“Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water;
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose4,
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir’s lonely daughter
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes5.
When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
Sleep, with wings in darkness furl’d?
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?
Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish6 long ages away;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay.
When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our isle7 with peace and love?
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?”
[107]
As the devil might inquire—Is this poetry? I believe that I shall have with me the sounder critics when I say that it is small sentiment very carelessly set down. In sixteen lines we have quite a number of different measures, and Moore would seem to have labored8 under the impression that he was writing in one. In other words, the verses halt. As to the sentiment, nobody can question its utter banality10. What a critic of Mr. Stopford Brooke’s caliber11 can see in it, Heaven alone knows. He might have got better verses and better sentiment out of any average breach12 of promise case. Nor are the remaining pieces much above the standard required by those eminent13 judges of poetry, the gentlemen who write morceaux for the drawing-room. For myself I venture the opinion that Moore lives on the strength of “Rich and Rare were the Gems14 she Wore,” “The Meeting of the Waters,” “The Harp15 that once through Tara’s Halls,” “Believe Me if all Those Endearing Young Charms,”[108] “The Minstrel Boy,” “The Last Rose of Summer,” and the “Canadian Boat Song,” most of which efforts have been set to music, and are thereby16 materially aided to survival. So that on the whole Thomas Moore may not be reckoned as in any sense a purveyor17 of the higher kinds of poetry. It is creditable, however, to the Irish people that they should have produced and put their emotional and moral trust in a Moore, rather than a Burns. But morals on one side, Burns is immeasurably the greater poet, even though at times he wrote drivel of the feeblest sort. All the same it must be confessed that the general consent which keeps Moore at the head of the Irish poets is sufficiently18 grounded. For weak vessel19 though he may be, we do not find another Irish poet in the English tongue who could properly be placed above him. Right down to and including William Allingham, the history of Irish poetry in the English tongue has been the history of happy-go-lucky mediocrity. Even[109] Mangan, who has latterly been credited with a share of the authentic20 fire, exhibits a facility, a slipshodness and an aptness to the banal9 which savor21 of the librettist22. From his most considerable production we take the following stanzas23:
THE NAMELESS ONE
Roll forth24, my song, like the rushing river
That sweeps along to the mighty25 sea;
God will inspire me while I deliver
My soul to thee!
Tell thou the world, when bones lie whitening
Amid the last homes of youth and eld,
That there once was one whose veins27 ran lightning
No eye beheld28.
Tell how his boyhood was one drear night-hour,
How shone for him, through his griefs and gloom,
No star of all heaven sends to light our
Path to the tomb.
Roll on, my song, and to after-ages
Tell how, disdaining29 all earth can give,
He would have taught men from wisdom’s pages
The way to live.
[110]
And tell how trampled30, derided31, hated,
And worn by weakness, disease, and wrong,
He fled for shelter to God, who mated
His soul with song—
With song which alway, sublime32 or rapid,
Flowed like a rill in the morning beam,
Perchance not deep, but intense and rapid—
A mountain stream.
Tell how the Nameless, condemned33 for years long
To herd34 with demons35 from hell beneath,
Saw things that made him, with groans36 and tears, long
For even death.
Go on to tell how, with genius wasted,
Betrayed in friendship, befooled in love,
With spirit shipwrecked, and young hopes blasted,
He still, still strove.
There may be lyrical impulse here, but it is of quite an ordinary quality. The much vaunted line about “veins that ran lightning,” could, I think, be paralleled out of previous poets, and the first half of it is clumsy and cacophonous37. “Night-hour” and “light our” might have stepped straight[111] out of the comic poets, and the same may be said of “years long” and “tears, long,” which J. K. Stephen would have chortled over for a “metrical effect.” And when we come to “still, still strove” we are among the librettists with a vengeance38. I have seen James Clarence Mangan collocated with Poe. If comparisons with America must be made, we should range him alongside that bright spirit, Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
For Sir Samuel Fergusson, he has been highly praised by Mr. Swinburne, Aubrey de Vere, and, of course, by Mr. W. B. Yeats. Mr. Yeats pronounces him to be “the greatest poet Ireland has produced, one who, among the somewhat sybaritic singers of his day was like some aged39 sea-king sitting among the inland wheat and poppies—the savor of the sea about him and its strength.” Harken to the ancient sea-king:
“Then dire40 was their disorder41, as the wavering line at first
Swayed to and fro irresolute42; then all disrupted, burst
[112]
Like waters from a broken dam effused upon the plain,
The shelter of Kilultagh’s woods and winding43 glens to gain.
…
But keen-eyed Domnal, when he stood to view the rout44, ere long
Spying that white, unmoving head amid the scattering45 throng46,
Exclaimed: ‘Of all their broken host one only man I see
Not flying; and I therefore judge him impotent to be
Of use of limb. Go; take alive,’ he cried, ‘and hither fetch
The hoary47-haired unmoving man.…’
… A swift battalion48 went
And, breaking through the hindmost line, where Kellach sat hard by,
Took him alive; and, chair and man uphoisting shoulder high,
They bore him back, his hoary locks and red eyes gleaming far,
The grimmest standard yet displayed that day o’er all the war;
And grimly, where they set him down, he eyed the encircling ring
Of Bishops50 and of chafing51 Chiefs who stood about the King.
Then with his crosier’s nether52 end turned towards him, Bishop49 Erc
[113]
Said: ‘Wretch abhorred53, to thee it is we owe this bloody54 work;
By whose malignant55 counsel moved, thy hapless nephew first,
Sought impious aid of foreigners; for which be thou accursed.’”
Surely this is rank butterwoman’s jogtrot to market; the kind of thing perhaps that Mr. J. Hickory Wood and Mr. Arthur Collins might joyously56 and jointly57 produce for the delight of the babies of England. But for “the greatest poet Ireland has produced,” for “the aged sea-king sitting among the inland wheat and poppies” it is poor, poor stuff indeed. Of course, I do not suggest that Sir Samuel Fergusson—who really was a Scotchman, and not a sea-king at all—could not do better. The fact, however, that “the greatest poet Ireland has produced” managed to do so badly, and was capable even of worse, speaks at any rate a small volume for Irish poetry.
The sole remaining Irish poet worth troubling about is Aubrey de Vere, and an examination[114] of his work shows that, while he persistently58 exercised himself on Irish subjects, and laid himself open to the charge of Irish slackness and perfunctoriness, he could write poetry of the kind which is entirely59 classic in its derivation. But it is certain that he cannot be considered to have belonged to the far-famed Keltic movement, and that he was miles behind Landor, even in the severe classic vein26.
I am afraid that, broadly speaking, Ireland has not produced any poet of convincing greatness at all. The “Treasury of Irish Poetry” compared, say, with such a collection of English poetry as Palgrave’s “Golden Treasury” is a ghastly exhibition. Some of the moderns set forward by the editors have, it is true, accomplished60 work which is not without a certain distinction; but the ancients, Thomas Moore included, are not for the reading of the discriminate61. Indeed, Irish poetry in the English tongue is on the whole, like Ireland itself, a decidedly tumble-down[115] affair. In a sense the genius of the country may be said to resemble the genius of Japan. That is to say, while every Irishman may be reckoned something of a poet in himself, there are no Irish poets; just as while the Japanese are all poets, none of them has managed to evolve a respectable poem. This, I cannot help thinking, is a pity for Ireland, and more to be sorrowed over than her lack of commercial aptitude62, than her poverty, and than her wrongs. There are those who tell us that the true poetry of the Irish is hidden away in the memories of the peasantry, taking the shape of Gaelic folk-songs, ballads63, and so forth. No doubt much may be said for this theory, particularly as there is a Gaelic League which seems to be making a good deal of impression upon certain sections of the people. At the same time, it seems remarkable64 that, if the poetry of the Gael be so rich, and ornate, and satisfactory as those who are able to read it would have us believe, nobody takes the trouble to put it[116] before us in a form calculated to preserve it. The Gaelic character is pretty enough, and I have seen odd translations of Gaelic poetry which promised rather well for the bulk. Yet it seems more than doubtful if the “Druid Singers,” as I suppose Mr. Yeats would call them, ever had among their ranks a Homer, or, for that matter, an Anacreon or a Theocritus.
And talking of the Gaelic League, I should like to note for the entertainment of persons of humor, that when I visited its establishment in Dublin some months back I found the upper portion of the window occupied by a placard, which announced in large Roman letters that a “well-known Leaguer” was about to open a shop in Dublin—“Object to push the sale of Irish provisions.” People are human even in Ireland.
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1
treasury
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n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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2
mid
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adj.中央的,中间的 | |
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lyrics
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n.歌词 | |
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4
repose
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v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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woes
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困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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6
languish
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vi.变得衰弱无力,失去活力,(植物等)凋萎 | |
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7
isle
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n.小岛,岛 | |
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labored
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adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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9
banal
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adj.陈腐的,平庸的 | |
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10
banality
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n.陈腐;平庸;陈词滥调 | |
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11
caliber
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n.能力;水准 | |
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12
breach
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n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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13
eminent
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adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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14
gems
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growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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15
harp
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n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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16
thereby
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adv.因此,从而 | |
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17
purveyor
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n.承办商,伙食承办商 | |
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18
sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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19
vessel
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n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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20
authentic
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a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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21
savor
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vt.品尝,欣赏;n.味道,风味;情趣,趣味 | |
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22
librettist
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n.(歌剧、音乐剧等的)歌词作者 | |
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23
stanzas
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节,段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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24
forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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25
mighty
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adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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26
vein
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n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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27
veins
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n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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28
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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29
disdaining
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鄙视( disdain的现在分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
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30
trampled
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踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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31
derided
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v.取笑,嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
sublime
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adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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33
condemned
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adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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34
herd
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n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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35
demons
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n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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36
groans
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n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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37
cacophonous
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adj.发音不和谐的,粗腔横调的 | |
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38
vengeance
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n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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39
aged
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adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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40
dire
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adj.可怕的,悲惨的,阴惨的,极端的 | |
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41
disorder
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n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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42
irresolute
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adj.无决断的,优柔寡断的,踌躇不定的 | |
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43
winding
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n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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44
rout
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n.溃退,溃败;v.击溃,打垮 | |
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45
scattering
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n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
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46
throng
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n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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47
hoary
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adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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48
battalion
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n.营;部队;大队(的人) | |
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49
bishop
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n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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50
bishops
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(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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51
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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52
nether
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adj.下部的,下面的;n.阴间;下层社会 | |
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53
abhorred
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v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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54
bloody
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adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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55
malignant
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adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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56
joyously
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ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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57
jointly
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ad.联合地,共同地 | |
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58
persistently
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ad.坚持地;固执地 | |
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59
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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60
accomplished
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adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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61
discriminate
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v.区别,辨别,区分;有区别地对待 | |
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62
aptitude
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n.(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资 | |
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63
ballads
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民歌,民谣,特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 ); 讴 | |
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64
remarkable
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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