still the nature of the soil or some accidental causes had rendered the wood as different as possible; for, on the farther side of the stream, the ground was everywhere visibly covered by a short, mossy turf, softer and more elastic36 to the foot than the most exquisite37 carpet that ever issued from the looms38 of Persia, and overshadowed by huge and scattered39 oaks, growing so far apart that the eye could range far between their shadowy vistas41; while on the nearer slope—the foreground, as it might be called, of the picture—all was a dense and confused mass of tangled42 shrubbery and verdure. Thickets43 of old, gnarled thorn-bushes, completely overrun and matted with woodbines; coppices of young ash, with hazel interspersed44, and eglantine and dog-roses thickly set between; clumps45 of the prickly gorse and plumelike broom, all starry47 with their golden flowerets, and fern so wildly luxuriant, that in many places it would have concealed48 the head of the tallest man, covered the ground for many a mile through which the narrow road meandered49.
There was one object more in view—one which spoke50 of man even in that solitude51, and man in his better aspect. It was the slated52 roof and belfry, all overgrown with moss35 and stone-crop, of a small wayside chapel53, in the old Saxon architecture, peering out from the shadows of the tall oaks which overhung it in the far distance. It was, as we have said, very small, in the old Saxon architecture, consisting, in fact, merely of a88 vaulted55 roof supported upon four squat56, massy columns, whence sprung the four groined ribs57 which met in the centre of the arch. Three sides alone of this primitive58 place of worship, which would have contained with difficulty forty persons, were walled in, the front presenting one wide, open arch, richly and quaintly59 sculptured with the indented60 wolf’s teeth of the first Saxon style. Small as it was, however, the little chapel had its high altar, with the crucifix and candle, its reading-desk of old black oak, its font, and pix, and chalices61, and all the adjuncts of the Roman ritual. A little way to the left might be discovered the low, thatched eaves of a rustic62 cottage, framed of the unbarked stems of forest-trees—the abode63, probably, of the officiating priest; and close beside the walls of the little church a consecrated64 well, protected from the sun by a stone vault54, of architecture corresponding to the chapel.
Upon the nearer slope, not far from the roadside, but entirely65 concealed from passers by the nature of the ground and the dense thickets, there were collected, at an early hour of the morning, five men, with as many horses, who seemed to be awaiting, in a sort of ambush66, some persons whom they would attack at unawares. The leader of the party, as he might be considered, as much from his appearance as from the deference67 shown to him by the others, was a tall, active, powerful man, of thirty-eight or forty years, with a bold and expressive68 countenance—expressive, however, of no good quality, unless it were the fiery69, reckless daring which blazed from his broad, dark eye, and that was almost obscured by the cloud of insufferable pride which lowered upon his frowning brow, and by the deep, scar-like lines of lust14, and cruelty, and scorn, which ploughed his weather-beaten features. His dress was a complete suit of linked chain-mail—hauberk, and sleeves, and hose—with shoes of plaited steel, and gauntlets wrought71 in scale, covering his person from his neck downward in impenetrable89 armor. He had large gilded72 spurs buckled74 upon his heels, and a long, two edged dagger75, with a rich hilt and scabbard, in his belt; but neither sword, nor lance, nor any other weapon of offence, except a huge steel mace76, heavy enough to fell an ox at a single blow, which he grasped in his right hand; while from his left hung the bridle77 of a tall, coal-black Norman charger, which was cropping the grass quietly beside him. His head was covered by a conical steel cap, with neither crest78, nor plume46, nor visor, and mail-hood79 falling down from it to protect the neck and shoulders of the wearer.
The other four were men-at-arms, clad all in suits of armor, but less completely than their lord: thus they had steel shirts only, with stout80 buff breeches and heavy boots to guard their lower limbs, and iron skullcaps only, without the hood, upon their heads, and leather gauntlets upon their hands; but, as if to make up for this deficiency, they were positively81 loaded with offensive weapons. They had the long, two-handed sword of the period belted across their persons, three or four knives and daggers82 of various size and strength at their girdles, great battle-axes in their hands, and maces hanging at their saddle-bows. They had been tarrying there already several hours, their leader raising his eyes occasionally to mark the progress of the sun as he climbed up the azure83 vault, and muttering a brief and bitter curse as hour passed after hour, and those came not whom he expected.
“Danian,” he said at length, turning to the principal of his followers84, who stood nearer to his person, and a little way apart from the others—“Danian, art sure this was the place and day? How the dog Saxons tarry! Can they have learned our purpose?”
“Surely not, surely not, fair sir,” returned the squire86, “seeing that I have mentioned it to no one, not even to Raoul, or Americ, or Guy, who know no more than their own battle-axes90 the object of their ambush. And it was pitch-dark when we left the castle, and not a soul has seen us here; so it is quite impossible they should suspect—and hark! there goes the bell; and see, sir, see—there they come, trooping through the oak-trees down the hill!”
And indeed, as he spoke, the single bell of the small chapel began to chime with the merry notes that proclaim a bridal, and a gay train of harmless, happy villagers might be seen, as they flocked along, following the footsteps of the gray-headed Saxon monk87, who, in his frock and cowl, with corded waist and sandalled feet, led the procession. Six young girls followed close behind him, dressed in blue skirts and russet jerkins, but crowned with garlands of white May-flowers, and May-wreaths wound like scarfs across their swelling89 bosoms, and hawthorn-branches in their hands, singing the bridal carol in the old Saxon tongue, in honor of the pride of the village, the young and lovely Marian. She was indeed the very personification of all the poet’s dreams of youthful beauty—tall and slender in her figure, yet exquisitely90, voluptuously91 rounded in every perfect outline, with a waist of a span’s circumference92, wide, sloping shoulders, and a bust93 that, for its matchless swell88, as it struggled and throbbed94 with a thousand soft emotions, threatening to burst from the confinement95 of her tight-fitting jacket, would have put to shame the bosom7 of the Medicean Venus. Her complexion96, wherever the sun had not too warmly kissed her beauties, was pure as the driven snow; while her large, bright-blue eyes, red, laughing lip, and the luxuriant flood of sunny, golden hair, which streamed down in wild, artless ringlets to her waist, made her a creature for a prince’s, or more, a poet’s adoration97.
But neither prince nor poet was the god of that fair girl’s idolatry, but one of her own class, a Saxon youth, a peasant—nay98, a serf—from his very cradle upward the born thrall99 of91 Hugh de Mortemar, lord of the castle and the hamlet at its foot, named, from its situation in the depths of Charnwood, Ashby in the Forest. But there was now no graven collar about the sturdy neck of the young Saxon, telling of a suffering servitude; no dark shade of gloom in his full, glancing eye; no sullen100 doggedness upon his lip: for he was that day, that glad day, a freeman—a slave no longer—but free, free, by the gift of his noble master; free as the wild bird that sung so loudly in the forest; free as the liberal air that bore the carol to his ears. His frock of forest-green and buskins of the untanned deer-hide set off his muscular, symmetrical proportions, and his close-curled, short auburn hair showed a well-turned and shapely head. Behind this gay and happy pair came several maids and young men, two-and-two; and after these, an old, gray-headed man, the father of the bride—and leaning on his arm an aged101 matron, the widowed mother of the enfranchised102 bridegroom.
Merrily rang the gay, glad bells, and blithely103 swelled104 up the bridal chorus as they collected on the little green before the ancient arch, and slowly filed into the precincts of the forest shrine105; but very speedily their merriment was changed into dismay and terror and despair, for scarcely had they passed into the sacred building, before the knight106, with his dark followers, leaped into their saddles, and thundering down the hill at a tremendous gallop107, surrounded the chapel before the inmates108 had even time to think of any danger. It was a strange, wild contrast, the venerable priest within pronouncing even then the nuptial109 blessing110, and proclaiming over the bright young pair the union made by God, which thenceforth no man should dissever—the tearful happiness of the blushing bride, the serious gladness of the stalwart husband, the kneeling peasantry, the wreaths of innocent flowers; and at the gate, the stern, dark men-at-arms, with their scarred savage111 features,92 and their gold-gleaming harness and raised weapons. A loud shriek112 burst from the lips of the sweet girl, as, lifting her eyes to the sudden clang and clatter113 that harbingered those dread114 intruders, she saw and recognised upon the instant the fiercest of the Norman tyrants—dreaded by all his neighbors far and near, but most by the most virtuous115 and young and lovely—the bold, bad baron116 of Maltravers. He bounded to the earth as he reached the door, and three of his followers leaped from their horses likewise, one sitting motionless in his war-saddle, and holding the four chargers. “Hold, priest!” he shouted, as he entered, “forbear this mummery; and thou, dog Saxon, think not that charms like these are destined117 to be clasped in rapture118 by any arms of thy slow, slavish race!” and with these words he strode up to the altar, seemingly fearless of the least resistance, while his men kept the door with brandished119 weapons. Mute terror seized on all, paralyzed utterly120 by the dread interruption—on all but the bold priest and the stout bridegroom.
“Nay, rather forbear thou, Alberic de Maltravers! These two are one for ever—wo be to those who part them!”
“Tush, priest—tush, fool!” sneered121 the fierce baron, as he seized him by the arm, and swinging him back rudely, advanced upon the terrified and weeping girl, who was now clinging to the very rails of the high altar, trusting, poor wretch123, that some respect for that sanctity of place which in old times had awed124 even heathens, might now prevail with one whom no respect for anything divine or human had ever yet deterred125 from doing his unholy will.
“Ha! dog!” cried he, in fiercer tones, that filled the chapel as it were a trumpet126, seeing the Saxon bridegroom lift up a heavy quarter-staff which lay beside him, and step in quietly but very resolutely127 in defence of his lovely wife—“Ha! dog and slave, dare you resist a Norman and a noble?—back,93 serf, or die the death!” and he raised his huge mace to strike him.
“No serf, sir, nor slave either,” answered the Saxon, firmly, “but a freeman, by my good master’s gift, and a landholder.”
“Well, master freeman and landholder,” replied the other, with a bitter sneer122, “if such names please you better, stand back—for Marian lies on no bed but mine this night—stand back, before worse come of it!”
“I will die rather,” was the answer.—“Then die! fool! die!” shouted the furious Norman, and with the words he struck full at the bare brow of the dauntless Saxon with his tremendous mace—it fell, and with dint128 that would have crushed the strongest helmet into a thousand splinters—it fell, but by a dexterous129 slight the yeoman swung his quarter-staff across the blow, and parried its direction, although the tough ash-pole burst into fifty shivers—it fell upon the carved rails of the altar and smashed them into atoms; but while the knight, who had been somewhat staggered by the impetus130 of his own misdirected blow, was striving to recover himself, the young man sprang upon him, and grappling him by the throat, gained a short-lived advantage. Short-lived it was indeed, and perilous131 to him that gained—for although there were men enough in the chapel, all armed with quarter staves, and one or two with the genuine brown bill, to have overpowered the four Normans, despite their war array—yet so completely were they overcome by consternation132, that not one moved a step to aid him; the priest, who had alone showed any spark of courage, being impeded133 by the shrieking134 women, who, clinging to the hem6 of his vestments, implored135 him for the love of God to save them.
In an instant that fierce grapple was at an end, for in the twinkling of an eye, two of the men-at-arms had rushed upon94 him and dragged him off their lord.
“Now by the splendor136 of God’s brow,” shouted the enraged137 knight, “thou art a sweet dog thus to brave thy masters. Nay, harm him not. Raoul”—he went on—“harm not the poor dog,”—as his follower85 had raised his battle-axe to brain him—“harm him not, else we should raise the ire of that fool, Mortemar! Drag him out—tie him to the nearest tree, and this good priest beside him—before his eyes we will console this fair one.” And with these words he seized the trembling girl, forcing her from the altar, and encircling her slender waist in the foul138 clasp of his licentious139 arms. “And ye,” he went on, lashing140 himself into fury as he continued,—“and ye churl141 Saxons, hence!—hence dogs and harlots to your kennels142!”
No farther words were needed, for his orders were obeyed by his own men with the speed of light, and the Saxons overjoyed to escape on any terms, rushed in a confused mass out of the desecrated143 shrine, and fled in all directions, fearful of farther outrage144. Meanwhile, despite the struggles of the youth, and the excommunicating anathemas145 which the priest showered upon their heads, the men-at-arms bound them securely to the oak-trees, and then mounting their horses, sat laughing at their impotent resistance, while with a refinement146 of brutality147 worthy148 of actual fiends, Alberic de Maltravers bore the sweet wife clasped to his iron breast, up to the very face of her outraged149, helpless husband, and tearing open all her jerkin, displayed to the broad light the whole of her white, panting bosom, and poured from his foul, fiery lips a flood of lustful150 kisses on her mouth, neck, and bosom, under the very eyes of his tortured victim. To what new outrage he might have next proceeded, must remain ever doubtful, for at this very instant the long and mellow151 blast of a clearly-winded bugle152 came swelling through the forest succeeded by the bay of95 several bloodhounds, and the loud, ringing gallop of many fast approaching.
“Ha!” shouted he, “ten thousand curses on him! here comes De Mortemar. Quick—quick—away! Here, Raoul, take the girl, buckle73 her tight to your back with the sword-belt, and give me your twohanded blade; I lost my mace in the chapel!—That’s right! quick! man—that’s right—now, then, be off—ride for your life—straight to the castle; we will stop all pursuit. Fare thee well, sweet one, for a while—we will conclude hereafter what we have now commenced so fairly!”
And as he spoke, he also mounted his strong charger, and while the man, Raoul, dashed his spurs rowel-deep into his horse’s flanks, and went off at a thundering gallop, the other four followed him at a slower pace, leaving the Saxons in redoubled anguish—redoubled by the near hope of rescue.
But for once villany was not permitted to escape due retribution, for ere the men-at-arms, who led the flight, had crossed the little bridge, a gallant153 train came up at a light canter from the wood, twenty or thirty archers154, all with their long bows bent155, and their arrows notched156 and ready, with twice as many foresters on foot, with hounds of every kind, in slips and leashes157, and at their head a man of as noble presence as ever graced a court or reined158 a charger. He was clad in a plain hunting-frock of forest-green, with a black velvet159 bonnet160 and a heron’s plume, and wore no other weapon but a light hunting-sword—but close behind him rode two pages, bearing his knightly161 lance with its long pennon, his blazoned162 shield, and his two-handed broadsword. It was that brave and noble Norman, Sir Hugh de Mortemar. His quick eye in an instant took in the whole of the confused scene before him, and understood it on the instant.
96 “Alberic de Maltravers!” he cried, in a voice clear and loud as the call of a silver trumpet, “before God he shall rue70 it,” and with the words he snatched his lance from the page, and dashing spurs into his splendid Spanish charger, thundered his orders out with the rapid rush of a winter’s torrent163. “Bend your bows, archers,—draw home your arrows to the head! stand, thou foul ravisher, dishonest Norman, false gentleman, and recreant164 knight! Stand on the instant, or we shoot! Cut loose the yeoman from the tree, ye varlets, and the good priest. Randal, cast loose the bloodhounds down to the bridge across yon knoll165, and lay them on the track of that flying scoundrel. Ha! they will meet us.”
And so in truth they did; for seeing that he could not escape the deadly archery, Alberic de Maltravers wheeled short on his pursuers, and shouted his war-cry—“Saint Paul for Alberic!—false knight and liar166 in your throat. Saint Paul! Saint Paul! charge home,”—and with the words the steel-clad men-at-arms drove on, expecting by the weight of their harness to ride down and scatter40 the light archery like chaff167. Unarmed although he was, De Mortemar paused not—not for a moment!—but galloped168 in his green doublet as gallantly169 upon his foe170 as though he had been sheathed171 in steel. He had but one advantage—but one hope!—to bear his iron-clad opponent down at the lance point, without closing—on! they came, on!—Maltravers swinging his twohanded sword aloft, and trusting in his mail to turn the lance’s point—De Mortemar with his long spear in rest—“Saint Paul! Saint Paul!”—they met! the dust surged up in a dense cloud! the very earth appeared to shake beneath their feet!—but not a moment was the conflict doubtful. Deep! deep! throughed his linked mail, and through his leathern jerkin, and through his writhing172 flesh, the grinded spear-head shove into his bosom, and came out at his back, the ash-staff breaking in the wound. Down he went, horse and man!—and down, at one close volley of the gray goose shafts,97 down went his three companions!—one shot clear through the brain by an unerring shaft—the others stunned173 and bruised174, their horses both slain175 under them. “Secure them,” shouted Hugh, “bind176 them both hand and foot, and follow,”—and he paused not to look upon his slain assailant, but galloped down the hill, followed by half his train, the bloodhounds giving tongue fiercely, and already gaining on the fugitive177. It was a fearful race, but quickly over!—for though the man-at-arms spurred desperately178 on, his heavy Norman horse, oppressed, moreover, by his double load, had not a chance in competing with the proud Andalusian of De Mortemar. Desperately he spurred on—but now the savage hounds were up with him—they rushed full at the horse’s throat and bore him to the earth—another moment, Raoul was a bound captive, and Marian, rescued by her liege lord, and wrapped in his own mantle179, was clasped in the fond arms of her husband!
“How now, good priest,” exclaimed Sir Hugh, “are these two now fast wedded180?”
“As fast, fair sire, as the holy rites181 may wed33 them.”
“Then ring me, thou knave182, Ringan, a death-peal! Thou, Gilbert, and thou, Launcelot, make me three halters, quick—nay! four—the dead knight shall swing, as his villany well merits, beside the living knaves183!—Sing me a death-chant, priest, for these are judged to death, unhouselled and unshriven!”
Not a word did the ruffians answer, they knew that prayer was useless, and with dark frowning brows, and dauntless bearing, they met their fate, impenitent184 and fearless. For Marian begged their lives in vain. De Mortemar was pitiless in his just wrath185! And the spurs were hacked186 from the heels of the dead knight, and the base halter twisted round his cold neck, and his dishonored corpse187 hung up upon the very tree to which he had bade bind the Saxon bridegroom. And the death-peals98 were sung, and the death-hymn was chanted; and ere the sounds of either had died away in the forest echoes, the three marauders writhed188 out their villain189 souls in the mild air, and swung three grim and ghastly monuments of a foul crime and fearful retribution—and this dread rite26 consummated190 the Saxon’s bridal!
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1 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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2 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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3 gusts | |
一阵强风( gust的名词复数 ); (怒、笑等的)爆发; (感情的)迸发; 发作 | |
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5 fickle | |
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7 bosom | |
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8 bosoms | |
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山楂 | |
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40 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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41 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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42 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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43 thickets | |
n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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44 interspersed | |
adj.[医]散开的;点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45 clumps | |
n.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的名词复数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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46 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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47 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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48 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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49 meandered | |
(指溪流、河流等)蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 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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51 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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52 slated | |
用石板瓦盖( slate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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54 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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55 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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56 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
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57 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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58 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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59 quaintly | |
adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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60 indented | |
adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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61 chalices | |
n.高脚酒杯( chalice的名词复数 );圣餐杯;金杯毒酒;看似诱人实则令人讨厌的事物 | |
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62 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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63 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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64 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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65 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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66 ambush | |
n.埋伏(地点);伏兵;v.埋伏;伏击 | |
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67 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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68 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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69 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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70 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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71 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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72 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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73 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
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74 buckled | |
a. 有带扣的 | |
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75 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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76 mace | |
n.狼牙棒,豆蔻干皮 | |
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77 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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78 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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79 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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81 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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82 daggers | |
匕首,短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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83 azure | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
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84 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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85 follower | |
n.跟随者;随员;门徒;信徒 | |
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86 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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87 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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88 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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89 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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90 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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91 voluptuously | |
adv.风骚地,体态丰满地 | |
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92 circumference | |
n.圆周,周长,圆周线 | |
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93 bust | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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94 throbbed | |
抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 ); (心脏、脉搏等)跳动 | |
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95 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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96 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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97 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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98 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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99 thrall | |
n.奴隶;奴隶制 | |
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100 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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101 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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102 enfranchised | |
v.给予选举权( enfranchise的过去式和过去分词 );(从奴隶制中)解放 | |
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103 blithely | |
adv.欢乐地,快活地,无挂虑地 | |
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104 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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105 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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106 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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107 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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108 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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109 nuptial | |
adj.婚姻的,婚礼的 | |
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110 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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111 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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112 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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113 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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114 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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115 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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116 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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117 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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118 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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119 brandished | |
v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 );炫耀 | |
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120 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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121 sneered | |
讥笑,冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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123 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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124 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125 deterred | |
v.阻止,制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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127 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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128 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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129 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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130 impetus | |
n.推动,促进,刺激;推动力 | |
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131 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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132 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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133 impeded | |
阻碍,妨碍,阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134 shrieking | |
v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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135 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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137 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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138 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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139 licentious | |
adj.放纵的,淫乱的 | |
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140 lashing | |
n.鞭打;痛斥;大量;许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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141 churl | |
n.吝啬之人;粗鄙之人 | |
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142 kennels | |
n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处,养狗场;狗窝( kennel的名词复数 );养狗场 | |
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143 desecrated | |
毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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145 anathemas | |
n.(天主教的)革出教门( anathema的名词复数 );诅咒;令人极其讨厌的事;被基督教诅咒的人或事 | |
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146 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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147 brutality | |
n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
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148 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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149 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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150 lustful | |
a.贪婪的;渴望的 | |
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151 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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152 bugle | |
n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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153 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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154 archers | |
n.弓箭手,射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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155 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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156 notched | |
a.有凹口的,有缺口的 | |
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157 leashes | |
n.拴猎狗的皮带( leash的名词复数 ) | |
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158 reined | |
勒缰绳使(马)停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 ); 驾驭; 严格控制; 加强管理 | |
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159 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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160 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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161 knightly | |
adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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162 blazoned | |
v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 );宣布;夸示;装饰 | |
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163 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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164 recreant | |
n.懦夫;adj.胆怯的 | |
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165 knoll | |
n.小山,小丘 | |
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166 liar | |
n.说谎的人 | |
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167 chaff | |
v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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168 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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169 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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170 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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171 sheathed | |
adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的;覆盖的;铠装的;装鞘了的v.将(刀、剑等)插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 );包,覆盖 | |
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172 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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173 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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174 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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175 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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176 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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177 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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178 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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179 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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180 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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182 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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183 knaves | |
n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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184 impenitent | |
adj.不悔悟的,顽固的 | |
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185 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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186 hacked | |
生气 | |
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187 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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188 writhed | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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189 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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190 consummated | |
v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 );使完美;完婚;(婚礼后的)圆房 | |
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