"Xanthe, Xanthe!" called Semestre, a short time after. "Xanthe! Where is the girl?"
The old woman had gone into the garden. Knowing how to use time to advantage, and liking1 to do two things at once, while looking for her nursling and repeatedly shouting the girl's name, she was gathering2 vegetables and herbs, on which the dew of early morning still glittered brightly.
While thus occupied, she was thinking far more of her favorite's son and the roast meats, cakes, and sauces to be prepared for him, than of Xanthe.
She wanted to provide for Leonax all the dishes his father had specially3 liked when a child, for what a father relishes4, she considered, will please his children.
Twenty times she had stooped to pluck fresh lavender, green lettuce5, and young, red turnips6, and each time, while straightening herself again by her myrtle-staff, as well as a back bent7 by age would allow, called "Xanthe, Xanthe!"
Though she at last threw her head back so far that the sun shone into her open mouth, and the power of her lungs was not small, no answer came. This did not make her uneasy, for the girl could not be far away, and Semestre was used to calling her name more than once before she obeyed.
True, to-day the answer was delayed longer than usual. The maiden8 heard the old woman's shrill9, resounding10 voice very clearly, but heeded11 it no more than the cackling of the hens, the screams of the peacocks, and the cooing of the doves in the court-yard.
The house-keeper, she knew, was calling her to breakfast, and the bit of dry bread she had taken with her was amply sufficient to satisfy her hunger. Nay12, if Semestre had tempted13 her with the sweetest cakes, she would not have left her favorite nook by the spring now.
This spring gushed14 from the highest rock on her father's estate. She often went there, especially when her heart was stirred, and it was a lovely spot.
The sparkling water rushed from a cleft15 in the rocks, and, on the left of the little bench, where Xanthe sat, formed a clear, transparent16 pool, whose edges were inclosed by exquisitely17-polished, white-marble blocks. Every reddish pebble18, every smooth bit of snowy quartz19, every point and furrow20 and stripe on the pretty shells on its sandy bottom, was as distinctly visible as if held before the eyes on the palm of the hand, and yet the water was so deep that the gold circlet sparkling above the elbow on Xanthe's round arm, nay, even the gems21 confining her peplum on the shoulder, would have been wet had she tried to touch the bottom of the basin with the tips of her fingers.
The water was green and clear as crystal, into which, while molten, bits of emeralds had been cast to change them into liquid drops.
Farther on it flowed through a channel choked with all kinds of plants. Close by the edges of the rivulet22, which rushed swiftly down to the valley, drooped23 delicate vines, that threw their tendrils over the stones and flourished luxuriantly in the rocks amid thick, moist clumps24 of moss25. Dainty green plants, swayed to and fro by the plashing water, grew everywhere on the bottom of the brook27, and, wherever on its course it could flow more smoothly28, ferns, nodding gracefully29, surrounded it like ostrich-feathers waving about the cradle of a royal babe.
Xanthe liked to watch the stream disappear in the myrtle-grove.
When, sitting in her favorite nook, she turned her eyes downward, she overlooked the broad gardens and fields of her father and uncle, stretching on the right and left of the stream along the gentle slope of the mountain, and the narrow plain by the sea.
The whole scene resembled a thick woolen31 carpet, whose green surface was embroidered32 with white and yellow spots, or one of the baskets young maidens33 bear on their heads at the feast of Demeter, and in which, piled high above the edge, light and dark-hued fruit gleams forth35 from leaves of every tint36.
Groves37 of young pomegranate and myrtletrees, with vigorous shoots, stood forth in strong relief against the silvery gray-green foliage38 of the gnarled olive-trees.
Fragrant39 roses, glowing with a scarlet40 hue34, as if the sun's fiery41 kiss had called them to life, adorned42 bushes and hedges, while, blushing faintly, as if a child's lips had waked them from slumber43, the blossoms of the peach and almond glimmered44 on the branches of the trees.
Tiny young green leaves were growing from the oddly-interwoven branches of the fig-trees, to which clung the swelling45 pouches46 of the fruit. Golden lemons glittered amid their strong, brilliant foliage, which had survived the winter season; and long rows of blackish-green cypresses48 rose straight and tall, like the grave voices of the chorus amid the joyous49 revel50. To Xanthe, gazing downward, her father's pine-wood seemed like a camp full of arched, round tents, and, if she allowed her eyes to wander farther, she beheld51 the motionless sea, whose broad surface, on this pleasant morning, sparkled like polished sapphire52, and everywhere seemed striving to surpass with its own blue the color of the clear sky. Ever and anon, like a tiny silver cloud floating across the firmament53, white sails glided54 by.
Pleasant green hills framed this lovely view. On their well-cultivated slopes appeared here the white, glimmering55 walls of a temple; yonder villages, houses, and cottages, like the herds56 and single sheep that he half concealed57 by dense59 foliage.
Garlands of flowers surround the heads of happy mortals, and here the house of every wealthy land-owner was inclosed by a hedge or garden.
Behind the hills rose the sharply-cut outlines of the naked cliffs of the lofty, distant mountains, and the snowy head of sleeping Mount Etna gleamed brightly through the mist.
Now, in the early morning, sea and garden, hills and distant mountains were covered with a delicate veil of indescribable hue. It seemed as if the sea had furnished the warp60 of this fabric61, and the golden sun the woof.
The scene was wondrously62 beautiful, but Xanthe had not gone to the spring to gaze at the landscape; nay, she scarcely knew that it was lovely.
When the sea shone with the hue of the sky and lay motionless, as it did to-day, she thought Glaucus, the god of the blue sea, was sunning himself in pleasant slumber.
On other bright days when the waves and surges swelled63, white foam64 crowned their crests65, and a never-ending succession of breakers dashed upon the shore, she believed the fifty daughters of Nereus were pursuing their sports under the clear water.
They were all lovely women, and full of exuberant67 gayety.
Some rocked quietly on the gleaming waves, others boldly swung themselves on the backs of the bearded Tritons, and merrily urged them through the flood.
When the surf beat roaring on the strand68, Xanthe thought she could hear these creatures guiding their course with their scaly69 tails and blowing into shells, and many a glimmering foam-crest66 on a deep-blue wave was no transparent bubble-no, the girl distinctly saw that it was the white neck, the gleaming arm, or the snowy foot of one of Nereus's daughters. She believed that she clearly distinguished70 them sporting joyously71 up and down through the azure72 water, now plunging73 into the depths with their feet, and now with their heads foremost, anon floating gently on the surface of the waves. One held out her hand to another, and in so doing their beautiful, rounded arms often gleamed beneath the crest of a surge.
Every day they practised new games, as the sea never looks precisely74 the same; each hour it changed its hue, here, there, and everywhere, Light streaks75, like transparent bluish-green gauze, often ran through the darker surface, which resembled a purplish-blue mantle76 of some costly77 Phoenician stuff; the waves could flash black as the eye of night, and white as Leucothea's neck.
Then Amphitrite appeared, with floating hair and resonant78 voice, and beside her Poseidon with his four steeds.
Frowning sullenly79, he struck them sharply with his lash26, which whistled through the air, and angrily thrust his trident deep into the sea. Instantly the waves took hues80 of lighter81 brown, deeper yellow, and cloudy gray, and the sea wore the aspect of a shallow pond with muddy bottom, into which workmen hurl82 blocks of stone. The purity of the water was sadly dimmed, and the billows dashed foaming83 toward the sky, threatening in their violent assault to shatter the marble dike84 erected85 along the shore. The Nereids, trembling, took refuge in the ever-calm depths, the Tritons no longer used their hollow shells to blow gentle harmonies; nay, they sent forth crashing war-songs, as if some hostile citadel86 were to be assailed87; while Amphitrite thrust both hands into her long, fluttering hair, and with out-stretched head uttered her furious roar.
But to-day the sea was calm, and when Xanthe had reached the spring the edges of the milk-white, light, fleecy clouds, towering one above another on the summits of the loftier mountains, were still glowing with a rosy88 light. It was the edge of the garment of the vanishing Eos, the leaves of the blossoms scattered89 by the Hours in the pathway of the four steeds of Helios, as they rose from the waves.
To day and at this hour the morning sunlight fell serenely90 on the tall cypresses upon the hill, the trees in the garden swayed in the soft breath of the morning breeze, and Xanthe nodded to them, for she thought the beautiful Dryads living in the trees were greeting each other.
Often, with a brief prayer, she laid flowers or a round cake on the altar that stood beside her seat, and which her ancestor had erected to the nymph of the spring—but today she had not come for this.
Then what brought her to the hill so early? Did she visit the spring to admire her own image in its mirror-like surface?
At home she was rarely permitted such an indulgence, for, whenever she looked in the polished metal-disk, Semestre used to say:
"If a girl often peers into such useless things, she'll certainly see a fool's image in them."
Forbidden things are charming, yet Xanthe rarely looked into this liquid mirror, though she might have enjoyed gazing at it frequently, for her figure was tall and slender as the trunk of a cypress47, her thick fair hair glittered like gold, the oval of her face was exquisitely rounded, long lashes91 shaded the large blue eyes that could conceal58 no emotion which stirred her soul, and when she was alone seemed to ask: "What have the gods allotted92 for my future?" Yet in their gaze might often be read the answer "Something delightful93, surely."
And yet Xanthe did not come to the spring to paint pictures of her future; on the contrary, she came to be sad, and shed tears unrebuked. She did not weep passionately94, but the big salt drops welled slowly from her eyes and ran down her young cheeks, as drop after drop of shining sap flows down the trunk of a wounded birch-tree.
Yes, Xanthe felt very sorrowful, yet everything that surrounded her was so bright, and at her home laughter was rarely silent, while her own often rang out no less merrily than that of lively Chloris and dark-skinned Dorippe.
Her sick father, now slowly recovering, could refuse her nothing, and, if Semestre tried to do so, Xanthe usually succeeded in having her own way. There was no lack of festivals and joyous dances, and to none of her companions did the youths present more beautiful ribbons, to no one in the circle did they prefer to offer their hands. She was the fairest of all the maidens far and near, and Ismene, Phryxus's wife, had said that her laughter was gay enough to make a cripple dance. Ismene had a daughter herself just Xanthe's age, so it must probably have been true.
Then why, in the name of all the gods, was Xanthe sad?
Is any cause required to explain it?
Must a maiden have met with misfortune, to make her feel a longing95 to weep? Certainly not.
Nay, the gayest rattle-brain is the least likely to escape such a desire.
When the sky has long shone with unclouded splendor96, and the air is so wonderfully clear that even the most distant mountain-peaks are distinctly visible, rain is not long delayed; and who can laugh heartily97 a long time without finally shedding tears like a mourner?
Whoever endures a severe though not the deepest affliction, whoever is permitted to reach the topmost summit of joy, and a girl who feels love-these three Heaven favors with the blessing98 of tears.
Had Eros's arrow struck Xanthe's young heart too?
It was possible, though she would not confess it even to herself, and only yesterday had denied it, without the quiver of an eyelash.
Yet, if she did love a youth, and for his sake had climbed to the spring, he must doubtless dwell in the reddish house, standing99 on a beautiful level patch of ground on the right of the brook, between the sea and the pool; for she glanced toward it again and again, and, except the servants, no one lived under its roof save the aged100 steward101 Jason, and Phaon, her uncle's son. Protarch himself had gone to Messina, with his own and her father's oil.
To age is allotted the alms of reverence102, to youth the gift of love, and, of the three men who lived in the house on Xanthe's right-hand, only one could lay claim to such a gift, and he had an unusually good right to do so.
Xanthe was thinking of Phaon as she sat beside the spring, but her brow wore such a defiant103 frown that she did not bear the most distant resemblance to a maiden giving herself up to tender emotions.
Now the door of the reddish house opened, and, rising hastily, she looked toward it. A slave came cautiously out, bearing a large jar with handles, made of brown clay, adorned with black figures.
What had the high-shouldered graybeard done, that she stamped her foot so angrily on the ground, and buried the upper row of her snow-white teeth deep in her under-lip, as if stifling104 some pang105?
No one is less welcome than the unbidden intruder, who meets us in the place of some one for whom we ardently107 long, and Xanthe did not wish to see the slave, but Phaon, his master's son.
She had nothing to say to the youth; she would have rushed away if he had ventured to seek her by the spring, but she wanted to see him, wanted to learn whether Semestre had told the truth, when she said Phaon intended to marry a wealthy heiress, whose hand his father was seeking in Messina. The house-keeper had declared the night before that he only wooed the ugly creature for the sake of her money, and now took advantage of his father's absence to steal out of the house evening after evening, as soon as the fire was lighted on the hearth108. And the fine night-bird did not return till long past sunrise, no doubt from mad revels109 with that crazy Hermias and other wild fellows from Syracuse. They probably understood how to loosen his slow tongue.
Then the old woman described what occurred at such banquets, and when she mentioned the painted flute110-players, with whom the dissipated city youths squandered111 their fathers' money, and the old house-keeper called attention to the fact that Phaon already wandered about as stupidly and sleepily as if he were a docile112 pupil of the notorious Hermias, Xanthe fairly hated her, and almost forgot the respect she owed to her gray hair, and told her to her face she was a liar113 and slanderer114.
But the girl had been unable to speak, for Phaon's secret courtship of the Messina heiress had deeply wounded her pride, and he really did look more weary and dreamy than usual.
Semestre's praises of her cousin, the young Leonax, Xanthe had heard as little as the chirping115 of the crickets on the hearth, and before the house-keeper had finished speaking she rose, and, without bidding her good-night, turned her back and left the women's apartment.
Ere lying down to rest in her own room, she paced up and down before her couch, then began to loosen her thick hair so carelessly that the violent pulling actually hurt her, and tied so tightly under her chin the pretty scarlet kerchief worn over her golden tresses at night to prevent them from tangling116, that she was obliged to unfasten it again to keep from stifling.
The sandals, from which she had released her slender feet, and which, obedient to her dead mother's teaching, she usually placed beside the chair where her clothes lay smoothly folded, she flung into a corner of the room, still thinking of Phaon, the Messina heiress, and her playfellow's shameful117 conduct. She had intended to discover whether Semestre spoke118 the truth, and in the stillness of the night consider what she must do to ascertain119 how much Phaon was concerned in his father's suit.
But the god Morpheus willed otherwise, for scarcely had Xanthe laid down to rest, extinguished her little lamp, and wrapped herself closely in the woolen coverlet, when sleep overpowered her.
The young girl waked just before sunrise, instantly thought of Phaon, of the heiress, and of Semestre's wicked words, and hastily went out to the spring.
From there she could see whether her uncle's son returned home from the city with staggering steps, or would, as usual, come out of the house early in the morning to curry120 and water his brown steeds, which no slave was ever permitted to touch.
But he did not appear, and, in his place, the high-shouldered servant entered the court-yard.
If the young girl was usually sad here, because she liked to be melancholy121, to-day grief pierced her heart like a knife, and the bit of white bread she raised to her lips because, with all her sorrow, she was hungry, tasted bitter, as if dipped in wormwood.
She had no need to salt it; the tears that fell on it did that.
Xanthe heard the house-keeper's calls, but did not obey immediately, and perhaps would not have heeded them at all if she had not noticed—yes, she was not mistaken—that, in the full meaning of the words, she had begun to weep like a chidden child.
She was weeping for anger; and soon it vexed122 her so much to think that she should cry, that fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
But not many, for, ere her beautiful eyes grew red, they were dry again, as is the custom of eyes when they are young and see anything new.
Two children, a vineyard-watchman's son and a herdsman's little daughter, approached the spring, talking loudly together.
They had decked themselves with fresh, green vines twined about their necks and bosoms123, and were now going to sail a little boat made of bark in the tiny, walled pool into which the spring flowed.
The boy had been the owner of the boat, but had given it to the little girl the day before, and now refused to deliver it, unless she would give him in exchange the shining shells her big brother had found, cleaned, and fastened around her little brown arm with a string. The boy persisted in his demand, stretching out his hand for the shells, while the little girl, with sobs124 and tears, defended herself.
Xanthe, unobserved by the children, became a witness of this contest between might and right, hastily stepped between the combatants, gave the boy a blow on the shoulder, took the boat away, handed it to the little maiden, and, turning to the latter, said:
"Now, play quietly together, and, if Syrus doesn't let you keep the boat and the shells, come to me, poor Stephanion."
So saying, she wiped the little girl's eyes with her own skirt, seized her by the shoulder, grasped the boy's black curls, pressed the two little ones toward each other with gentle violence, and commanded:
"Now, kiss each other!"
The little girl dutifully obeyed the bidding, but the kiss the boy gave his playmate strongly resembled a blow with the mouth.
Xanthe laughed merrily, turned her back on the children, and went slowly down into the valley.
During her walk all sorts of little incidents flashed through her mind with the speed of lightning; memories of the days when she herself was a little girl and Phaon had played with her daily, as the curly-headed Syrus now did with the herdsman's daughter.
But all the scenes swiftly conjured125 up before her mental vision were very different from that just witnessed.
Once, when she had said that the brook couldn't bear to the sea all the leaves and flowers she tossed in, Phaon only smiled quietly, but the next day she found, fastened to an axis126, a wooden cross he had carved himself and fixed127 between some stones The stream swept against the broad surfaces of the spokes128 and forced it to turn constantly.
For weeks both enjoyed the successful toy, but he did not ask a word of thanks, nor did she utter any, only eagerly showed her pleasure, and that was enough for Phaon.
If she began to build a house of sand and stones with him, and it was not finished at once, when they went to play next day she found it roofed and supplied with a little garden, where twigs129 were stuck in the sand for trees, and red and blue buds for flowers. He had made the seat by the spring for her, and also the little steps on the seashore, by whose aid it was possible to enter dryshod the boat her playfellow had painted with brilliant hues of red and blue, because a neighbor's gay skiff had pleased her fancy.
She now thought of these and many similar acts, and that he had never promised her anything, only placed the finished article before her as a matter of course.
It had never entered his mind to ask compensation for his gifts or thanks for his acts, like curly-headed Syrus. Silently he rendered her service after service; but, unfortunately, at this hour Xanthe was not disposed to acknowledge it.
People grow angry with no one more readily than the person from whom they have received many favors which they are unable to repay; women, no matter whether young or old, resemble goddesses in the fact that they cheerfully accept every gift from a man as an offering that is their due, so long as they are graciously disposed toward the giver, but to-day Xanthe was inclined, to be vexed with her playmate.
A thousand joys and sorrows, shared in common, bound them to each other, and in the farthest horizons of her recollections lay an event which had given her affection for him a new direction. His mother and hers had died on the same day, and since then Xanthe had thought it her duty to watch over and care for him, at first, probably, only as a big live doll, afterward130 in a more serious way. And now he was deceiving her and going to ruin. Yet Phaon was so entirely131 different from the wild fellows in Syracuse.
From a child he had been one of those who act without many words. He liked to wander dreamily in lonely paths, with his large, dark eyes fixed on the ground.
He rarely spoke, unless questioned. Never did he boast of being able to accomplish, or having successfully performed, this or that feat30.
He was silent at his work, and, even while engaged in merry games, set about a task slowly, but completed whatever he undertook.
He was welcome in the wrestling-ring and at the dance, for the youths respected his strength, grace, dexterity132, and the quiet way in which he silenced wranglers133 and boasters; while the maidens liked to gaze into the handsome dreamer's eyes, and admired him, though even in the maddest whirl of the dance he remained passionless, moving lightly in perfect time to the measures of the tambourine134 and double flute.
True, many whom he forgot to notice railed at his silent ways, and even Xanthe had often been sorely vexed when his tongue failed to utter a single word of the significant stories told by his eyes. Ay, they under stood how to talk! When his deep, ardent106 gaze rested upon her, unwavering, but glowing and powerful as the lava-stream that sweeps every obstacle from its still, noiseless course, she believed he was not silent from poverty of mind and heart, but because the feelings that moved him were so mighty135 that no mortal lips could clothe them in words.
Nevertheless, to-day Xanthe was angry with her playfellow, and a maiden's wrath136 has two eyes—one blind, the other keener than a falcon's.
What she usually prized and valued in Phaon she now did not see at all, but distinguished every one of his defects.
True, he had shown her much affection without words, but he was certainly as mute as a fish, and would, doubtless, have boasted and asked for thanks like anybody else, if indolence had not fettered137 his stiff tongue.
Only a short time ago she was obliged to give her hand to lanky138 Iphis, because Phaon came forward too slowly. He was sleepy, a foolish dreamer, and she would tell him it would be better for him to stretch himself comfortably on his couch and continue to practise silence, rather than woo foreign maidens and riot all night with dissipated companions.
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1
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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relishes
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| n.滋味( relish的名词复数 )；乐趣；（大量的）享受；快乐v.欣赏( relish的第三人称单数 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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quartz
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| n.石英 | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clumps
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| 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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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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33
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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34
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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35
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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36
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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37
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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38
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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40
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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41
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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42
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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43
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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44
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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46
pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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47
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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48
cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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49
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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50
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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51
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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52
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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53
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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54
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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55
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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56
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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57
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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58
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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59
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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60
warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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61
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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62
wondrously
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| adv.惊奇地，非常，极其 | |
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63
swelled
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| 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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64
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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65
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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66
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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67
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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68
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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69
scaly
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| adj.鱼鳞状的；干燥粗糙的 | |
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70
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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71
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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72
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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73
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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74
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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75
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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76
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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77
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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78
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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79
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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80
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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81
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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82
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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83
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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84
dike
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| n.堤，沟；v.开沟排水 | |
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85
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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86
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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87
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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88
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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89
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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90
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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91
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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92
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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94
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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95
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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96
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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97
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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98
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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99
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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100
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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101
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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102
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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103
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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104
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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105
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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106
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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107
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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108
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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109
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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110
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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111
squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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113
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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114
slanderer
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| 造谣中伤者 | |
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115
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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116
tangling
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的现在分词 ) | |
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117
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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118
spoke
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| 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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119
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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120
curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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121
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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122
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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123
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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124
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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125
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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126
axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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127
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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128
spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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129
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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130
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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131
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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132
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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133
wranglers
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| n.争执人( wrangler的名词复数 )；在争吵的人；（尤指放马的）牧人；牛仔 | |
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134
tambourine
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓 | |
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135
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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136
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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137
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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