In one of our midland counties there is a region of this character, to which, during a season of peculiar2 lustre3, we would introduce the reader.
It was a fragment of one of those vast sylvan4 tracts5 wherein Norman kings once hunted, and Saxon outlaws6 plundered7; and although the plough had for centuries successfully invaded brake and bower8, the relics9 retained all their original character of wildness and seclusion10. Sometimes the green earth was thickly studded with groves12 of huge and vigorous oaks, intersected with those smooth and sunny glades13, that seem as if they must be cut for dames14 and knights15 to saunter on. Then again the undulating ground spread on all sides, far as the eye could range, covered with copse and fern of immense growth. Anon you found yourself in a turfy wilderness16, girt in apparently17 by dark woods. And when you had wound your way a little through this gloomy belt, the landscape still strictly18 sylvan, would beautifully expand with every combination and variety of woodland; while in its centre, the wildfowl covered the waters of a lake, and the deer basked19 on the knolls20 that abounded21 on its banks.
It was in the month of August, some six or seven years ago, that a traveller on foot, touched, as he emerged from the dark wood, by the beauty of this scene, threw himself under the shade of a spreading tree, and stretched his limbs on the turf for enjoyment23 rather than repose24. The sky was deep-coloured and without a cloud, save here and there a minute, sultry, burnished25 vapour, almost as glossy26 as the heavens. Everything was still as it was bright; all seemed brooding and basking27; the bee upon its wing was the only stirring sight, and its song the only sound.
The traveller fell into a reverie. He was young, and therefore his musings were of the future. He had felt the pride of learning, so ennobling to youth; he was not a stranger to the stirring impulses of a high ambition, though the world to him was as yet only a world of books, and all that he knew of the schemes of statesmen and the passions of the people, were to be found in their annals. Often had his fitful fancy dwelt with fascination28 on visions of personal distinction, of future celebrity29, perhaps even of enduring fame. But his dreams were of another colour now. The surrounding scene, so fair, so still, and sweet; so abstracted from all the tumult30 of the world, its strife31, its passions, and its cares: had fallen on his heart with its soft and subduing32 spirit; had fallen on a heart still pure and innocent, the heart of one who, notwithstanding all his high resolves and daring thoughts, was blessed with that tenderness of soul which is sometimes linked with an ardent33 imagination and a strong will. The traveller was an orphan34, more than that, a solitary35 orphan. The sweet sedulousness36 of a mother’s love, a sister’s mystical affection, had not cultivated his early susceptibility. No soft pathos37 of expression had appealed to his childish ear. He was alone, among strangers calmly and coldly kind. It must indeed have been a truly gentle disposition38 that could have withstood such hard neglect. All that he knew of the power of the softer passions might be found in the fanciful and romantic annals of schoolboy friendship.
And those friends too, so fond, so sympathising, so devoted39, where were they now? Already they were dispersed40; the first great separation of life had been experienced; the former schoolboy had planted his foot on the threshold of manhood. True, many of them might meet again; many of them the University must again unite, but never with the same feelings. The space of time, passed in the world before they again met, would be an age of sensation, passion, experience to all of them. They would meet again with altered mien41, with different manners, different voices. Their eyes would not shine with the same light; they would not speak the same words. The favourite phrases of their intimacy42, the mystic sounds that spoke43 only to their initiated44 ear, they would be ashamed to use them. Yes, they might meet again, but the gushing45 and secret tenderness was gone for ever.
Nor could our pensive46 youth conceal47 it from himself that it was affection, and mainly affection, that had bound him to these dear companions. They could not be to him what he had been to them. His had been the inspiring mind that had guided their opinions, formed their tastes, directed the bent48 and tenor49 of their lives and thoughts. Often, indeed, had he needed, sometimes he had even sighed for, the companionship of an equal or superior mind; one who, by the comprehension of his thought, and the richness of his knowledge, and the advantage of his experience, might strengthen and illuminate50 and guide his obscure or hesitating or unpractised intelligence. He had scarcely been fortunate in this respect, and he deeply regretted it; for he was one of those who was not content with excelling in his own circle, if he thought there was one superior to it. Absolute, not relative distinction, was his noble aim.
Alone, in a lonely scene, he doubly felt the solitude51 of his life and mind. His heart and his intellect seemed both to need a companion. Books, and action, and deep thought, might in time supply the want of that intellectual guide; but for the heart, where was he to find solace52?
Ah! if she would but come forth53 from that shining lake like a beautiful Ondine! Ah, if she would but step out from the green shade of that secret grove11 like a Dryad of sylvan Greece! O mystery of mysteries, when youth dreams his first dream over some imaginary heroine!
Suddenly the brooding wildfowl rose from the bosom54 of the lake, soared in the air, and, uttering mournful shrieks55, whirled in agitated56 tumult. The deer started from their knolls, no longer sunny, stared around, and rushed into the woods. Coningsby raised his eyes from the turf on which they had been long fixed57 in abstraction, and he observed that the azure58 sky had vanished, a thin white film had suddenly spread itself over the heavens, and the wind moaned with a sad and fitful gust22.
He had some reason to believe that on the other side of the opposite wood the forest was intersected by a public road, and that there were some habitations. Immediately rising, he descended60 at a rapid pace into the valley, passed the lake, and then struck into the ascending61 wood on the bank opposite to that on which he had mused62 away some precious time.
The wind howled, the branches of the forest stirred, and sent forth sounds like an incantation. Soon might be distinguished64 the various voices of the mighty65 trees, as they expressed their terror or their agony. The oak roared, the beech66 shrieked67, the elm sent forth its deep and long-drawn groan68; while ever and anon, amid a momentary69 pause, the passion of the ash was heard in moans of thrilling anguish70.
Coningsby hurried on, the forest became less close. All that he aspired71 to was to gain more open country. Now he was in a rough flat land, covered only here and there with dwarf72 underwood; the horizon bounded at no great distance by a barren hill of moderate elevation73. He gained its height with ease. He looked over a vast open country like a wild common; in the extreme distance hills covered with woods; the plain intersected by two good roads: the sky entirely74 clouded, but in the distance black as ebony.
A place of refuge was at hand: screened from his first glance by some elm-trees, the ascending smoke now betrayed a roof, which Coningsby reached before the tempest broke. The forest-inn was also a farmhouse75. There was a comfortable-enough looking kitchen; but the ingle nook was full of smokers76, and Coningsby was glad to avail himself of the only private room for the simple meal which they offered him, only eggs and bacon; but very welcome to a pedestrian, and a hungry one.
As he stood at the window of his little apartment, watching the large drops that were the heralds77 of a coming hurricane, and waiting for his repast, a flash of lightning illumined the whole country, and a horseman at full speed, followed by his groom78, galloped79 up to the door.
The remarkable81 beauty of the animal so attracted Coningsby’s attention that it prevented him catching82 even a glimpse of the rider, who rapidly dismounted and entered the inn. The host shortly after came in and asked Coningsby whether he had any objection to a gentleman, who was driven there by the storm, sharing his room until it subsided83. The consequence of the immediate59 assent84 of Coningsby was, that the landlord retired85 and soon returned, ushering86 in an individual, who, though perhaps ten years older than Coningsby, was still, according to Hippocrates, in the period of lusty youth. He was above the middle height, and of a distinguished air and figure; pale, with an impressive brow, and dark eyes of great intelligence.
‘I am glad that we have both escaped the storm,’ said the stranger; ‘and I am greatly indebted to you for your courtesy.’ He slightly and graciously bowed, as he spoke in a voice of remarkable clearness; and his manner, though easy, was touched with a degree of dignity that was engaging.
‘And free from cares,’ added the stranger. Then, looking through the window, he said, ‘A strange storm this. I was sauntering in the sunshine, when suddenly I found I had to gallop80 for my life. ‘Tis more like a white squall in the Mediterranean88 than anything else.’
‘I never was in the Mediterranean,’ said Coningsby. ‘There is nothing I should like so much as to travel.’
‘You are travelling,’ rejoined his companion. ‘Every moment is travel, if understood.’
‘Ah! but the Mediterranean!’ exclaimed Coningsby. ‘What would I not give to see Athens!’
‘I have seen it,’ said the stranger, slightly shrugging his shoulders, ‘and more wonderful things. Phantoms89 and spectres!’
‘The Age of Ruins is past. Have you seen Manchester?’
‘I have seen nothing,’ said Coningsby; ‘this is my first wandering. I am about to visit a friend who lives in this county, and I have sent on my baggage as I could. For myself, I determined90 to trust to a less common-place conveyance91.’
‘And seek adventures,’ said the stranger, smiling, ‘Well, according to Cervantes, they should begin in an inn.’
‘I fear that the age of adventures is past, as well as that of ruins,’ replied Coningsby.
‘Adventures are to the adventurous,’ said the stranger.
At this moment a pretty serving-maid entered the room. She laid the dapper cloth and arranged the table with a self-possession quite admirable. She seemed unconscious that any being was in the chamber92 except herself, or that there were any other duties to perform in life beyond filling a saltcellar or folding a napkin.
‘She does not even look at us,’ said Coningsby, when she had quitted the room; ‘and I dare say is only a prude.’
‘She is calm,’ said the stranger, ‘because she is mistress of her subject; ‘tis the secret of self-possession. She is here as a duchess at court.’
They brought in Coningsby’s meal, and he invited the stranger to join him. The invitation was accepted with cheerfulness.
‘’Tis but simple fare,’ said Coningsby, as the maiden93 uncovered the still hissing94 bacon and the eggs, that looked like tufts of primroses95.
‘Nay, a national dish,’ said the stranger, glancing quickly at the table, ‘whose fame is a proverb. And what more should we expect under a simple roof! How much better than an omelette or a greasy96 olla, that they would give us in a posada! ‘Tis a wonderful country this England! What a napkin! How spotless! And so sweet; I declare ‘tis a perfume. There is not a princess throughout the South of Europe served with the cleanliness that meets us in this cottage.’
‘An inheritance from our Saxon fathers?’ said Coningsby. ‘I apprehend97 the northern nations have a greater sense of cleanliness, of propriety98, of what we call comfort?’
‘By no means,’ said the stranger; ‘the East is the land of the Bath. Moses and Mahomet made cleanliness religion.’
‘You will let me help you?’ said Coningsby, offering him a plate which he had filled.
‘I thank you,’ said the stranger, ‘but it is one of my bread days. With your permission this shall be my dish;’ and he cut from the large loaf a supply of crusts.
‘’Tis but unsavoury fare after a gallop,’ said Coningsby.
‘Ah! you are proud of your bacon and your eggs,’ said the stranger, smiling, ‘but I love corn and wine. They are our chief and our oldest luxuries. Time has brought us substitutes, but how inferior! Man has deified corn and wine! but not even the Chinese or the Irish have raised temples to tea and potatoes.’
‘But Ceres without Bacchus,’ said Coningsby, ‘how does that do? Think you, under this roof, we could Invoke99 the god?’
‘Let us swear by his body that we will try,’ said the stranger.
Alas100! the landlord was not a priest to Bacchus. But then these inquiries101 led to the finest perry in the world. The young men agreed they had seldom tasted anything more delicious; they sent for another bottle. Coningsby, who was much interested by his new companion, enjoyed himself amazingly.
A cheese, such as Derby alone can produce, could not induce the stranger to be even partially102 inconstant to his crusts. But his talk was as vivacious103 as if the talker had been stimulated104 by the juices of the finest banquet. Coningsby had never met or read of any one like this chance companion. His sentences were so short, his language so racy, his voice rang so clear, his elocution was so complete. On all subjects his mind seemed to be instructed, and his opinions formed. He flung out a result in a few words; he solved with a phrase some deep problem that men muse63 over for years. He said many things that were strange, yet they immediately appeared to be true. Then, without the slightest air of pretension105 or parade, he seemed to know everybody as well as everything. Monarchs106, statesmen, authors, adventurers, of all descriptions and of all climes, if their names occurred in the conversation, he described them in an epigrammatic sentence, or revealed their precise position, character, calibre, by a curt107 dramatic trait. All this, too, without any excitement of manner; on the contrary, with repose amounting almost to nonchalance108. If his address had any fault in it, it was rather a deficiency of earnestness. A slight spirit of mockery played over his speech even when you deemed him most serious; you were startled by his sudden transitions from profound thought to poignant109 sarcasm110. A very singular freedom from passion and prejudice on every topic on which they treated, might be some compensation for this want of earnestness, perhaps was its consequence. Certainly it was difficult to ascertain111 his precise opinions on many subjects, though his manner was frank even to abandonment. And yet throughout his whole conversation, not a stroke of egotism, not a word, not a circumstance escaped him, by which you could judge of his position or purposes in life. As little did he seem to care to discover those of his companion. He did not by any means monopolise the conversation. Far from it; he continually asked questions, and while he received answers, or had engaged his fellow-traveller in any exposition of his opinion or feelings, he listened with a serious and fixed attention, looking Coningsby in the face with a steadfast112 glance.
‘I perceive,’ said Coningsby, pursuing a strain of thought which the other had indicated, ‘that you have great confidence in the influence of individual character. I also have some confused persuasions113 of that kind. But it is not the Spirit of the Age.’
‘The age does not believe in great men, because it does not possess any,’ replied the stranger. ‘The Spirit of the Age is the very thing that a great man changes.’
‘But does he not rather avail himself of it?’ inquired Coningsby.
‘Parvenus do,’ rejoined his companion; ‘but not prophets, great legislators, great conquerors114. They destroy and they create.’
‘But are these times for great legislators and great conquerors?’ urged Coningsby.
‘When were they wanted more?’ asked the stranger. ‘From the throne to the hovel all call for a guide. You give monarchs constitutions to teach them sovereignty, and nations Sunday-schools to inspire them with faith.’
‘But what is an individual,’ exclaimed Coningsby, ‘against a vast public opinion?’
‘Divine,’ said the stranger. ‘God made man in His own image; but the Public is made by Newspapers, Members of Parliament, Excise115 Officers, Poor Law Guardians116. Would Philip have succeeded if Epaminondas had not been slain117? And if Philip had not succeeded? Would Prussia have existed had Frederick not been born? And if Frederick had not been born? What would have been the fate of the Stuarts if Prince Henry had not died, and Charles I., as was intended, had been Archbishop of Canterbury?’
‘But when men are young they want experience,’ said Coningsby; ‘and when they have gained experience, they want energy.’
‘Great men never want experience,’ said the stranger.
‘But everybody says that experience—’
‘Is the best thing in the world, a treasure for you, for me, for millions. But for a creative mind, less than nothing. Almost everything that is great has been done by youth.’
‘Nay,’ said the stranger; ‘for life in general there is but one decree. Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle; Old Age a regret. Do not suppose,’ he added, smiling, ‘that I hold that youth is genius; all that I say is, that genius, when young, is divine. Why, the greatest captains of ancient and modern times both conquered Italy at five-and-twenty! Youth, extreme youth, overthrew119 the Persian Empire. Don John of Austria won Lepanto at twenty-five, the greatest battle of modern time; had it not been for the jealousy120 of Philip, the next year he would have been Emperor of Mauritania. Gaston de Foix was only twenty-two when he stood a victor on the plain of Ravenna. Every one remembers Condé and Rocroy at the same age. Gustavus Adolphus died at thirty-eight. Look at his captains: that wonderful Duke of Weimar, only thirty-six when he died. Banier himself, after all his miracles, died at forty-five. Cortes was little more than thirty when he gazed upon the golden cupolas of Mexico. When Maurice of Saxony died at thirty-two, all Europe acknowledged the loss of the greatest captain and the profoundest statesman of the age. Then there is Nelson, Clive; but these are warriors121, and perhaps you may think there are greater things than war. I do not: I worship the Lord of Hosts. But take the most illustrious achievements of civil prudence122. Innocent III., the greatest of the Popes, was the despot of Christendom at thirty-seven. John de Medici was a Cardinal123 at fifteen, and according to Guicciardini, baffled with his statecraft Ferdinand of Arragon himself. He was Pope as Leo X. at thirty-seven. Luther robbed even him of his richest province at thirty-five. Take Ignatius Loyola and John Wesley, they worked with young brains. Ignatius was only thirty when he made his pilgrimage and wrote the “Spiritual Exercises.” Pascal wrote a great work at sixteen, and died at thirty-seven, the greatest of Frenchmen.
‘Ah! that fatal thirty-seven, which reminds me of Byron, greater even as a man than a writer. Was it experience that guided the pencil of Raphael when he painted the palaces of Rome? He, too, died at thirty-seven. Richelieu was Secretary of State at thirty-one. Well then, there were Bolingbroke and Pitt, both ministers before other men left off cricket. Grotius was in great practice at seventeen, and Attorney-General at twenty-four. And Acquaviva; Acquaviva was General of the Jesuits, ruled every cabinet in Europe, and colonised America before he was thirty-seven. What a career!’ exclaimed the stranger; rising from his chair and walking up and down the room; ‘the secret sway of Europe! That was indeed a position! But it is needless to multiply instances! The history of Heroes is the history of Youth.’
‘Ah!’ said Coningsby, ‘I should like to be a great man.’
The stranger threw at him a scrutinising glance. His countenance124 was serious. He said in a voice of almost solemn melody:
‘Nurture your mind with great thoughts. To believe in the heroic makes heroes.’
‘You seem to me a hero,’ said Coningsby, in a tone of real feeling, which, half ashamed of his emotion, he tried to turn into playfulness.
‘I am and must ever be,’ said the stranger, ‘but a dreamer of dreams.’ Then going towards the window, and changing into a familiar tone as if to divert the conversation, he added, ‘What a delicious afternoon! I look forward to my ride with delight. You rest here?’
‘No; I go on to Nottingham, where I shall sleep.’
‘And I in the opposite direction.’ And he rang the bell, and ordered his horse.
‘She is not only of pure race,’ said the stranger, ‘but of the highest and rarest breed in Arabia. Her name is “the Daughter of the Star.” She is a foal of that famous mare, which belonged to the Prince of the Wahabees; and to possess which, I believe, was one of the principal causes of war between that tribe and the Egyptians. The Pacha of Egypt gave her to me, and I would not change her for her statue in pure gold, even carved by Lysippus. Come round to the stable and see her.’
They went out together. It was a soft sunny afternoon; the air fresh from the rain, but mild and exhilarating.
The groom brought forth the mare. ‘The Daughter of the Star’ stood before Coningsby with her sinewy126 shape of matchless symmetry; her burnished skin, black mane, legs like those of an antelope127, her little ears, dark speaking eye, and tail worthy128 of a Pacha. And who was her master, and whither was she about to take him?
Coningsby was so naturally well-bred, that we may be sure it was not curiosity; no, it was a finer feeling that made him hesitate and think a little, and then say:
‘I am sorry to part.’
‘I also,’ said the stranger. ‘But life is constant separation.’
‘I hope we may meet again,’ said Coningsby.
‘If our acquaintance be worth preserving,’ said the stranger, ‘you may be sure it will not be lost.’
‘But mine is not worth preserving,’ said Coningsby, earnestly. ‘It is yours that is the treasure. You teach me things of which I have long mused.’
The stranger took the bridle129 of ‘the Daughter of the Star,’ and turning round with a faint smile, extended his hand to his companion.
‘Your mind at least is nurtured130 with great thoughts,’ said Coningsby; ‘your actions should be heroic.’
‘Action is not for me,’ said the stranger; ‘I am of that faith that the Apostles professed131 before they followed their master.’
He vaulted132 into his saddle, ‘the Daughter of the Star’ bounded away as if she scented133 the air of the Desert from which she and her rider had alike sprung, and Coningsby remained in profound meditation134.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
refulgent
|
|
| adj.辉煌的，灿烂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sylvan
|
|
| adj.森林的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
tracts
|
|
| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
outlaws
|
|
| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
plundered
|
|
| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
bower
|
|
| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
relics
|
|
| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
seclusion
|
|
| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
grove
|
|
| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
groves
|
|
| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
glades
|
|
| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
dames
|
|
| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
knights
|
|
| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
basked
|
|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
knolls
|
|
| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
abounded
|
|
| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
gust
|
|
| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
burnished
|
|
| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
basking
|
|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
celebrity
|
|
| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
subduing
|
|
| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
orphan
|
|
| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
sedulousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
37
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
initiated
|
|
| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
gushing
|
|
| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pensive
|
|
| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
tenor
|
|
| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
illuminate
|
|
| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
shrieks
|
|
| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
azure
|
|
| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
muse
|
|
| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
shrieked
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
aspired
|
|
| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
dwarf
|
|
| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
elevation
|
|
| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
farmhouse
|
|
| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
smokers
|
|
| 吸烟者( smoker的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
heralds
|
|
| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
galloped
|
|
| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
gallop
|
|
| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
subsided
|
|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
ushering
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
salute
|
|
| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
Mediterranean
|
|
| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
phantoms
|
|
| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
conveyance
|
|
| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
hissing
|
|
| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
primroses
|
|
| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
greasy
|
|
| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
apprehend
|
|
| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
invoke
|
|
| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
vivacious
|
|
| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
pretension
|
|
| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
monarchs
|
|
| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
curt
|
|
| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
nonchalance
|
|
| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
poignant
|
|
| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
ascertain
|
|
| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
steadfast
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
persuasions
|
|
| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
conquerors
|
|
| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
excise
|
|
| n.(国产)货物税；vt.切除，删去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
guardians
|
|
| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
overthrew
|
|
| overthrow的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
warriors
|
|
| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
cardinal
|
|
| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
mare
|
|
| n.母马，母驴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
sinewy
|
|
| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
antelope
|
|
| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
bridle
|
|
| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
nurtured
|
|
| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
vaulted
|
|
| adj.拱状的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |