For Girls And Boys,
Being A Second Wonder-Book
TANGLEWOOD TALES
The Wayside
Introductory
A short time ago, I was favored with a flying visit from my young friend Eustace Bright, whom I had not before met with since quitting the breezy mountains of Berkshire. It being the winter vacation at his college, Eustace was allowing himself a little relaxation1, in the hope, he told me, of repairing the inroads which severe application to study had made upon his health; and I was happy to conclude, from the excellent physical condition in which I saw him, that the remedy had already been attended with very desirable success. He had now run up from Boston by the noon train, partly impelled2 by the friendly regard with which he is pleased to honor me, and partly, as I soon found, on a matter of literary business.
It delighted me to receive Mr. Bright, for the first time, under a roof, though a very humble3 one, which I could really call my own. Nor did I fail (as is the custom of landed proprietors4 all about the world) to parade the poor fellow up and down over my half a dozen acres; secretly rejoicing, nevertheless, that the disarray5 of the inclement6 season, and particularly the six inches of snow then upon the ground, prevented him from observing the ragged7 neglect of soil and shrubbery into which the place has lapsed8. It was idle, however, to imagine that an airy guest from Monument Mountain, Bald-Summit, and old Graylock, shaggy with primeval forests, could see anything to admire in my poor little hill-side, with its growth of frail9 and insect-eaten locust-trees. Eustace very frankly10 called the view from my hill-top tame; and so, no doubt, it was, after rough, broken, rugged11, headlong Berkshire, and especially the northern parts of the county, with which his college residence had made him familiar. But to me there is a peculiar12, quiet charm in these broad meadows and gentle eminences13. They are better than mountains, because they do not stamp and stereotype14 themselves into the brain, and thus grow wearisome with the same strong impression, repeated day after day. A few summer weeks among mountains, a lifetime among green meadows and placid15 slopes, with outlines forever new, because continually fading out of the memory,—such would be my sober choice.
I doubt whether Eustace did not internally pronounce the whole thing a bore, until I led him to my predecessor's little ruined, rustic16 summer-house, midway on the hill-side. It is a mere17 skeleton of slender, decaying tree-trunks, with neither walls nor a roof; nothing but a tracery of branches and twigs18, which the next wintry blast will be very likely to scatter19 in fragments along the terrace. It looks, and is, as evanescent as a dream; and yet, in its rustic net-work of boughs20, it has somehow enclosed a hint of spiritual beauty, and has become a true emblem21 of the subtile and ethereal mind that planned it. I made Eustace Bright sit down on a snow-bank, which bad heaped itself over the mossy seat, and gazing through the arched window opposite, he acknowledged that the scene at once grew picturesque23.
"Simple as it looks," said he, "this little edifice24 seems to be the work of magic. It is full of suggestiveness, and, in its way, is as good as a cathedral. Ah, it would be just the spot for one to sit in, of a summer afternoon, and tell the children some more of those wild stories from the classic myths!"
"It would, indeed," answered I. "The summer-house itself, so airy and so broken, is like one of those old tales, imperfectly remembered; and these living branches of the Baldwin apple-tree, thrusting themselves so rudely in, are like your unwarrantable interpolations. But, by the by, have you added any more legends to the series, since the publication of the Wonder Book?"
"Many more," said Eustace; "Primrose25, Periwinkle, and the rest of them allow me no comfort of my life, unless I tell them a story every day or two. I have run away from home partly to escape the importunity27 of those little wretches28! But I have written out six of the new stories, and have brought them for you to look over."
"Are they as good as the first?" I inquired.
"Better chosen, and better handled," replied Eustace Bright. "You will say so when you read them."
"Possibly not," I remarked. "I know, from my own experience, that an author's last work is always his best one, in his own estimate, until it quite loses the red heat of composition. After that, it falls into its true place, quietly enough. But let us adjourn30 to my study, and examine these new stories. It would hardly be doing yourself justice, were you to bring me acquainted with them, sitting here on this snow-bank!"
So we descended31 the hill to my small, old cottage, and shut ourselves up in the southeastern room, where the sunshine comes in, warmly and brightly, through the better half of a winter's day. Eustace put his bundle of manuscript into my hands; and I skimmed through it pretty rapidly, trying to find out its merits and demerits by the touch of my fingers, as a veteran story-teller ought to know how to do.
It will be remembered, that Mr. Bright condescended32 to avail himself of my literary experience by constituting me editor of the Wonder Book. As he had no reason to complain of the reception of that erudite work by the public, he was now disposed to retain me in a similar position, with respect to the present volume, which he entitled "Tanglewood Tales." Not, as Eustace hinted, that there was any real necessity for my services as introductor, inasmuch as his own name had become established, in some good degree of favor, with the literary world. But the connection with myself, he was kind enough to say, had been highly agreeable; nor was he by any means desirous, as most people are, of kicking away the ladder that had perhaps helped him to reach his present elevation33. My young friend was willing, in short, that the fresh verdure of his growing reputation should spread over my straggling and half-naked boughs; even as I have sometimes thought of training a vine, with its broad leafiness, and purple fruitage, over the worm-eaten posts and rafters of the rustic summer-house. I was not insensible to the advantages of his proposal, and gladly assured him of my acceptance.
Merely from the titles of the stories, I saw at once that the subjects were not less rich than those of the former volume; nor did I at all doubt that Mr. Bright's audacity34 (so far as that endowment might avail) had enabled him to take full advantage of whatever capabilities35 they offered. Yet, in spite of my experience of his free way of handling them, I did not quite see, I confess, how he could have obviated36 all the difficulties in the way of rendering37 them presentable to children. These old legends, so brimming over with everything that is most abhorrent38 to our Christianized moral sense,—some of them so hideous39, others so melancholy40 and miserable41, amid which the Greek tragedians sought their themes, and moulded them into the sternest forms of grief that ever the world saw; was such material the stuff that children's playthings should be made of! How were they to be purified? How was the blessed sunshine to be thrown into them?
But Eustace told me that these myths were the most singular things in the world, and that he was invariably astonished, whenever he began to relate one, by the readiness with which it adapted itself to the childish purity of his auditors43. The objectionable characteristics seem to be a parasitical44 growth, having no essential connection with the original fable45. They fall away, and are thought of no more, the instant he puts his imagination in sympathy with the innocent little circle, whose wide-open eyes are fixed46 so eagerly upon him. Thus the stories (not by any strained effort of the narrator's, but in harmony with their inherent germ) transform themselves, and reassume the shapes which they might be supposed to possess in the pure childhood of the world. When the first poet or romancer told these marvellous legends (such is Eustace Bright's opinion), it was still the Golden Age. Evil had never yet existed; and sorrow, misfortune, crime, were mere shadows which the mind fancifully created for itself, as a shelter against too sunny realities; or, at most, but prophetic dreams, to which the dreamer himself did not yield a waking credence49. Children are now the only representatives of the men and women of that happy era; and therefore it is that we must raise the intellect and fancy to the level of childhood, in order to recreate the original myths.
I let the youthful author talk as much and as extravagantly50 as he pleased, and was glad to see him commencing life with such confidence in himself and his performances. A few years will do all that is necessary towards showing him the truth in both respects. Meanwhile, it is but right to say, he does really appear to have overcome the moral objections against these fables51, although at the expense of such liberties with their structure as must be left to plead their own excuse, without any help from me. Indeed, except that there was a necessity for it,—and that the inner life of the legends cannot be come at save by making them entirely52 one's own property,—there is no defence to be made.
Eustace informed me that he had told his stories to the children in various situations,—in the woods, on the shore of the lake, in the dell of Shadow Brook53, in the play-room, at Tanglewood fireside, and in a magnificent palace of snow, with ice windows, which he helped his little friends to build. His auditors were even more delighted with the contents of the present volume than with the specimens54 which have already been given to the world. The classically learned Mr. Pringle, too, had listened to two or three of the tales, and censured55 them even more bitterly than he did The Three Golden Apples; so that, what with praise, and what with criticism, Eustace Bright thinks that there is good hope of at least as much success with the public as in the case of the Wonder Book.
I made all sorts of inquiries56 about the children, not doubting that there would be great eagerness to hear of their welfare among some good little folks who have written to me, to ask for another volume of myths. They are all, I am happy to say (unless we except Clover), in excellent health and spirits. Primrose is now almost a young lady, and, Eustace tells me, is just as saucy57 as ever. She pretends to consider herself quite beyond the age to be interested by such idle stories as these; but, for all that, whenever a story is to be told, Primrose never fails to be one of the listeners, and to make fun of it when finished. Periwinkle is very much grown, and is expected to shut up her baby-house and throw away her doll in a month or two more. Sweet Fern has learned to read and write, and has put on a jacket and pair of pantaloons,—all of which improvements I am sorry for. Squash-Blossom, Blue Eye, Plantain, and Buttercup have had the scarlet59 fever, but came easily through it. Huckleberry, Milkweed, and Dandelion were attacked with the hooping-cough, but bore it bravely, and kept out of doors whenever the sun shone. Cowslip, during the autumn, had either the measles60, or some eruption61 that looked very much like it, but was hardly sick a day. Poor Clover has been a good deal troubled with her second teeth, which have made her meagre in aspect and rather fractious in temper; nor, even when she smiles, is the matter much mended, since it discloses a gap just within her lips, almost as wide as the barn door. But all this will pass over, and it is predicted that she will turn out a very pretty girl.
As for Mr. Bright himself, he is now in his senior year at Williams College, and has a prospect62 of graduating with some degree of honorable distinction at the next Commencement. In his oration63 for the bachelor's degree, he gives me to understand, he will treat of the classical myths, viewed in the aspect of baby stories, and has a great mind to discuss the expediency64 of using up the whole of ancient history for the same purpose. I do not know what he means to do with himself after leaving college, but trust that, by dabbling65 so early with the dangerous and seductive business of authorship, he will not be tempted66 to become an author by profession. If so, I shall be very sorry for the little that I have had to do with the matter, in encouraging these first beginnings.
I wish there were any likelihood of my soon seeing Primrose, Periwinkle, Dandelion, Sweet Fern, Clover, Plantain, Huckleberry, Milkweed, Cowslip, Buttercup, Blue Eye, and Squash-Blossom again. But as I do not know when I shall revisit Tanglewood, and as Eustace Bright probably will not ask me to edit a third Wonder Book, the public of little folks must not expect to hear any more about those dear children from me. Heaven bless them, and everybody else, whether grown people or children!
March 13, 1853.
The Minotaur
In the old city of Tr?zene, at the foot of a lofty mountain, there lived, a very long time ago, a little boy named Theseus. His grandfather, King Pittheus, was the sovereign of that country, and was reckoned a very wise man; so that Theseus, being brought up in the royal palace, and being naturally a bright lad, could hardly fail of profiting by the old king's instructions. His mother's name was ?thra. As for his father, the boy had never seen him. But, from his earliest remembrance, ?thra used to go with little Theseus into a wood, and sit down upon a moss22-grown rock, which was deeply sunk into the earth. Here she often talked with her son about his father, and said that he was called ?geus, and that he was a great king, and ruled over Attica, and dwelt at Athens, which was as famous a city as any in the world. Theseus was very fond of hearing about King ?geus, and often asked his good mother ?thra why he did not come and live with them at Tr?zene.
"Ah, my dear son," answered ?thra, with a sigh, "a monarch68 has his people to take care of. The men and women over whom he rules are in the place of children to him; and he can seldom spare time to love his own children as other parents do. Your father will never be able to leave his kingdom for the sake of seeing his little boy."
"Well, but, dear mother," asked the boy, "why cannot I go to this famous city of Athens, and tell King ?geus that I am his son?"
"That may happen by and by," said ?thra. "Be patient, and we shall see. You are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an errand."
"And how soon shall I be strong enough?" Theseus persisted in inquiring.
"You are but a tiny boy as yet," replied his mother. "See if you can lift this rock on which we are sitting?"
The little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength. So, grasping the rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged70 and toiled71 amain, and got himself quite out of breath, without being able to stir the heavy stone. It seemed to be rooted into the ground. No wonder he could not move it; for it would have taken all the force of a very strong man to lift it out of its earthy bed.
His mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips and in her eyes, to see the zealous72 and yet puny73 efforts of her little boy. She could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so impatient to begin his adventures in the world.
"You see how it is, my dear Theseus," said she. "You must possess far more strength than now before I can trust you to go to Athens, and tell King ?geus that you are his son. But when you can lift this rock, and show me what is hidden beneath it, I promise you my permission to depart."
Often and often, after this, did Theseus ask his mother whether it was yet time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed74 to the rock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong enough to move it. And again and again the rosy-cheeked and curly-headed boy would tug69 and strain at the huge mass of stone, striving, child as he was, to do what a giant could hardly have done without taking both of his great hands to the task. Meanwhile the rock seemed to be sinking farther and farther into the ground. The moss grew over it thicker and thicker, until at last it looked almost like a soft green seat, with only a few gray knobs of granite75 peeping out. The overhanging trees, also, shed their brown leaves upon it, as often as the autumn came; and at its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some of which crept quite over its surface. To all appearance, the rock was as firmly fastened as any other portion of the earth's substance.
But, difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be such a vigorous youth, that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly come when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous77 lump of stone.
"Mother, I do believe it has started!" cried he, after one of his attempts. "The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!"
"No, no, child!" his mother hastily answered. "It is not possible you can have moved it, such a boy as you still are!"
Nor would she be convinced, although Theseus showed her the place where he fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted78 by the movement of the rock. But ?thra sighed and looked disquieted79; for, no doubt, she began to be conscious that her son was no longer a child, and that, in a little while hence, she must send him forth80 among the perils82 and troubles of the world.
It was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting on the moss-covered stone. ?thra had once more told him the oft-repeated story of his father, and how gladly he would receive Theseus at his stately palace, and how he would present him to his courtiers and the people, and tell them that here was the heir of his dominions83. The eyes of Theseus glowed with enthusiasm, and he would hardly sit still to hear his mother speak.
"Dear mother ?thra," he exclaimed, "I never felt half so strong as now! I am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth! I feel myself a man! It is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the stone!"
"Ah, my dearest Theseus," replied his mother, "not yet! not yet!"
"Yes, mother," said he, resolutely84, "the time has come."
Then Theseus bent85 himself in good earnest to the task, and strained every sinew, with manly86 strength and resolution. He put his whole brave heart into the effort. He wrestled87 with the big and sluggish88 stone, as if it had been a living enemy. He heaved, he lifted, he resolved now to succeed, or else to perish there, and let the rock be his monument forever! ?thra stood gazing at him, and clasped her hands, partly with a mother's pride, and partly with a mother's sorrow. The great rock stirred! Yes, it was raised slowly from the bedded moss and earth, uprooting89 the shrubs90 and flowers along with it, and was turned upon its side. Theseus had conquered!
"Yes, Theseus," she said, "the time has come, and you must stay no longer at my side! See what King ?geus, your royal father, left for you, beneath the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty93 arms, and laid it on the spot whence you have now removed it."
Theseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another slab94 of stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat resembled a roughly made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had served as the lid. Within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt, and a pair of sandals.
"That was your father's sword," said ?thra, "and those were his sandals. When he went to be king of Athens, he bade me treat you as a child until you should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy stone. That task being accomplished95, you are to put on his sandals, in order to follow in your father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword, so that you may fight giants and dragons, as King ?geus did in his youth."
"I will set out for Athens this very day!" cried Theseus.
But his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she got ready some necessary articles for his journey. When his grandfather, the wise King Pittheus, heard that Theseus intended to present himself at his father's palace, he earnestly advised him to get on board of a vessel96, and go by sea; because he might thus arrive within fifteen miles of Athens, without either fatigue97 or danger.
"The roads are very bad by land," quoth the venerable king; "and they are terribly infested99 with robbers and monsters. A mere lad, like Theseus, is not fit to be trusted on such a perilous100 journey, all by himself. No, no; let him go by sea!"
But when Theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked102 up his ears, and was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were to be met with. On the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful farewell to his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness, and, after affectionately embracing his mother, he set forth, with a good many of her tears glistening103 on his cheeks, and some, if the truth must be told, that had gushed104 out of his own eyes. But he let the sun and wind dry them, and walked stoutly105 on, playing with the golden hilt of his sword and taking very manly strides in his father's sandals.
I cannot stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell Theseus on the road to Athens. It is enough to say, that he quite cleared that part of the country of the robbers, about whom King Pittheus had been so much alarmed. One of these bad people was named Procrustes; and he was indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way of making fun of the poor travellers who happened to fall into his clutches. In his cavern106 he had a bed, on which, with great pretence107 of hospitality, he invited his guests to lie down; but if they happened to be shorter than the bed, this wicked villain108 stretched them out by main force; or, if they were too long, he lopped off their heads or feet, and laughed at what he had done, as an excellent joke. Thus, however weary a man might be, he never liked to lie in the bed of Procrustes. Another of these robbers, named Scinis, must likewise have been a very great scoundrel. He was in the habit of flinging his victims off a high cliff into the sea; and, in order to give him exactly his deserts, Theseus tossed him off the very same place. But if you will believe me, the sea would not pollute itself by receiving such a bad person into its bosom109, neither would the earth, having once got rid of him, consent to take him back; so that, between the cliff and the sea, Scinis stuck fast in the air, which was forced to bear the burden of his naughtiness.
After these memorable110 deeds, Theseus heard of an enormous sow, which ran wild, and was the terror of all the farmers round about; and, as he did not consider himself above doing any good thing that came in his way, he killed this monstrous111 creature, and gave the carcass to the poor people for bacon. The great sow had been an awful beast, while ramping112 about the woods and fields, but was a pleasant object enough when cut up into joints113, and smoking on I know not how many dinner tables.
Thus, by the time he had reached his journey's end, Theseus had done many valiant114 deeds with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained the renown115 of being one of the bravest young men of the day. His fame travelled faster than he did, and reached Athens before him. As he entered the city, he heard the inhabitants talking at the street-corners, and saying that Hercules was brave, and Jason too, and Castor and Pollux likewise, but that Theseus, the son of their own king, would turn out as great a hero as the best of them. Theseus took longer strides on hearing this, and fancied himself sure of a magnificent reception at his father's court, since he came hither with Fame to blow her trumpet116 before him, and cry to King ?geus, "Behold117 your son!"
He little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here, in this very Athens, where his father reigned118, a greater danger awaited him than any which he had encountered on the road. Yet this was the truth. You must understand that the father of Theseus, though not very old in years, was almost worn out with the cares of government, and had thus grown aged42 before his time. His nephews, not expecting him to live a very great while, intended to get all the power of the kingdom into their own hands. But when they heard that Theseus had arrived in Athens, and learned what a gallant119 young man he was, they saw that he would not be at all the kind of person to let them steal away his father's crown and sceptre, which ought to be his own by right of inheritance. Thus these bad-hearted nephews of King ?geus, who were the own cousins of Theseus, at once became his enemies. A still more dangerous enemy was Medea, the wicked enchantress; for she was now the king's wife, and wanted to give the kingdom to her son Medus, instead of letting it be given to the son of ?thra, whom she hated.
It so happened that the king's nephews met Theseus, and found out who he was, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace. With all their evil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's best friends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance. They proposed to him that he should come into the king's presence as a stranger, in order to try whether ?geus would discover in the young man's features any likeness121 either to himself or his mother ?thra, and thus recognize him for a son. Theseus consented; for he fancied that his father would know him in a moment, by the love that was in his heart. But, while he waited at the door, the nephews ran and told King ?geus that a young man had arrived in Athens, who, to their certain knowledge, intended to put him to death, and get possession of his royal crown.
"Aha!" cried the old king, on hearing this. "Why, he must be a very wicked young fellow indeed! Pray, what would you advise me to do with him?"
In reply to this question, the wicked Medea put in her word. As I have already told you, she was a famous enchantress. According to some stories, she was in the habit of boiling old people in a large caldron, under pretence of making them young again; but King ?geus, I suppose, did not fancy such an uncomfortable way of growing young, or perhaps was contented123 to be old, and therefore would never let himself be popped into the caldron. If there were time to spare from more important matters, I should be glad to tell you of Medea's fiery124 chariot, drawn125 by winged dragons, in which the enchantress used often to take an airing among the clouds. This chariot, in fact, was the vehicle that first brought her to Athens, where she had done nothing but mischief126 ever since her arrival. But these and many other wonders must be left untold127; and it is enough to say, that Medea, amongst a thousand other bad things, knew how to prepare a poison, that was instantly fatal to whomsoever might so much as touch it with his lips.
So, when the king asked what he should do with Theseus, this naughty woman had an answer ready at her tongue's end.
"Leave that to me, please your Majesty," she replied. "Only admit this evil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite him to drink a goblet128 of wine. Your Majesty is well aware that I sometimes amuse myself with distilling129 very powerful medicines. Here is one of them in this small phial. As to what it is made of, that is one of my secrets of state. Do but let me put a single drop into the goblet, and let the young man taste it; and I will answer for it, he shall quite lay aside the bad designs with which he comes hither."
As she said this, Medea smiled; but, for all her smiling face, she meant nothing less than to poison the poor innocent Theseus, before his father's eyes. And King ?geus, like most other kings, thought any punishment mild enough for a person who was accused of plotting against his life. He therefore made little or no objection to Medea's scheme, and as soon as the poisonous wine was ready, gave orders that the young stranger should be admitted into his presence. The goblet was set on a table beside the king's throne; and a fly, meaning just to sip130 a little from the brim, immediately tumbled into it, dead. Observing this, Medea looked round at the nephews, and smiled again.
When Theseus was ushered131 into the royal apartment, the only object that he seemed to behold was the white-bearded old king. There he sat on his magnificent throne, a dazzling crown on his head, and a sceptre in his hand. His aspect was stately and majestic132, although his years and infirmities weighed heavily upon him, as if each year were a lump of lead, and each infirmity a ponderous stone, and all were bundled up together, and laid upon his weary shoulders. The tears both of joy and sorrow sprang into the young man's eyes; for he thought how sad it was to see his dear father so infirm, and how sweet it would be to support him with his own youthful strength, and to cheer him up with the alacrity133 of his loving spirit. When a son takes his father into his warm heart, it renews the old man's youth in a better way than by the heat of Medea's magic caldron. And this was what Theseus resolved to do. He could scarcely wait to see whether King ?geus would recognize him, so eager was he to throw himself into his arms.
Advancing to the foot of the throne, he attempted to make a little speech, which he had been thinking about, as he came up the stairs. But he was almost choked by a great many tender feelings that gushed out of his heart and swelled134 into his throat, all struggling to find utterance135 together. And therefore, unless he could have laid his full, over-brimming heart into the king's hand, poor Theseus knew not what to do or say. The cunning Medea observed what was passing in the young man's mind. She was more wicked at that moment than ever she had been before; for (and it makes me tremble to tell you of it) she did her worst to turn all this unspeakable love with which Theseus was agitated136, to his own ruin and destruction.
"Does your Majesty see his confusion?" she whispered in the king's ear. "He is so conscious of guilt137, that he trembles and cannot speak. The wretch29 lives too long! Quick! offer him the wine!"
Now King ?geus had been gazing earnestly at the young stranger, as he drew near the throne. There was something, he knew not what, either in his white brow, or in the fine expression of his mouth, or in his beautiful and tender eyes, that made him indistinctly feel as if he had seen this youth before; as if, indeed, he had trotted138 him on his knee when a baby, and had beheld139 him growing to be a stalwart man, while he himself grew old. But Medea guessed how the king felt, and would not suffer him to yield to these natural sensibilities; although they were the voice of his deepest heart, telling him, as plainly as it could speak, that here was his dear son, and ?thra's son, coming to claim him for a father. The enchantress again whispered in the king's ear, and compelled him, by her witchcraft140, to see everything under a false aspect.
He made up his mind, therefore, to let Theseus drink off the poisoned wine.
"Young man," said he, "you are welcome! I am proud to show hospitality to so heroic a youth. Do me the favor to drink the contents of this goblet. It is brimming over, as you see, with delicious wine, such as I bestow141 only on those who are worthy142 of it! None is more worthy to quaff143 it than yourself!"
So saying, King ?geus took the golden goblet from the table, and was about to offer it to Theseus. But, partly through his infirmities, and partly because it seemed so sad a thing to take away this young man's life, however wicked he might be, and partly, no doubt, because his heart was wiser than his head, and quaked within him at the thought of what he was going to do,—for all these reasons, the king's hand trembled so much that a great deal of the wine slopped over. In order to strengthen his purpose, and fearing lest the whole of the precious poison should be wasted, one of his nephews now whispered to him,—
"Has your Majesty any doubt of this stranger's guilt? There is the very sword with which he meant to slay144 you. How sharp, and bright, and terrible it is! Quick!—let him taste the wine; or perhaps he may do the deed even yet."
At these words, ?geus drove every thought and feeling out of his breast, except the one idea of how justly the young man deserved to be put to death. He sat erect145 on his throne, and held out the goblet of wine with a steady hand, and bent on Theseus a frown of kingly severity; for, after all, he had too noble a spirit to murder even a treacherous146 enemy with a deceitful smile upon his face.
"Drink!" said he, in the stern tone with which he was wont147 to condemn148 a criminal to be beheaded. "You have well deserved of me such wine as this!"
Theseus held out his hand to take the wine. But, before he touched it, King ?geus trembled again. His eyes had fallen on the gold-hilted sword that hung at the young man's side. He drew back the goblet.
"That sword!" he cried; "how came you by it?"
"It was my father's sword," replied Theseus, with a tremulous voice. "These were his sandals. My dear mother (her name is ?thra) told me his story while I was yet a little child. But it is only a month since I grew strong enough to lift the heavy stone, and take the sword and sandals from beneath it, and come to Athens to seek my father."
"My son! my son!" cried King ?geus, flinging away the fatal goblet, and tottering149 down from the throne to fall into the arms of Theseus. "Yes, these are ?thra's eyes. It is my son."
I have quite forgotten what became of the king's nephews. But when the wicked Medea saw this new turn of affairs, she hurried out of the room, and going to her private chamber150, lost no time in setting her enchantments151 at work. In a few moments, she heard a great noise of hissing152 snakes outside of the chamber window; and, behold! there was her fiery chariot, and four huge winged serpents, wriggling154 and twisting in the air, flourishing their tails higher than the top of the palace, and all ready to set off on an aerial journey. Medea stayed only long enough to take her son with her, and to steal the crown jewels, together with the king's best robes, and whatever other valuable things she could lay hands on; and getting into the chariot, she whipped up the snakes, and ascended155 high over the city.
The king, hearing the hiss153 of the serpents, scrambled156 as fast as he could to the window, and bawled157 out to the abominable158 enchantress never to come back. The whole people of Athens, too, who had run out of doors to see this wonderful spectacle, set up a shout of joy at the prospect of getting rid of her. Medea, almost bursting with rage, uttered precisely159 such a hiss as one of her own snakes, only ten times more venomous and spiteful; and glaring fiercely out of the blaze of the chariot, she shook her hands over the multitude below, as if she were scattering160 a million of curses among them. In so doing, however, she unintentionally let fall about five hundred diamonds of the first water, together with a thousand great pearls, and two thousand emeralds, rubies162, sapphires163, opals, and topazes, to which she had helped herself out of the king's strong-box. All these came pelting164 down, like a shower of many-colored hailstones, upon the heads of grown people and children, who forthwith gathered them up and carried them back to the palace. But King ?geus told them that they were welcome to the whole, and to twice as many more, if he had them, for the sake of his delight at finding his son, and losing the wicked Medea. And, indeed, if you had seen how hateful was her last look, as the flaming chariot flew upward, you would not have wondered that both king and people should think her departure a good riddance.
And now Prince Theseus was taken into great favor by his royal father. The old king was never weary of having him sit beside him on his throne (which was quite wide enough for two), and of hearing him tell about his dear mother, and his childhood, and his many boyish efforts to lift the ponderous stone. Theseus, however, was much too brave and active a young man to be willing to spend all his time in relating things which had already happened. His ambition was to perform other and more heroic deeds, which should be better worth telling in prose and verse. Nor had he been long in Athens before he caught and chained a terrible mad bull, and made a public show of him, greatly to the wonder and admiration165 of good King ?geus and his subjects. But pretty soon, he undertook an affair that made all his foregone adventures seem like mere boy's play. The occasion of it was as follows:—
One morning, when Prince Theseus awoke, he fancied that he must have had a very sorrowful dream, and that it was still running in his mind, even now that his eyes were open. For it appeared as if the air was full of a melancholy wail166; and when he listened more attentively167, he could hear sobs168 and groans169, and screams of woe170, mingled171 with deep, quiet sighs, which came from the king's palace, and from the streets, and from the temples, and from every habitation in the city. And all these mournful noises, issuing out of thousands of separate hearts, united themselves into the one great sound of affliction, which bad startled Theseus from slumber172. He put on his clothes as quickly as he could (not forgetting his sandals and gold-hilted sword), and hastening to the king, inquired what it all meant.
"Alas173! my son," quoth King ?geus, heaving a long sigh, "here is a very lamentable174 matter in hand! This is the wofullest anniversary in the whole year. It is the day when we annually175 draw lots to see which of the youths and maidens176 of Athens shall go to be devoured179 by the horrible Minotaur!"
"The Minotaur!" exclaimed Prince Theseus; and, like a brave young prince as he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. "What kind of a monster may that be? Is it not possible, at the risk of one's life, to slay him?"
But King ?geus shook his venerable head, and to convince Theseus that it was quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole affair. It seems that in the island of Crete there lived a certain dreadful monster, called a Minotaur, which was shaped partly like a man and partly like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of a creature that it is really disagreeable to think of him. If he were suffered to exist at all, it should have been on some desert island, or in the duskiness of some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be tormented180 by his abominable aspect. But King Minos, who reigned over Crete, laid out a vast deal of money in building a habitation for the Minotaur, and took great care of his health and comfort, merely for mischief's sake. A few years before this time, there had been a war between the city of Athens and the island of Crete, in which the Athenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for peace. No peace could they obtain, however, except on condition that they should send seven young men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured by the pet monster of the cruel King Minos. For three years past, this grievous calamity181 had been borne. And the sobs, and groans, and shrieks183, with which the city was now filled, were caused by the people's woe, because the fatal day had come again, when the fourteen victims were to be chosen by lot; and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters might be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded184 lest they themselves might be destined185 to glut186 the ravenous187 maw of that detestable man-brute189.
But when Theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that he seemed taller than ever before; and as for his face, it was indignant, despiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate190, all in one look.
"Let the people of Athens, this year, draw lots for only six young men, instead of seven," said he. "I will myself be the seventh; and let the Minotaur devour178 me, if he can!"
"O my dear son," cried King ?geus, "why should you expose yourself to this horrible fate? You are a royal prince, and have a right to hold yourself above the destinies of common men."
"It is because I am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir of your kingdom, that I freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects," answered Theseus. "And you, my father, being king over this people, and answerable to Heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice what is dearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the poorest citizen should come to any harm."
The old king shed tears, and besought191 Theseus not to leave him desolate192 in his old age, more especially as he had but just begun to know the happiness of possessing a good and valiant son. Theseus, however, felt that he was in the right, and therefore would not give up his resolution. But he assured his father that he did not intend to be eaten up, unresistingly, like a sheep, and that, if the Minotaur devoured him, it should not be without a battle for his dinner. And finally, since he could not help it, King ?geus consented to let him go. So a vessel was got ready, and rigged with black sails; and Theseus, with six other young men, and seven tender and beautiful damsels, came down to the harbor to embark193. A sorrowful multitude accompanied them to the shore. There was the poor old king, too, leaning on his son's arm, and looking as if his single heart held all the grief of Athens.
Just as Prince Theseus was going on board, his father bethought himself of one last word to say.
"My beloved son," said he, grasping the prince's hand, "you observe that the sails of this vessel are black; as indeed they ought to be, since it goes upon a voyage of sorrow and despair. Now, being weighed down with infirmities, I know not whether I can survive till the vessel shall return. But, as long as I do live, I shall creep daily to the top of yonder cliff, to watch if there be a sail upon the sea. And, dearest Theseus, if by some happy chance you should escape the jaws194 of the Minotaur, then tear down those dismal195 sails, and hoist196 others that shall be bright as the sunshine. Beholding197 them on the horizon, myself and all the people will know that you are coming back victorious198, and will welcome you with such a festal uproar199 as Athens never heard before."
Theseus promised that he would do so. Then, going on board, the mariners200 trimmed the vessel's black sails to the wind, which blew faintly off the shore, being pretty much made up of the sighs that everybody kept pouring forth on this melancholy occasion. But by and by, when they had got fairly out to sea, there came a stiff breeze from the northwest, and drove them along as merrily over the white-capped waves as if they had been going on the most delightful201 errand imaginable. And though it was a sad business enough, I rather question whether fourteen young people, without any old persons to keep them in order, could continue to spend the whole time of the voyage in being miserable. There had been some few dances upon the undulating deck, I suspect, and some hearty202 bursts of laughter, and other such unseasonable merriment among the victims, before the high, blue mountains of Crete began to show themselves among the far-off clouds. That sight, to be sure, made them all very grave again.
Theseus stood among the sailors, gazing eagerly towards the land; although, as yet, it seemed hardly more substantial than the clouds, amidst which the mountains were looming203 up. Once or twice, he fancied that he saw a glare of some bright object, a long way off, flinging a gleam across the waves.
"Did you see that flash of light?" he inquired of the master of the vessel.
"No, prince; but I have seen it before," answered the master. "It came from Talus, I suppose."
As the breeze came fresher just then, the master was busy with trimming his sails, and had no more time to answer questions. But while the vessel flew faster and faster towards Crete, Theseus was astonished to behold a human figure, gigantic in size, which appeared to be striding with a measured movement, along the margin204 of the island. It stepped from cliff to cliff, and sometimes from one headland to another, while the sea foamed205 and thundered on the shore beneath, and dashed its jets of spray over the giant's feet. What was still more remarkable207, whenever the sun shone on this huge figure, it flickered208 and glimmered209; its vast countenance210, too, had a metallic211 lustre212, and threw great flashes of splendor213 through the air. The folds of its garments, moreover, instead of waving in the wind, fell heavily over its limbs, as if woven of some kind of metal.
The nigher the vessel came, the more Theseus wondered what this immense giant could be, and whether it actually had life or no. For though it walked, and made other lifelike motions, there yet was a kind of jerk in its gait, which, together with its brazen214 aspect, caused the young prince to suspect that it was no true giant, but only a wonderful piece of machinery215. The figure looked all the more terrible because it carried an enormous brass216 club on its shoulder.
"What is this wonder?" Theseus asked of the master of the vessel, who was now at leisure to answer him.
"It is Talus, the Man of Brass," said the master.
"And is he a live giant, or a brazen image?" asked Theseus.
"That, truly," replied the master, "is the point which has always perplexed217 me. Some say, indeed, that this Talus was hammered out for King Minos by Vulcan himself, the skilfullest of all workers in metal. But who ever saw a brazen image that had sense enough to walk round an island three times a day, as this giant walks round the island of Crete, challenging every vessel that comes nigh the shore? And, on the other hand, what living thing, unless his sinews were made of brass, would not be weary of marching eighteen hundred miles in the twenty-four hours, as Talus does, without ever sitting down to rest? He is a puzzler, take him how you will."
Still the vessel went bounding onward219; and now Theseus could hear the brazen clangor of the giant's footsteps, as he trod heavily upon the sea-beaten rocks, some of which were seen to crack and crumble220 into the foamy221 waves beneath his weight. As they approached the entrance of the port, the giant straddled clear across it, with a foot firmly planted on each headland, and uplifting his club to such a height that its butt58-end was hidden in a cloud, he stood in that formidable posture222, with the sun gleaming all over his metallic surface. There seemed nothing else to be expected but that, the next moment, he would fetch his great club down, slam bang, and smash the vessel into a thousand pieces, without heeding223 how many innocent people he might destroy; for there is seldom any mercy in a giant, you know, and quite as little in a piece of brass clockwork. But just when Theseus and his companions thought the blow was coming, the brazen lips unclosed themselves, and the figure spoke224.
"Whence come you, strangers?"
And when the ringing voice ceased, there was just such a reverberation226 as you may have heard within a great church bell, for a moment or two after the stroke of the hammer.
"From Athens!" shouted the master in reply.
"On what errand?" thundered the Man of Brass.
And he whirled his club aloft more threateningly than ever, as if he were about to smite227 them with a thunder-stroke right amid-ships, because Athens, so little while ago, had been at war with Crete.
"We bring the seven youths and the seven maidens," answered the master, "to be devoured by the Minotaur!"
"Pass!" cried the brazen giant.
That one loud word rolled all about the sky, while again there was a booming reverberation within the figure's breast. The vessel glided229 between the headlands of the port, and the giant resumed his march. In a few moments, this wondrous230 sentinel was far away, flashing in the distant sunshine, and revolving231 with immense strides around the island of Crete, as it was his never-ceasing task to do.
No sooner had they entered the harbor than a party of the guards of King Minos came down to the water-side, and took charge of the fourteen young men and damsels. Surrounded by these armed warriors232, Prince Theseus and his companions were led to the king's palace, and ushered into his presence. Now, Minos was a stern and pitiless king. If the figure that guarded Crete was made of brass, then the monarch, who ruled over it, might be thought to have a still harder metal in his breast, and might have been called a man of iron. He bent his shaggy brows upon the poor Athenian victims. Any other mortal, beholding their fresh and tender beauty, and their innocent looks, would have felt himself sitting on thorns until he had made every soul of them happy, by bidding them go free as the summer wind. But this immitigable Minos cared only to examine whether they were plump enough to satisfy the Minotaur's appetite. For my part, I wish he had himself been the only victim; and the monster would have found him a pretty tough one.
One after another, King Minos called these pale, frightened youths and sobbing234 maidens to his footstool, gave them each a poke225 in the ribs235 with his sceptre (to try whether they were in good flesh or no), and dismissed them with a nod to his guards. But when his eyes rested on Theseus, the king looked at him more attentively, because his face was calm and brave.
"Young man," asked he, with his stern voice, "are you not appalled236 at the certainty of being devoured by this terrible Minotaur?"
"I have offered my life in a good cause," answered Theseus, "and therefore I give it freely and gladly. But thou, King Minos, art thou not thyself appalled, who, year after year, hast perpetrated this dreadful wrong, by giving seven innocent youths and as many maidens to be devoured by a monster? Dost thou not tremble, wicked king, to turn thine eyes inward on thine own heart? Sitting there on thy golden throne, and in thy robes of majesty, I tell thee to thy face, King Minos, thou art a more hideous monster than the Minotaur himself!"
"Aha! do you think me so?" cried the king, laughing in his cruel way. "To-morrow, at breakfast-time, you shall have an opportunity of judging which is the greater monster, the Minotaur or the king! Take them away, guards; and let this free-spoken youth be the Minotaur's first morsel237!"
Near the king's throne (though I had no time to tell you so before) stood his daughter Ariadne. She was a beautiful and tender-hearted maiden177, and looked at these poor doomed238 captives with very different feelings from those of the iron-breasted King Minos. She really wept, indeed, at the idea of how much human happiness would be needlessly thrown away, by giving so many young people, in the first bloom and rose blossom of their lives, to be eaten up by a creature who, no doubt, would have preferred a fat ox, or even a large pig, to the plumpest of them. And when she beheld the brave, spirited figure of Prince Theseus bearing himself so calmly in his terrible peril81, she grew a hundred times more pitiful than before. As the guards were taking him away, she flung herself at the king's feet, and besought him to set all the captives free, and especially this one young man.
"Peace, foolish girl!" answered King Minos. "What hast thou to do with an affair like this? It is a matter of state policy, and therefore quite beyond thy weak comprehension. Go water thy flowers, and think no more of these Athenian caitiffs, whom the Minotaur shall as certainly eat up for breakfast as I will eat a partridge for my supper."
So saying, the king looked cruel enough to devour Theseus and all the rest of the captives, himself, had there been no Minotaur to save him the trouble. As he would not hear another word in their favor, the prisoners were now led away, and clapped into a dungeon240, where the jailer advised them to go to sleep as soon as possible, because the Minotaur was in the habit of calling for breakfast early. The seven maidens and six of the young men soon sobbed241 themselves to slumber! But Theseus was not like them. He felt conscious that he was wiser and braver and stronger than his companions, and that therefore he had the responsibility of all their lives upon him, and must consider whether there was no way to save them, even in this last extremity242. So he kept himself awake, and paced to and fro across the gloomy dungeon in which they were shut up.
Just before midnight, the door was softly unbarred, and the gentle Ariadne showed herself, with a torch in her hand.
"Are you awake, Prince Theseus?" she whispered.
"Yes," answered Theseus. "With so little time to live, I do not choose to waste any of it in sleep."
"Then follow me," said Ariadne, "and tread softly."
What had become of the jailer and the guards, Theseus never knew. But however that might be, Ariadne opened all the doors, and led him forth from the darksome prison into the pleasant moonlight.
"Theseus," said the maiden, "you can now get on board your vessel, and sail away for Athens."
"No," answered the young man; "I will never leave Crete unless I can first slay the Minotaur, and save my poor companions, and deliver Athens from this cruel tribute."
"I knew that this would be your resolution," said Ariadne. "Come, then, with me, brave Theseus. Here is your own sword, which the guards deprived you of. You will need it; and pray Heaven you may use it well."
Then she led Theseus along by the hand until they came to a dark, shadow grove243, where the moonlight wasted itself on the tops of the trees, without shedding hardly so much as a glimmering244 beam upon their pathway. After going a good way through this obscurity, they reached a high, marble wall, which was overgrown with creeping plants, that made it shaggy with their verdure. The wall seemed to have no door, nor any windows, but rose up, lofty, and massive, and mysterious, and was neither to be clambered over, nor, so far as Theseus could perceive, to be passed through. Nevertheless, Ariadne did but press one of her soft little fingers against a particular block of marble, and, though it looked as solid as any other part of the wall, it yielded to her touch, disclosing an entrance just wide enough to admit them. They crept through, and the marble stone swung back into its place.
"We are now," said Ariadne, "in the famous labyrinth245 which D?dalus built before he made himself a pair of wings, and flew away from our island like a bird. That D?dalus was a very cunning workman; but of all his artful contrivances, this labyrinth is the most wondrous. Were we to take but a few steps from the doorway246, we might wander about all our lifetime, and never find it again. Yet in the very centre of this labyrinth is the Minotaur; and, Theseus, you must go thither247 to seek him."
"But how shall I ever find him?" asked Theseus, "if the labyrinth so bewilders me as you say it will?"
Just as he spoke, they heard a rough and very disagreeable roar, which greatly resembled the lowing of a fierce bull, but yet had some sort of sound like the human voice. Theseus even fancied a rude articulation248 in it, as if the creature that uttered it were trying to shape his hoarse249 breath into words. It was at some distance, however, and he really could not tell whether it sounded most like a bull's roar or a man's harsh voice.
"That is the Minotaur's noise," whispered Ariadne, closely grasping the hand of Theseus, and pressing one of her own hands to her heart, which was all in a tremble. "You must follow that sound through the windings250 of the labyrinth, and, by and by, you will find him. Stay! take the end of this silken string; I will hold the other end; and then, if you win the victory, it will lead you again to this spot. Farewell, brave Theseus."
So the young man took the end of the silken string in his left hand, and his gold-hilted sword, ready drawn from its scabbard, in the other, and trod boldly into the inscrutable labyrinth. How this labyrinth was built is more than I can tell you. But so cunningly contrived251 a mizmaze was never seen in the world, before nor since. There can be nothing else so intricate, unless it were the brain of a man like D?dalus, who planned it, or the heart of any ordinary man; which last, to be sure, is ten times as great a mystery as the labyrinth of Crete. Theseus had not taken five steps before he lost sight of Ariadne; and in five more his head was growing dizzy. But still he went on, now creeping through a low arch, now ascending253 a flight of steps, now in one crooked254 passage and now in another, with here a door opening before him, and there one banging behind, until it really seemed as if the walls spun257 round, and whirled him round along with them. And all the while, through these hollow avenues, now nearer, now farther off again, resounded258 the cry of the Minotaur; and the sound was so fierce, so cruel, so ugly, so like a bull's roar, and withal so like a human voice, and yet like neither of them, that the brave heart of Theseus grew sterner and angrier at every step; for he felt it an insult to the moon and sky, and to our affectionate and simple Mother Earth, that such a monster should have the audacity to exist.
As he passed onward, the clouds gathered over the moon, and the labyrinth grew so dusky that Theseus could no longer discern the bewilderment through which he was passing. He would have felt quite lost, and utterly259 hopeless of ever again walking in a straight path, if, every little while, he had not been conscious of a gentle twitch260 at the silken cord. Then he knew that the tender-hearted Ariadne was still holding the other end, and that she was fearing for him, and hoping for him, and giving him just as much of her sympathy as if she were close by his side. Oh, indeed, I can assure you, there was a vast deal of human sympathy running along that slender thread of silk. But still he followed the dreadful roar of the Minotaur, which now grew louder and louder, and finally so very loud that Theseus fully48 expected to come close upon him, at every new zigzag261 and wriggle262 of the path. And at last, in an open space, at the very centre of the labyrinth, he did discern the hideous creature.
Sure enough, what an ugly monster it was! Only his horned head belonged to a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like a bull all over, preposterously263 waddling264 on his hind256 legs; or, if you happened to view him in another way, he seemed wholly a man, and all the more monstrous for being so. And there he was, the wretched thing, with no society, no companion, no kind of a mate, living only to do mischief, and incapable265 of knowing what affection means. Theseus hated him, and shuddered266 at him, and yet could not but be sensible of some sort of pity; and all the more, the uglier and more detestable the creature was. For he kept striding to and fro in a solitary267 frenzy268 of rage, continually emitting a hoarse roar, which was oddly mixed up with half-shaped words; and, after listening awhile, Theseus understood that the Minotaur was saying to himself how miserable he was, and how hungry, and how he hated everybody, and how he longed to eat up the human race alive.
Ah, the bull-headed villain! And O, my good little people, you will perhaps see, one of these days, as I do now, that every human being who suffers anything evil to get into his nature, or to remain there, is a kind of Minotaur, an enemy of his fellow-creatures, and separated from all good companionship, as this poor monster was.
Was Theseus afraid? By no means, my dear auditors. What! a hero like Theseus afraid! Not had the Minotaur had twenty bull heads instead of one. Bold as he was, however, I rather fancy that it strengthened his valiant heart, just at this crisis, to feel a tremulous twitch at the silken cord, which he was still holding in his left hand. It was as if Ariadne were giving him all her might and courage; and, much as he already had, and little as she had to give, it made his own seem twice as much. And to confess the honest truth, he needed the whole; for now the Minotaur, turning suddenly about, caught sight of Theseus, and instantly lowered his horribly sharp horns, exactly as a mad bull does when he means to rush against an enemy. At the same time, he belched269 forth a tremendous roar, in which there was something like the words of human language, but all disjointed and shaken-to pieces by passing through the gullet of a miserably270 enraged271 brute.
Theseus could only guess what the creature intended to say, and that rather by his gestures than his words; for the Minotaur's horns were sharper than his wits, and of a great deal more service to him than his tongue. But probably this was the sense of what he uttered:—
"Ah, wretch of a human being! I'll stick my horns through you, and toss you fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you come down."
"Come on, then, and try it!" was all that Theseus deigned272 to reply; for he was far too magnanimous to assault his enemy with insolent273 language.
Without more words on either side, there ensued the most awful fight between Theseus and the Minotaur that ever happened beneath the sun or moon. I really know not how it might have turned out, if the monster, in his first headlong rush against Theseus, had not missed him, by a hair's-breadth, and broken one of his horns short off against the stone wall. On this mishap274, he bellowed275 so intolerably that a part of the labyrinth tumbled down, and all the inhabitants of Crete mistook the noise for an uncommonly277 heavy thunder-storm. Smarting with the pain, he galloped278 around the open space in so ridiculous a way that Theseus laughed at it, long afterwards, though not precisely at the moment. After this, the two antagonists280 stood valiantly281 up to one another, and fought sword to horn, for a long while. At last, the Minotaur made a run at Theseus, grazed his left side with his horn, and flung him down; and thinking that he had stabbed him to the heart, he cut a great caper282 in the air, opened his bull mouth from ear to ear, and prepared to snap his head off. But Theseus by this time had leaped up, and caught the monster off his guard. Fetching a sword-stroke at him with all his force, he hit him fair upon the neck, and made his bull head skip six yards from his human body, which fell down flat upon the ground.
So now the battle was ended. Immediately the moon shone out as brightly as if all the troubles of the world, and all the wickedness and the ugliness that infest98 human life, were past and gone forever. And Theseus, as he leaned on his sword, taking breath, felt another twitch of the silken cord; for all through the terrible encounter he had held it fast in his left hand. Eager to let Ariadne know of his success, he followed the guidance of the thread, and soon found himself at the entrance of the labyrinth.
"Thanks to thee, dear Ariadne," answered Theseus, "I return victorious."
"Then," said Ariadne, "we must quickly summon thy friends, and get them and thyself on board the vessel before dawn. If morning finds thee here, my father will avenge284 the Minotaur."
To make my story short, the poor captives were awakened285, and, hardly knowing whether it was not a joyful91 dream, were told of what Theseus had done, and that they must set sail for Athens before daybreak. Hastening down to the vessel, they all clambered on board, except Prince Theseus, who lingered behind them, on the strand286, holding Ariadne's hand clasped in his own.
"Dear maiden," said he, "thou wilt287 surely go with us. Thou art too gentle and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as King Minos. He cares no more for thee than a granite rock cares for the little flower that grows in one of its crevices288. But my father. King ?geus, and my dear mother, ?thra, and all the fathers and mothers in Athens, and all the sons and daughters too, will love and honor thee as their benefactress. Come with us, then; for King Minos will be very angry when he knows what thou hast done."
Now, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of Theseus and Ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and honorable maiden did really flee away, under cover of the night, with the young stranger whose life she had preserved. They say, too, that Prince Theseus (who would have died sooner than wrong the meanest creature in the world) ungratefully deserted289 Ariadne, on a solitary island, where the vessel touched on its voyage to Athens. But, had the noble Theseus heard these falsehoods, he would have served their slanderous290 authors as he served the Minotaur! Here is what Ariadne answered, when the brave Prince of Athens besought her to accompany him:—
"No, Theseus," the maiden said, pressing his hand, and then drawing back a step or two, "I cannot go with you. My father is old, and has nobody but myself to love him. Hard as you think his heart is, it would break to lose me. At first King Minos will be angry; but he will soon forgive his only child; and, by and by, he will rejoice, I know, that no more youths and maidens must come from Athens to be devoured by the Minotaur. I have saved you, Theseus, as much for my father's sake as for your own. Farewell! Heaven bless you!"
All this was so true, and so maiden-like, and was spoken with so sweet a dignity, that Theseus would have blushed to urge her any longer. Nothing remained for him, therefore, but to bid Ariadne an affectionate farewell, and go on board the vessel, and set sail.
In a few moments the white foam206 was boiling up before their prow291, as Prince Theseus and his companions sailed out of the harbor with a whistling breeze behind them. Talus, the brazen giant, on his never-ceasing sentinel's march, happened to be approaching that part of the coast; and they saw him, by the glimmering of the moonbeams on his polished surface, while he was yet a great way off. As the figure moved like clockwork, however, and could neither hasten his enormous strides nor retard292 them, he arrived at the port when they were just beyond the reach of his club. Nevertheless, straddling from headland to headland, as his custom was, Talus attempted to strike a blow at the vessel, and, overreaching himself, tumbled at full length into the sea, which splashed high over his gigantic shape, as when an iceberg293 turns a somerset. There he lies yet; and whoever desires to enrich himself by means of brass had better go thither with a diving-bell, and fish up Talus.
On the homeward voyage, the fourteen youths and damsels were in excellent spirits, as you will easily suppose. They spent most of their time in dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck slope too much. In due season, they came within sight of the coast of Attica, which was their native country. But here, I am grieved to tell you, happened a sad misfortune.
You will remember (what Theseus unfortunately forgot) that his father, King ?geus, had enjoined294 it upon him to hoist sunshine sails, instead of black ones, in case he should overcome the Minotaur, and return victorious. In the joy of their success, however, and amidst the sports, dancing, and other merriment, with which these young folks wore away the time, they never once thought whether their sails were black, white, or rainbow colored, and, indeed, left it entirely to the mariners whether they had any sails at all. Thus the vessel returned, like a raven188, with the same sable295 wings that had wafted296 her away. But poor King ?geus, day after day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the summit of a cliff that overhung the sea, and there sat watching for Prince Theseus, homeward bound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal blackness of the sails, than he concluded that his dear son, whom he loved so much, and felt so proud of, had been eaten by the Minotaur. He could not bear the thought of living any longer; so, first flinging his crown and sceptre into the sea, (useless bawbles that they were to him now!) King ?geus merely stooped forward, and fell headlong over the cliff, and was drowned, poor soul, in the waves that foamed at its base!
This was melancholy news for Prince Theseus, who, when he stepped ashore297, found himself king of all the country, whether he would or no; and such a turn of fortune was enough to make any young man feel very much out of spirits. However, he sent for his dear mother to Athens, and, by taking her advice in matters of state, became a very excellent monarch, and was greatly beloved by his people.
The Pygmies
A great while ago, when the world was full of wonders, there lived an earth-born Giant named Ant?us, and a million or more of curious little earth-born people, who were called Pygmies. This Giant and these Pygmies being children of the same mother (that is to say, our good old Grandmother Earth), were all brethren and dwelt together in a very friendly and affectionate manner, far, far off, in the middle of hot Africa. The Pygmies were so small, and there were so many sandy deserts and such high mountains between them and the rest of mankind, that nobody could get a peep at them oftener than once in a hundred years. As for the Giant, being of a very lofty stature298, it was easy enough to see him, but safest to keep out of his sight.
Among the Pygmies, I suppose, if one of them grew to the height of six or eight inches, he was reckoned a prodigiously299 tall man. It must have been very pretty to behold their little cities, with streets two or three feet wide, paved with the smallest pebbles300, and bordered by habitations about as big as a squirrel's cage. The king's palace attained301 to the stupendous magnitude of Periwinkle's baby-house, and stood in the centre of a spacious302 square, which could hardly have been covered by our hearth-rug. Their principal temple, or cathedral, was as lofty as yonder bureau, and was looked upon as a wonderfully sublime303 and magnificent edifice. All these structures were built neither of stone nor wood. They were neatly304 plastered together by the Pygmy workmen, pretty much like bird's-nests, out of straw, feathers, eggshells, and other small bits of stuff, with stiff clay instead of mortar305; and when the hot sun had dried them, they were just as snug306 and comfortable as a Pygmy could desire.
The country round about was conveniently laid out in fields, the largest of which was nearly of the same extent as one of Sweet Fern's flower-beds. Here the Pygmies used to plant wheat and other kinds of grain, which, when it grew up and ripened307, overshadowed these tiny people, as the pines, and the oaks, and the walnut308 and chestnut-trees overshadow you and me, when we walk in our own tracts309 of woodland. At harvest-time, they were forced to go with their little axes and cut down the grain, exactly as a wood-cutter makes a clearing in the forest; and when a stalk of wheat, with its overburdened top, chanced to come crashing down upon an unfortunate Pygmy, it was apt to be a very sad affair. If it did not smash him all to pieces, at least, I am sure, it must have made the poor little fellow's head ache. And oh, my stars! if the fathers and mothers were so small, what must the children and babies have been? A whole family of them might have been put to bed in a shoe, or have crept into an old glove, and played at hide-and-seek in its thumb and fingers. You might have hidden a year-old baby under a thimble.
Now these funny Pygmies, as I told you before, had a Giant for their neighbor and brother, who was bigger, if possible, than they were little. He was so very tall that he carried a pine-tree, which was eight feet through the butt, for a walking-stick. It took a far-sighted Pygmy, I can assure you, to discern his summit without the help of a telescope; and sometimes, in misty310 weather, they could not see his upper half, but only his long legs, which seemed to be striding about by themselves. But at noonday, in a clear atmosphere, when the sun shone brightly over him, the Giant Ant?us presented a very grand spectacle. There he used to stand, a perfect mountain of a man, with his great countenance smiling down upon his little brothers, and his one vast eye (which was as big as a cart-wheel, and placed right in the centre of his forehead) giving a friendly wink26 to the whole nation at once.
The Pygmies loved to talk with Ant?us; and fifty times a day, one or another of them would turn up his head, and shout through the hollow of his fists, "Halloo, brother Ant?us! How are you, my good fellow?" and when the small, distant squeak311 of their voices reached his ear, the Giant would make answer, "Pretty well, brother Pygmy, I thank you," in a thunderous roar that would have shaken down the walls of their strongest temple, only that it came from so far aloft.
It was a happy circumstance that Ant?us was the Pygmy people's friend; for there was more strength in his little finger than in ten million of such bodies as theirs. If he had been as ill-natured to them as he was to everybody else, he might have beaten down their biggest city at one kick, and hardly have known that he did it. With the tornado312 of his breath, he could have stripped the roofs from a hundred dwellings313, and sent thousands of the inhabitants whirling through the air. He might have set his immense foot upon a multitude; and when he took it up again, there would have been a pitiful sight, to be sure. But, being the son of Mother Earth, as they likewise were, the Giant gave them his brotherly kindness, and loved them with as big a love as it was possible to feel for creatures so very small. And, on their parts, the Pygmies loved Ant?us with as much affection as their tiny hearts could hold. He was always ready to do them any good offices that lay in his power; as, for example, when they wanted a breeze to turn their windmills, the Giant would set all the sails a-going with the mere natural respiration314 of his lungs. When the sun was too hot, he often sat himself down, and let his shadow fall over the kingdom, from one frontier to the other; and as for matters in general, he was wise enough to let them alone, and leave the Pygmies to manage their own affairs,—which, after all, is about the best thing that great people can do for little ones.
In short, as I said before, Ant?us loved the Pygmies, and the Pygmies loved Ant?us. The Giant's life being as long as his body was large, while the lifetime of a Pygmy was but a span, this friendly intercourse315 had been going on for innumerable generations and ages. It was written about in the Pygmy histories, and talked about in their ancient traditions. The most venerable and white-bearded Pygmy had never heard of a time, even in his greatest of grandfather's days, when the Giant was not their enormous friend. Once, to be sure (as was recorded on an obelisk316, three feet high, erected317 on the place of the catastrophe), Ant?us sat down upon about five thousand Pygmies, who were assembled at a military review. But this was one of those unlucky accidents for which nobody is to blame; so that the small folks never took it to heart, and only requested the Giant to be careful forever afterwards to examine the acre of ground where he intended to squat318 himself.
It is a very pleasant picture to imagine Ant?us standing319 among the Pygmies, like the spire320 of the tallest cathedral that ever was built, while they ran about like pismires at his feet; and to think that, in spite of their difference in size, there were affection and sympathy between them and him! Indeed, it has always seemed to me that the Giant needed the little people more than the Pygmies needed the Giant. For, unless they had been his neighbors and wellwishers, and, as we may say, his playfellows, Ant?us would not have had a single friend in the world. No other being like himself had ever been created. No creature of his own size had ever talked with him, in thunder-like accents, face to face. When he stood with his head among the clouds, he was quite alone, and had been so for hundreds of years, and would be so forever. Even if he had met another Giant, Ant?us would have fancied the world not big enough for two such vast personages, and, instead of being friends with him, would have fought him till one of the two was killed. But with the Pygmies he was the most sportive, and humorous, and merry-hearted, and sweet-tempered old Giant that ever washed his face in a wet cloud.
His little friends, like all other small people, had a great opinion of their own importance, and used to assume quite a patronizing air towards the Giant.
"Poor creature!" they said one to another. "He has a very dull time of it, all by himself; and we ought not to grudge321 wasting a little of our precious time to amuse him. He is not half so bright as we are, to be sure; and, for that reason, he needs us to look after his comfort and happiness. Let us be kind to the old fellow. Why, if Mother Earth had not been very kind to ourselves, we might all have been Giants too."
On all their holidays, the Pygmies had excellent sport with Ant?us. He often stretched himself out at full length on the ground, where he looked like the long ridge239 of a hill; and it was a good hour's walk, no doubt, for a short-legged Pygmy to journey from head to foot of the Giant. He would lay down his great hand flat on the grass, and challenge the tallest of them to clamber upon it, and straddle from finger to finger. So fearless were they, that they made nothing of creeping in among the folds of his garments. When his head lay sidewise on the earth, they would march boldly up, and peep into the great cavern of his mouth, and take it all as a joke, (as indeed it was meant) when Ant?us gave a sudden snap with his jaws, as if he were going to swallow fifty of them at once. You would have laughed to see the children dodging322 in and out among his hair, or swinging from his beard. It is impossible to tell half of the funny tricks that they played with their huge comrade; but I do not know that anything was more curious than when a party of boys were seen running races on his forehead, to try which of them could get first round the circle of his one great eye. It was another favorite feat120 with them to march along the bridge of his nose, and jump down upon his upper lip.
If the truth must be told, they were sometimes as troublesome to the Giant as a swarm323 of ants or mosquitoes, especially as they had a fondness for mischief, and liked to prick101 his skin with their little swords and lances, to see how thick and tough it was. But Ant?us took it all kindly324 enough; although, once in a while, when he happened to be sleepy, he would grumble325 out a peevish326 word or two, like the muttering of a tempest, and ask them to have done with their nonsense. A great deal oftener, however, he watched their merriment and gambols327 until his huge, heavy, clumsy wits were completely stirred up by them; and then would he roar out such a tremendous volume of immeasurable laughter, that the whole nation of Pygmies had to put their hands to their ears, else it would certainly have deafened328 them.
"Ho! ho! ho!" quoth the Giant, shaking his mountainous sides. "What a funny thing it is to be little! If I were not Ant?us, I should like to be a pygmy, just for the joke's sake."
The Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world. They were constantly at war with the cranes, and had always been so, ever since the long-lived giant could remember. From time to time very terrible battles had been fought, in which sometimes the little men won the victory, and sometimes the cranes. According to some historians, the Pygmies used to go to the battle, mounted on the backs of goats and rams329; but such animals as these must have been far too big for Pygmies to ride upon; so that, I rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or rabbit-back, or rat-back, or perhaps got upon hedgehogs, whose prickly quills330 would be very terrible to the enemy. However this might be, and whatever creatures the Pygmies rode upon, I do not doubt that they made a formidable appearance, armed with sword and spear, and bow and arrow, blowing their tiny trumpet, and shouting their little war-cry. They never failed to exhort331 one another to fight bravely, and recollect332 that the world had its eyes upon them; although, in simple truth, the only spectator was the Giant Ant?us, with his one, great, stupid eye, in the middle of his forehead.
When the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward, flapping their wings and stretching out their necks, and would perhaps snatch up some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks333. Whenever this happened, it was truly an awful spectacle to see those little men of might kicking and sprawling334 in the air, and at last disappearing down the crane's long, crooked throat, swallowed up alive. A hero, you know, must hold himself in readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless the glory of the thing was a consolation335 to him, even in the crane's gizzard. If Ant?us observed that the battle was going hard against his little allies, he generally stopped laughing, and ran with mile-long strides to their assistance, flourishing his club aloft and shouting at the cranes, who quacked336 and croaked337, and retreated as fast as they could. Then the Pygmy army would march homeward in triumph, attributing the victory entirely to their own valor338, and to the warlike skill and strategy of whomsoever happened to be captain general; and for a tedious while afterwards, nothing would be heard of but grand processions, and public banquets, and brilliant illuminations, and shows of waxwork339, with likenesses of the distinguished340 officers as small as life.
In the above-described warfare341, if a Pygmy chanced to pluck out a crane's tail-feather, it proved a very great feather in his cap. Once or twice, if you will believe me, a little man was made chief ruler of the nation for no other merit in the world than bringing home such a feather.
But I have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little people these were, and how happily they and their forefathers342, for nobody knows how many generations, had lived with the immeasurable Giant Ant?us. In the remaining part of the story, I shall tell you of a far more astonishing battle than any that was fought between the Pygmies and the cranes.
One day the mighty Ant?us was lolling at full length among his little friends. His pine-tree walking-stick lay on the ground close by his side. His head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet extended across the boundaries of another part; and he was taking whatever comfort he could get, while the Pygmies scrambled over him, and peeped into his cavernous mouth, and played among his hair. Sometimes, for a minute or two, the Giant dropped asleep, and snored like the rush of a whirlwind. During one of these little bits of slumber, a Pygmy chanced to climb upon his shoulder, and took a view around the horizon, as from the summit of a hill; and he beheld something, a long way off, which made him rub the bright specks343 of his eyes, and look sharper than before. At first he mistook it for a mountain, and wondered how it had grown up so suddenly out of the earth. But soon he saw the mountain move. As it came nearer and nearer, what should it turn out to be but a human shape, not so big as Ant?us, it is true, although a very enormous figure, in comparison with Pygmies, and a vast deal bigger than the men whom we see nowadays.
When the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him, he scampered344, as fast as his legs would carry him, to the Giant's ear, and stooping over its cavity, shouted lustily into it,—
"Halloo, brother Ant?us! Get up this minute, and take your pine-tree walking-stick in your hand. Here comes another Giant to have a tussle345 with you."
"Poh, poh!" grumbled346 Ant?us, only half awake, "None of your nonsense, my little fellow! Don't you see I'm sleepy. There is not a Giant on earth for whom I would take the trouble to get up."
But the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger was coming directly towards the prostrate347 form of Ant?us. With every step he looked less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large man. He was soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about the matter. There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet, and flashing from his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side, and a lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a club, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking-stick of Ant?us.
By this time, the whole nation of Pygmies had seen the new wonder, and a million of them set up a shout, all together; so that it really made quite an audible squeak.
"Get up, Ant?us! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here comes another Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."
Still the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could plainly discern that if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his shoulders were even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoulders they must have been! As I told you, a long while ago, they once upheld the sky. The Pygmies, being ten times as vivacious349 as their great numskull of a brother, could not abide351 the Giant's slow movements, and were determined352 to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him, and even went so far as to prick him with their swords.
"Get up, get up, get up!" they cried. "Up with you, lazy bones! The strange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."
Ant?us could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so mighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper than their swords; and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave a gape353 of several yards wide, rubbed his eye, and finally turned his stupid head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly pointing.
No sooner did he set eye on the stranger than, leaping on his feet, and seizing his walking-stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him; all the while brandishing354 the sturdy pine-tree, so that it whistled through the air.
"Who are you?" thundered the Giant. "And what do you want in my dominions?"
There was one strange thing about Ant?us, of which I have not yet told you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might not believe much more than half of them. You are to know, then, that whenever this redoubtable355 Giant touched the ground, either with his hand, his foot, or any other part of his body, he grew stronger than ever he had been before. The Earth, you remember, was his mother, and was very fond of him, as being almost the biggest of her children; and so she took this method of keeping him always in full vigor76. Some persons affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others say that it was only twice as strong. But only think of it! Whenever Ant?us took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and that he stepped a hundred yards at a stride, you may try to cipher356 out how much mightier357 he was, on sitting down again, than when he first started. And whenever he flung himself on the earth to take a little repose358, even if he got up the very next instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten just such giants as his former self. It was well for the world that Ant?us happened to be of a sluggish disposition359, and liked ease better than exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the Pygmies, and touched the earth as often as they did, he would long ago have been strong enough to pull down the sky about people's ears. But these great lubberly fellows resemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in their disinclination to move.
Any other mortal man, except the very one whom Ant?us had now encountered, would have been half frightened to death by the Giant's ferocious360 aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem at all disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in his hand, measuring Ant?us with his eye from head to foot, not as if wonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many Giants before, and this was by no means the biggest of them. In fact, if the Giant had been no bigger than the Pygmies (who stood pricking361 up their ears, and looking and listening to what was going forward), the stranger could not have been less afraid of him.
"Who are you, I say?" roared Ant?us again. "What's your name? Why do you come hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your skull350 with my walking-stick."
"You are a very discourteous362 Giant," answered the stranger, quietly, "and I shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we part. As for my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this is my most convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, whither I am going to get three of the golden apples for King Eurystheus."
"Caitiff, you shall go no farther!" bellowed Ant?us, putting on a grimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty Hercules, and hated him because he was said to be so strong. "Neither shall you go back whence you came!"
"How will you prevent me," asked Hercules, "from going whither I please?"
"By hitting you a rap with this pine-tree here," shouted Ant?us, scowling363 so that he made himself the ugliest monster in Africa. "I am fifty times stronger than you; and, now that I stamp my foot upon the ground, I am five hundred times stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a puny little dwarf364 as you seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and you shall likewise be the slave of my brethren, here, the Pygmies. So throw down your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's skin, I intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."
"Come and take it off my shoulders, then," answered Hercules, lifting his club.
Then the Giant, grinning with rage, strode towerlike towards the stranger (ten times strengthened at every step), and fetched a monstrous blow at him with his pine-tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and being more skilful218 than Ant?us, he paid him back such a rap upon the sconce, that down tumbled the great lumbering365 man-mountain, flat upon the ground. The poor little Pygmies (who really never dreamed that anybody in the world was half so strong as their brother Ant?us) were a good deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant down, than up he bounced again, with tenfold might, and such a furious visage as was horrible to behold. He aimed another blow at Hercules, but struck awry366, being blinded with wrath367, and only hit his poor, innocent Mother Earth, who groaned368 and trembled at the stroke. His pine-tree went so deep into the ground, and stuck there so fast, that before Ant?us could get it out, Hercules brought down his club across his shoulders with a mighty thwack, which made the Giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable noises had come screeching369 and rumbling370 out of his immeasurable lungs in that one cry. Away it went, over mountains and valleys, and, for aught I know, was heard on the other side of the African deserts.
As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the concussion371 and vibration372 of the air; and, though there was uproar enough without their help, they all set up a shriek182 out of three millions of little throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the Giant's bellow276 by at least ten times as much. Meanwhile, Ant?us had scrambled upon his feet again, and pulled his pine-tree out of the earth; and, all a-flame with fury, and more outrageously373 strong than ever, he ran at Hercules, and brought down another blow.
"This time, rascal," shouted he, "you shall not escape me."
But once more Hercules warded374 off the stroke with his club, and the Giant's pine-tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of which flew among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief than I like to think about. Before Ant?us could get out of the way, Hercules let drive again, and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over head, but served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable strength. As for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it had now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame. Having now no weapons but his fists, he doubled them up (each bigger than a hogshead), smote375 one against the other, and danced up and down with absolute frenzy, flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant not merely to kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.
"Come on!" roared this thundering Giant. "Let me hit you but one box on the ear, and you'll never have the headache again."
Now Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the sky up) began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if he kept on knocking Ant?us down; for, by and by, if he hit him such hard blows, the Giant would inevitably376, by the help of his Mother Earth, become stronger than the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down his club, with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood ready to receive his antagonist279 with naked arms.
"Step forward," cried he. "Since I've broken your pine-tree, we'll try which is the better man at a wrestling-match."
"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the Giant; for, if there was one thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his skill in wrestling. "Villain, I'll fling you where you can never pick yourself up again."
On came Ant?us, hopping377 and capering378 with the scorching379 heat of his rage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak380 his passion every time he hopped381. But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull of a Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him,—huge, earth-born monster that he was,—and to conquer him too, in spite of all that his Mother Earth could do for him. Watching his opportunity, as the mad Giant made a rush at him, Hercules caught him round the middle with both hands, lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft overhead.
Just imagine it, my dear little friends! What a spectacle it must have been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downward, kicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a baby when its father holds it at arm's-length toward the ceiling.
But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Ant?us was fairly off the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by touching382 it. Hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy was growing weaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less violence, and because the thunder of his big voice subsided383 into a grumble. The truth was, that, unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once in five minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of his life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this secret; and it may be well for us all to remember it, in case we should ever have to fight a battle with a fellow like Ant?us. For these earth-born creatures are only difficult to conquer on their own ground, but may easily be managed if we can contrive252 to lift them into a loftier and purer region. So it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really sorry for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers who came to visit him.
When his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his huge body a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily, and lay with no more motion than a sand-hill. It was too late for the Giant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I should not wonder if his ponderous bones were lying on the same spot to this very day, and were mistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.
But, alas me! What a wailing384 did the poor little Pygmies set up when they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner! If Hercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps fancied them only the shrill385, plaintive386 twittering of small birds that had been frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle between himself and Ant?us. Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with the Giant, that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew that there was such a funny little nation in the world. And now, as he had travelled a good way, and was also rather weary with his exertions387 in the fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground, and reclining himself upon it, fell fast asleep.
As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded their little heads at one another, and winked388 with their little eyes. And when his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was asleep, they assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over a space of about twenty-seven feet square. One of their most eloquent389 orators390 (and a valiant warrior233 enough, besides, though hardly so good at any other weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool, and, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude. His sentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events, something like this was probably the upshot of his speech:—
"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have seen what a public calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here been offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies Ant?us, our great friend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant392 who took him at disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be called) in a way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of fighting until this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong already done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly as if nothing were to be dreaded from our wrath! It behooves393 you, fellow-countrymen, to consider in what aspect we shall stand before the world, and what will be the verdict of impartial394 history, should we suffer these accumulated outrages395 to go unavenged.
"Ant?us was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to whom we owe the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous397 hearts, which made him proud of our relationship. He was our faithful ally, and fell fighting as much for our national rights and immunities398 as for his own personal ones. We and our forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him, and held affectionate intercourse, as man to man, through immemorial generations. You remember how often our entire people have reposed399 in his great shadow, and how our little ones have played at hide-and-seek in the tangles400 of his hair, and how his mighty footsteps have familiarly gone to and fro among us, and never trodden upon any of our toes. And there lies this dear brother,—this sweet and amiable401 friend,—this brave and faithful ally,—this virtuous402 Giant,—this blameless and excellent Ant?us,—dead! Dead! Silent! Powerless! A mere mountain of clay! Forgive my tears! Nay403, I behold your own! Were we to drown the world with them, could the world blame us?
"But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked stranger to depart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous victory, among distant communities of the earth? Shall we not rather compel him to leave his bones here on our soil, by the side of our slain brother's bones, so that, while one skeleton shall remain as the everlasting404 monument of our sorrow, the other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human race a terrible example of Pygmy vengeance405? Such is the question. I put it to you in full confidence of a response that shall be worthy of our national character, and calculated to increase, rather than diminish, the glory which our ancestors have transmitted to us, and which we ourselves have proudly vindicated406 in our welfare with the cranes."
The orator391 was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm; every individual Pygmy crying out that the national honor must be preserved at all hazards. He bowed, and making a gesture for silence, wound up his harangue407 in the following admirable manner:—
"It only remains408 for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry on the war in our national capacity,—one united people against a common enemy,—or whether some champion, famous in former fights, shall be selected to defy the slayer409 of our brother Ant?us to single combat. In the latter case, though not unconscious that there may be taller men among you, I hereby offer myself for that enviable duty. And, believe me, dear countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great country, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors410, shall suffer no diminution411 in my hands. Never, while I can wield412 this sword, of which I now fling away the scabbard,—never, never, never, even if the crimson413 hand that slew414 the great Ant?us shall lay me prostrate, like him, on the soil which I give my life to defend."
So saying, this valiant Pygmy drew out his weapon (which was terrible to behold, being as long as the blade of a penknife), and sent the scabbard whirling over the heads of the multitude. His speech was followed by an uproar of applause, as its patriotism415 and self-devotion unquestionably deserved; and the shouts and clapping of hands would have been greatly prolonged had they not been rendered quite inaudible by a deep respiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping Hercules.
It was finally decided416 that the whole nation of Pygmies should set to work to destroy Hercules; not, be it understood, from any doubt that a single champion would be capable of putting him to the sword, but because he was a public enemy, and all were desirous of sharing in the glory of his defeat. There was a debate whether the national honor did not demand that a herald417 should be sent with a trumpet, to stand over the ear of Hercules, and, after blowing a blast right into it, to defy him to the combat by formal proclamation. But two or three venerable and sagacious Pygmies, well versed418 in state affairs, gave it as their opinion that war already existed, and that it was their rightful privilege to take the enemy by surprise. Moreover, if awakened, and allowed to get upon his feet, Hercules might happen to do them a mischief before he could be beaten down again. For, as these sage255 counsellors remarked, the stranger's club was really very big, and had rattled419 like a thunderbolt against the skull of Ant?us. So the Pygmies resolved to set aside all foolish punctilios, and assail420 their antagonist at once.
Accordingly, all the fighting men of the nation took their weapons, and went boldly up to Hercules, who still lay fast asleep, little dreaming of the harm which the Pygmies meant to do him. A body of twenty thousand archers421 marched in front, with their little bows all ready, and the arrows on the string. The same number were ordered to clamber upon Hercules, some with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles of hay, and all manner of rubbish, with which they intended to plug up his mouth and nostrils422, so that he might perish for lack of breath. These last, however, could by no means perform their appointed duty; inasmuch as the enemy's breath rushed out of his nose in an obstreperous423 hurricane and whirlwind, which blew the Pygmies away as fast as they came nigh. It was found necessary, therefore, to hit upon some other method of carrying on the war.
After holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect sticks, straws, dry weeds, and whatever combustible424 stuff they could find, and make a pile of it, heaping it high around the head of Hercules. As a great many thousand Pygmies were employed in this task, they soon brought together several bushels of inflammatory matter, and raised so tall a heap, that, mounting on its summit, they were quite upon a level with the sleeper's face. The archers, meanwhile, were stationed within bow-shot, with orders to let fly at Hercules the instant that he stirred. Everything being in readiness, a torch was applied425 to the pile, which immediately burst into flames, and soon waxed hot enough to roast the enemy, had he but chosen to lie still. A Pygmy, you know, though so very small, might set the world on fire, just as easily as a Giant could; so that this was certainly the very best way of dealing426 with their foe427, provided they could have kept him quiet while the conflagration428 was going forward.
But no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched429, than up he started, with his hair in a red blaze.
"What's all this?" he cried, bewildered with sleep, and staring about him as if he expected to see another Giant.
At that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their bowstrings, and the arrows came whizzing, like so many winged mosquitoes, right into the face of Hercules. But I doubt whether more than half a dozen of them punctured430 the skin, which was remarkably431 tough, as you know the skin of a hero has good need to be.
"Villain!" shouted all the Pygmies at once. "You have killed the Giant Ant?us, our great brother, and the ally of our nation. We declare bloody432 war against you and will slay you on the spot."
Surprised at the shrill piping of so many little voices, Hercules, after putting out the conflagration of his hair, gazed all round about, but could see nothing. At last, however, looking narrowly on the ground, he espied433 the innumerable assemblage of Pygmies at his feet. He stooped down, and taking up the nearest one between his thumb and finger, set him on the palm of his left hand, and held him at a proper distance for examination. It chanced to be the very identical Pygmy who had spoken from the top of the toadstool, and had offered himself as a champion to meet Hercules in single combat.
"What in the world, my little fellow," ejaculated Hercules, "may you be?"
"I am your enemy," answered the valiant Pygmy, in his mightiest434 squeak. "You have slain the enormous Ant?us, our brother by the mother's side, and for ages the faithful ally of our illustrious nation. We are determined to put you to death; and for my own part, I challenge you to instant battle, on equal ground."
Hercules was so tickled435 with the Pygmy's big words and warlike gestures, that he burst into a great explosion of laughter, and almost dropped the poor little mite228 of a creature off the palm of his hand, through the ecstasy436 and convulsion of his merriment.
"Upon my word," cried he, "I thought I had seen wonders before to-day,—hydras with nine heads, stags with golden horns, six-legged men, three-headed dogs, giants with furnaces in their stomachs, and nobody knows what besides. But here, on the palm of my hand, stands a wonder that outdoes them all! Your body, my little friend, is about the size of an ordinary man's finger. Pray, how big may your soul be?"
"As big as your own!" said the Pygmy.
Hercules was touched with the little man's dauntless courage, and could not help acknowledging such a brotherhood437 with him as one hero feels for another.
"My good little people," said he, making a low obeisance438 to the grand nation, "not for all the world would I do an intentional161 injury to such brave fellows as you! Your hearts seem to me so exceedingly great, that, upon my honor, I marvel47 how your small bodies can contain them. I sue for peace, and, as a condition of it, will take five strides, and be out of your kingdom at the sixth. Good-by. I shall pick my steps carefully, for fear of treading upon some fifty of you, without knowing it. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! For once, Hercules acknowledges himself vanquished439."
Some writers say, that Hercules gathered up the whole race of Pygmies in his lion's skin, and carried them home to Greece, for the children of King Eurystheus to play with. But this is a mistake. He left them, one and all, within their own territory, where, for aught I can tell, their descendants are alive to the present day, building their little houses, cultivating their little fields, spanking440 their little children, waging their little warfare with the cranes, doing their little business, whatever it may be, and reading their little histories of ancient times. In those histories, perhaps, it stands recorded, that, a great many centuries ago, the valiant Pygmies avenged396 the death of the Giant Ant?us by scaring away the mighty Hercules.
点击收听单词发音
1 relaxation | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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2 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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4 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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5 disarray | |
n.混乱,紊乱,凌乱 | |
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6 inclement | |
adj.严酷的,严厉的,恶劣的 | |
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7 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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8 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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9 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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10 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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11 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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12 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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13 eminences | |
卓越( eminence的名词复数 ); 著名; 高地; 山丘 | |
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14 stereotype | |
n.固定的形象,陈规,老套,旧框框 | |
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15 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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16 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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17 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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18 twigs | |
细枝,嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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19 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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20 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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21 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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22 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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23 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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24 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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25 primrose | |
n.樱草,最佳部分, | |
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26 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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27 importunity | |
n.硬要,强求 | |
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28 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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29 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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30 adjourn | |
v.(使)休会,(使)休庭 | |
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31 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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32 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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33 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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34 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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35 capabilities | |
n.能力( capability的名词复数 );可能;容量;[复数]潜在能力 | |
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36 obviated | |
v.避免,消除(贫困、不方便等)( obviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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38 abhorrent | |
adj.可恶的,可恨的,讨厌的 | |
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39 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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40 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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41 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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42 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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43 auditors | |
n.审计员,稽核员( auditor的名词复数 );(大学课程的)旁听生 | |
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44 parasitical | |
adj. 寄生的(符加的) | |
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45 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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46 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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47 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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48 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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49 credence | |
n.信用,祭器台,供桌,凭证 | |
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50 extravagantly | |
adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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51 fables | |
n.寓言( fable的名词复数 );神话,传说 | |
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52 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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53 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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54 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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55 censured | |
v.指责,非难,谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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56 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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57 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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58 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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59 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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60 measles | |
n.麻疹,风疹,包虫病,痧子 | |
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61 eruption | |
n.火山爆发;(战争等)爆发;(疾病等)发作 | |
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62 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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63 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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64 expediency | |
n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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65 dabbling | |
v.涉猎( dabble的现在分词 );涉足;浅尝;少量投资 | |
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66 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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67 concord | |
n.和谐;协调 | |
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68 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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69 tug | |
v.用力拖(或拉);苦干;n.拖;苦干;拖船 | |
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70 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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72 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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73 puny | |
adj.微不足道的,弱小的 | |
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74 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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75 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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76 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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77 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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78 uprooted | |
v.把(某物)连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 );根除;赶走;把…赶出家园 | |
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79 disquieted | |
v.使不安,使忧虑,使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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81 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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82 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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83 dominions | |
统治权( dominion的名词复数 ); 领土; 疆土; 版图 | |
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84 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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85 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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86 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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87 wrestled | |
v.(与某人)搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 );扭成一团;扭打;(与…)摔跤 | |
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88 sluggish | |
adj.懒惰的,迟钝的,无精打采的 | |
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89 uprooting | |
n.倒根,挖除伐根v.把(某物)连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 );根除;赶走;把…赶出家园 | |
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90 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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91 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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92 joyfully | |
adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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93 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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94 slab | |
n.平板,厚的切片;v.切成厚板,以平板盖上 | |
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95 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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96 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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97 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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98 infest | |
v.大批出没于;侵扰;寄生于 | |
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99 infested | |
adj.为患的,大批滋生的(常与with搭配)v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 );遍布于 | |
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100 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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101 prick | |
v.刺伤,刺痛,刺孔;n.刺伤,刺痛 | |
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102 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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103 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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104 gushed | |
v.喷,涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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105 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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106 cavern | |
n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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107 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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108 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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109 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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110 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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111 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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112 ramping | |
土堤斜坡( ramp的现在分词 ); 斜道; 斜路; (装车或上下飞机的)活动梯 | |
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113 joints | |
接头( joint的名词复数 ); 关节; 公共场所(尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所) (非正式); 一块烤肉 (英式英语) | |
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114 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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115 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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116 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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117 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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118 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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119 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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120 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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121 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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122 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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123 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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124 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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125 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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126 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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127 untold | |
adj.数不清的,无数的 | |
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128 goblet | |
n.高脚酒杯 | |
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129 distilling | |
n.蒸馏(作用)v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )( distilled的过去分词 );从…提取精华 | |
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130 sip | |
v.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量 | |
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131 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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133 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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134 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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135 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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136 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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137 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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138 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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139 beheld | |
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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140 witchcraft | |
n.魔法,巫术 | |
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141 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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142 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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143 quaff | |
v.一饮而尽;痛饮 | |
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144 slay | |
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
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145 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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146 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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147 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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148 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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149 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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150 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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151 enchantments | |
n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 );迷人之处;施魔法;着魔 | |
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152 hissing | |
n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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153 hiss | |
v.发出嘶嘶声;发嘘声表示不满 | |
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154 wriggling | |
v.扭动,蠕动,蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 );(使身体某一部位)扭动;耍滑不做,逃避(应做的事等);蠕蠕 | |
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155 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156 scrambled | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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157 bawled | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
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158 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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159 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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160 scattering | |
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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161 intentional | |
adj.故意的,有意(识)的 | |
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162 rubies | |
红宝石( ruby的名词复数 ); 红宝石色,深红色 | |
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163 sapphires | |
n.蓝宝石,钢玉宝石( sapphire的名词复数 );蔚蓝色 | |
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164 pelting | |
微不足道的,无价值的,盛怒的 | |
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165 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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166 wail | |
vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
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167 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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168 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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169 groans | |
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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170 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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171 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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172 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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173 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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174 lamentable | |
adj.令人惋惜的,悔恨的 | |
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175 annually | |
adv.一年一次,每年 | |
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176 maidens | |
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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177 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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178 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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179 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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180 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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181 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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182 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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183 shrieks | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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184 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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185 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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186 glut | |
n.存货过多,供过于求;v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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187 ravenous | |
adj.极饿的,贪婪的 | |
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188 raven | |
n.渡鸟,乌鸦;adj.乌亮的 | |
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189 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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190 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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191 besought | |
v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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192 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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193 embark | |
vi.乘船,着手,从事,上飞机 | |
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194 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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195 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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196 hoist | |
n.升高,起重机,推动;v.升起,升高,举起 | |
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197 beholding | |
v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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198 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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199 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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200 mariners | |
海员,水手(mariner的复数形式) | |
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201 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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202 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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203 looming | |
n.上现蜃景(光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼)v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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204 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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205 foamed | |
泡沫的 | |
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206 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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207 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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208 flickered | |
(通常指灯光)闪烁,摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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209 glimmered | |
v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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210 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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211 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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212 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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213 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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214 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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215 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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216 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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217 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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218 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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219 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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220 crumble | |
vi.碎裂,崩溃;vt.弄碎,摧毁 | |
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221 foamy | |
adj.全是泡沫的,泡沫的,起泡沫的 | |
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222 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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223 heeding | |
v.听某人的劝告,听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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224 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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225 poke | |
n.刺,戳,袋;vt.拨开,刺,戳;vi.戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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226 reverberation | |
反响; 回响; 反射; 反射物 | |
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227 smite | |
v.重击;彻底击败;n.打;尝试;一点儿 | |
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228 mite | |
n.极小的东西;小铜币 | |
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229 glided | |
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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230 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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231 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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232 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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233 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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234 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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235 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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236 appalled | |
v.使惊骇,使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的;丧胆的 | |
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237 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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238 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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239 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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240 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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241 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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242 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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243 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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244 glimmering | |
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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245 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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246 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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247 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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248 articulation | |
n.(清楚的)发音;清晰度,咬合 | |
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249 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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250 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
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251 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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252 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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253 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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254 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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255 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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256 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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257 spun | |
v.纺,杜撰,急转身 | |
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258 resounded | |
v.(指声音等)回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 );产生回响;(指某处)回荡着声音 | |
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259 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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260 twitch | |
v.急拉,抽动,痉挛,抽搐;n.扯,阵痛,痉挛 | |
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261 zigzag | |
n.曲折,之字形;adj.曲折的,锯齿形的;adv.曲折地,成锯齿形地;vt.使曲折;vi.曲折前行 | |
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262 wriggle | |
v./n.蠕动,扭动;蜿蜒 | |
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263 preposterously | |
adv.反常地;荒谬地;荒谬可笑地;不合理地 | |
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264 waddling | |
v.(像鸭子一样)摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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265 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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266 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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267 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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268 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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269 belched | |
v.打嗝( belch的过去式和过去分词 );喷出,吐出;打(嗝);嗳(气) | |
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270 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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271 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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272 deigned | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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273 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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274 mishap | |
n.不幸的事,不幸;灾祸 | |
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275 bellowed | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的过去式和过去分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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276 bellow | |
v.吼叫,怒吼;大声发出,大声喝道 | |
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277 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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278 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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279 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
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280 antagonists | |
对立[对抗] 者,对手,敌手( antagonist的名词复数 ); 对抗肌; 对抗药 | |
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281 valiantly | |
adv.勇敢地,英勇地;雄赳赳 | |
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282 caper | |
v.雀跃,欢蹦;n.雀跃,跳跃;续随子,刺山柑花蕾;嬉戏 | |
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283 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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284 avenge | |
v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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285 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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286 strand | |
vt.使(船)搁浅,使(某人)困于(某地) | |
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287 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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288 crevices | |
n.(尤指岩石的)裂缝,缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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289 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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290 slanderous | |
adj.诽谤的,中伤的 | |
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291 prow | |
n.(飞机)机头,船头 | |
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292 retard | |
n.阻止,延迟;vt.妨碍,延迟,使减速 | |
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293 iceberg | |
n.冰山,流冰,冷冰冰的人 | |
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294 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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295 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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296 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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297 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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298 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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299 prodigiously | |
adv.异常地,惊人地,巨大地 | |
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300 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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301 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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302 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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303 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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304 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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305 mortar | |
n.灰浆,灰泥;迫击炮;v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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306 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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307 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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308 walnut | |
n.胡桃,胡桃木,胡桃色,茶色 | |
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309 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 | |
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310 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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311 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
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312 tornado | |
n.飓风,龙卷风 | |
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313 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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314 respiration | |
n.呼吸作用;一次呼吸;植物光合作用 | |
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315 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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316 obelisk | |
n.方尖塔 | |
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317 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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318 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
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319 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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320 spire | |
n.(教堂)尖顶,尖塔,高点 | |
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321 grudge | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
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322 dodging | |
n.避开,闪过,音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 );回避 | |
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323 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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324 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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325 grumble | |
vi.抱怨;咕哝;n.抱怨,牢骚;咕哝,隆隆声 | |
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326 peevish | |
adj.易怒的,坏脾气的 | |
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327 gambols | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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328 deafened | |
使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 ); 使隔音 | |
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329 rams | |
n.公羊( ram的名词复数 );(R-)白羊(星)座;夯;攻城槌v.夯实(土等)( ram的第三人称单数 );猛撞;猛压;反复灌输 | |
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330 quills | |
n.(刺猬或豪猪的)刺( quill的名词复数 );羽毛管;翮;纡管 | |
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331 exhort | |
v.规劝,告诫 | |
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332 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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333 beaks | |
n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 );鹰钩嘴;尖鼻子;掌权者 | |
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334 sprawling | |
adj.蔓生的,不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 );蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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335 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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336 quacked | |
v.(鸭子)发出嘎嘎声( quack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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337 croaked | |
v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 );用粗的声音说 | |
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338 valor | |
n.勇气,英勇 | |
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339 waxwork | |
n.蜡像 | |
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340 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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341 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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342 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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343 specks | |
n.眼镜;斑点,微粒,污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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344 scampered | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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345 tussle | |
n.&v.扭打,搏斗,争辩 | |
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346 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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347 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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348 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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349 vivacious | |
adj.活泼的,快活的 | |
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350 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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351 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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352 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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353 gape | |
v.张口,打呵欠,目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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354 brandishing | |
v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 );炫耀 | |
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355 redoubtable | |
adj.可敬的;可怕的 | |
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356 cipher | |
n.零;无影响力的人;密码 | |
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357 mightier | |
adj. 强有力的,强大的,巨大的 adv. 很,极其 | |
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358 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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359 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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360 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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361 pricking | |
刺,刺痕,刺痛感 | |
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362 discourteous | |
adj.不恭的,不敬的 | |
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363 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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364 dwarf | |
n.矮子,侏儒,矮小的动植物;vt.使…矮小 | |
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365 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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366 awry | |
adj.扭曲的,错的 | |
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367 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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368 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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369 screeching | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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370 rumbling | |
n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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371 concussion | |
n.脑震荡;震动 | |
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372 vibration | |
n.颤动,振动;摆动 | |
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373 outrageously | |
凶残地; 肆无忌惮地; 令人不能容忍地; 不寻常地 | |
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374 warded | |
有锁孔的,有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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375 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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376 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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377 hopping | |
n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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378 capering | |
v.跳跃,雀跃( caper的现在分词 );蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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379 scorching | |
adj. 灼热的 | |
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380 wreak | |
v.发泄;报复 | |
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381 hopped | |
跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 ); 单足蹦跳; 齐足(或双足)跳行; 摘葎草花 | |
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382 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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383 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 | |
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384 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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385 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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386 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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387 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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388 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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389 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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390 orators | |
n.演说者,演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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391 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
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392 miscreant | |
n.恶棍 | |
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393 behooves | |
n.利益,好处( behoof的名词复数 )v.适宜( behoove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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394 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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395 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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396 avenged | |
v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 );为…报复 | |
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397 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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398 immunities | |
免除,豁免( immunity的名词复数 ); 免疫力 | |
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399 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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400 tangles | |
(使)缠结, (使)乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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401 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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402 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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403 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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404 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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405 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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406 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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407 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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408 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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409 slayer | |
n. 杀人者,凶手 | |
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410 progenitors | |
n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 );先驱;前辈;原本 | |
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411 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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412 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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413 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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414 slew | |
v.(使)旋转;n.大量,许多 | |
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415 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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416 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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417 herald | |
vt.预示...的来临,预告,宣布,欢迎 | |
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418 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
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419 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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420 assail | |
v.猛烈攻击,抨击,痛斥 | |
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421 archers | |
n.弓箭手,射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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422 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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423 obstreperous | |
adj.喧闹的,不守秩序的 | |
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424 combustible | |
a. 易燃的,可燃的; n. 易燃物,可燃物 | |
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425 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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426 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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427 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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428 conflagration | |
n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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429 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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430 punctured | |
v.在(某物)上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 );刺穿(某物);削弱(某人的傲气、信心等);泄某人的气 | |
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431 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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432 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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433 espied | |
v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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434 mightiest | |
adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 );巨大的;强有力的;浩瀚的 | |
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435 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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436 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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437 brotherhood | |
n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
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438 obeisance | |
n.鞠躬,敬礼 | |
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439 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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440 spanking | |
adj.强烈的,疾行的;n.打屁股 | |
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