The character of the hero must not be judged by modern canons of morality. With all the honest purpose and steadfast21 heart which we willingly concede to him, we cannot but feel there is a shiftiness in his proceedings22 from first to last which scarcely savours of true heroism23. We need not call him, as Thersites does in Shakespeare, “that dog-fox Ulysses,” nor even go quite so far as to look upon him as what a modern translator terms him, “the Scapin of epic24 poetry;” but we see in him the embodiment of prudence25, versatility26, and expediency27, rather than of the nobler and less selfish virtues28. Ulysses, both in the Iliad and in the Odyssey, is the diplomatist of his age; and it is neither his fault nor Homer’s that the diplomacy29 of that date was less refined, and less skilful30 in veiling its coarser features.{v.ii-127} Even in much later times, dissimulation31 has been held an indispensable quality in rulers;[45] and an English philosopher tells us plainly that “the intriguing32 spirit, the overreaching manner, and the over-refinement of art and policy, are naturally incident to the experienced and thorough politician.”[46] At the same time, it must be remembered that Ulysses employs deceit only where it was recognised and allowed by the moral code of the age—against his enemies; he is never for a moment otherwise than true to his friends. Nay33, while the kings and leaders in the Iliad are too fairly open to the reproach of holding cheap the lives and the interests of the meaner multitude who followed them, Ulysses is, throughout his long wanderings, the sole protecting providence34, so far as their wilfulness35 will allow him, of his followers37 as well as of himself.
The tale of his wanderings has been a rich mine of wealth for poets and romancers, painters and sculptors38, from the dim date of the age which we call Homer’s down to our own. In this wonderful poem, be its authorship what it may, lie the germs of thousands of the volumes which fill our modern libraries. Not that all their authors are either wilful36 plagiarists or even conscious imitators; but because the Greek poet, first of all whose thoughts have been preserved to us in writing, touched, in their deepest as well as their lightest tones, those chords of human action and passion which find an echo in all hearts and in all ages.
First, that is to say, of all whose utterances39 we re{v.ii-128}gard as merely human. There are, indeed, other recorded utterances to which the song of Homer, unlike as it is, has yet wonderful points of resemblance. For the student of Scripture40, the prince of heathen poets possesses a special interest. It is quite unnecessary to insist upon the actual connection which some enthusiastic champions of sacred literature have either traced or fancied between the lays of the Greek bard and the inspired records of the chosen people. Whether the Hebrew chronicles, in any form, could have reached the eye or ear of the poet in his many wanderings is, to say the least, extremely doubtful. But Homer bears an independent witness to the truth and accuracy of the sacred narrative41, so far as its imagery and diction are to be taken into account, which is very remarkable and valuable. Allowing for the difference in the local scenery, the reader of the Iliad may well fancy at times that he is following the night-march of Abraham, the conquests of Joshua, or the wars of the Kings; while in the Odyssey the same domestic interiors, the same primitive42 family life, the same simple patriarchal relations between the king or chief of the tribe and his people, remind us in every page of the fresh and living pictures of the book of Genesis. Fresh and living the portraits still are, in both cases, after the lapse43 of so many centuries, because in both the writers drew faithfully from what was before their eyes, without any straining after effect—without any betrayal of that self-consciousness which spoils many an author’s best work, by forcing his own individuality upon the reader instead of that of the scenes and persons whom he repre{v.ii-129}sents. To trace the many points of resemblance between these two great poems and the sacred records as fully44 as they might be traced would require a volume in itself. It may be enough in these pages shortly to point out some few of the many instances in which Homer will be found one of the most interesting, because assuredly one of the most unconscious, commentators45 on the Bible.
The Homeric kings, like those of Israel and Judah, lead the battle in their chariots: Priam sits “in the gate,” like David or Solomon: Ulysses, when he would assert his royalty46, stands by a pillar, as stood Joash and Josiah. Their riches consist chiefly in “sheep and oxen, men-servants and maid-servants.” When Ulysses, in the Iliad, finds Diomed sleeping outside his tent,—“and his comrades lay sleeping around him, and under their heads they had their shields, and their spears were fixed47 in the ground by the butt-end”[47]—we have the picture, almost word for word, of Saul’s night-bivouac when he was surprised by David: “And behold48, Saul lay sleeping within the trench49, and his spear stuck in the ground at his bolster50, and the people lay round about him.” Ulysses and Diomed think it not beneath their dignity, as kings or chiefs, to act what we should consider the part of a spy, like Gideon in the camp of the Midianites. Lycurgus the Thracian slays51 with an ox-goad, like Shamgar in the Book of Judges. The very cruelties of warfare52 are the same—the insults too frequently{v.ii-130} offered to the dead body of an enemy, “the children dashed against the stones”—the miserable53 sight which Priam foresees in the fall of his city, as Isaiah in the prophetic burden of Babylon.[48]
The outward tokens of grief are wholly Eastern. Achilles, in the Iliad, when he hears of the death of his friend Patroclus—Laertes, in the Odyssey, when he believes his son’s return hopeless—throw dust upon their heads, like Joshua and the elders of Israel when they hear of the disaster at Ai. King Priam tears his hair and beard in his vain appeal to Hector at the Sc?an gates, as Ezra does, when he hears of the trespasses54 of the Jewish princes.[49] Penelope sits “on the threshold” to weep, just as Moses “heard the people weeping, every man in the door of his tent.” “Call for the mourning women,” says the prophet Jeremiah,[50] “that they may come; and let them make haste, and take up a wailing55 for us.” So when the Trojan king bears off his dead son at last to his own palace, the professional mourners are immediately sent for—“the bards56, to begin the lament57.”[51] As Moses carries forth58 the bones of Joseph into Canaan, and David gathers carefully those of Saul and Jonathan from the men of Jabesh-Gilead, so Nestor charges the Greeks, when they have almost determined59 to quit Troy in despair, to carry the bones of their slain60 comrades home to their native land. Sarpedon’s body is borne to his native Lycia, there to be honoured “with a mound61 and with a column”—as Jacob set up a pillar for his dead{v.ii-131} Rachel on the road by Bethlehem. The Philistines62, after the battle of Gilboa, bestow63 the armour64 of Saul in the house of their goddess Ashtaroth: the sword of Goliath is laid up as a trophy65 with the priest Ahimelech, “wrapped in a cloth behind the ephod;”[52] even so does Hector vow66 to hang up the armour of Menelaus in the temple of Apollo in Troy.
The more peaceful images have the same remarkable likeness67. The fountain in the island of Ithaca, faced with stone, the work of the forefathers68 of the nation, Ithacus and Neritus, recalls that “well of the oath”—Beer-sheba—which Abraham dug, or that by which the woman of Samaria sat, known as “the well of our father Jacob.” The stone which the goddess Minerva upheaves to hurl6 against Mars, which “men of old had set to be a boundary of the land”—the two white stones,[53] of unknown date and history even in the poet’s own day, of which he doubts whether they be sepulchral69 or boundary, which Achilles made the turning-point for the chariot-race,—these cannot fail to remind us of the stones Bohan and Ebenezer, and of the warning in the Proverbs—“Remove not the ancient landmark70, which thy fathers have set up.” The women grinding at the mill, the oxen treading out the corn, the measure by cubit, the changes of raiment, the reverence71 due to the stranger and to the poor,—the dowry given by the bridegroom, as by way of purchase, not received with the bride,—all these are as familiar to us in the books of Moses as in the{v.ii-132} poems of Homer. The very figures of speech are the same. The passionate72 apostrophe of Moses and Isaiah—“Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth”—is used by Juno in the Iliad, and by Calypso in the Odyssey.[54] “Day” is commonly employed as an equivalent for fate or judgment73; “the half of one’s kingdom” is held to be a right royal gift; “the gates of hell” are the culmination74 of evil. Telemachus swears “by the woes75 of his father,” as Jacob does “by the fear of his father Isaac;” and the curse pronounced on Ph?nix by his father—“that never grandchild of his begetting76 might sit upon his knees”[55]—recalls the sacred text in which we are told that “the children of Machir, the son of Manasseh, were brought up on Joseph’s knees.”
Many and various have been the theories of interpretation77 which have been employed, by more or less ingenious writers, to develop what they have considered the inner meaning of the poet’s tale. Such speculations78 began at a very early date in literary history. They were current among Greek philosophers in the days of Socrates, but he himself would not admit them. It is impossible, and would be wearisome even if it were possible, to discuss them all. But one especially must be mentioned, not wholly modern, but which has won much favour of late in the world of scholars,—that in both poems we have certain truths of physical and astronomical79 science represented under an allegorical form, imported into Greek fable80 from Eastern sources. This theory is, to say the least, so inter{v.ii-133}esting and ingenious, that without presuming here to discuss its truth, it claims a brief mention. It may be fairest to put it in the words of one of its most enthusiastic advocates. So far as it applies to the Odyssey, it stands thus:—
“The Sun [Ulysses] leaves his bride the Twilight81 [Penelope] in the sky, where he sinks beneath the sea, to journey in silence and darkness to the scene of the great fight with the powers of Darkness [the Siege of Troy]. The ten weary years of the war are the weary hours of the night.... The victory is won: but the Sun still longs to see again the beautiful bride from whom he parted yester-eve. Dangers may await him, but they cannot arrest his steps: things lovely may lavish82 their beauty upon him, but they cannot make him forget her.... But he cannot reach his home until another series of ten long years have come to an end—the Sun cannot see the Twilight until another day is done.”[56]
So, in the Iliad, as has been already noticed, Paris and the Trojans represent the powers of Darkness, “who steal away the beautiful Twilight [Helen] from the western sky;” while Achilles is the Sun, who puts to rout83 these forces of the Night.[57]
In contrast, though not necessarily in contradiction, to this physical allegory, stands the moral interpretation, a favourite one with some of the medi?val stu{v.ii-134}dents of Homer, which sees in the Odyssey nothing less than the pilgrimage of human life—beset with dangers and seductions on every side, yet blessed with divine guidance, and reaching its goal at last, through suffering and not without loss. Every point in the wanderings of the hero has been thus made to teach its parable84, more or less successfully. The different adventures have each had their special application: Circe represents the especially sensual appetites; the Lotus-eating is indolence; the Sirens the temptations of the ear; the forbidden oxen of the Sun the “flesh-pots of Egypt”—the sin of gluttony. It is at least well worthy15 of remark how, throughout the whole narrative, the false rest is brought into contrast with the true. Not in the placid85 indolence of the Lotus-eaters, not in the luxurious86 halls of Circe or in the grotto87 of Calypso, nor even in the joyous88 society of the Ph?acians, but only in the far-off home, the seat of the higher and better affections, is the pilgrim’s real resting-place. The key-note of this didactic interpretation, which has an undoubted beauty and pathos89 of its own, making the old Greek poet, like the Mosaic90 law, a schoolmaster to Christian91 doctrine92, has been well touched by a modern writer:—
Of this our life, while through the tale we trace
Homeless Ulysses on the land and sea!
From childhood to old age it is the face
Whether he wander forth abroad, or knows
No change but of home-nature and of grace,{v.ii-135}
Still is he as one seeking for repose—
A man of many thoughts, a man of many woes.”[58]
Some of the early religious commentators pushed such interpretations95 to extravagance; they dealt with Homer as the extreme patristic school of theology dealt with the Old Testament96: they so busied themselves in seeking for mystical interpretations in every verse, that they held the plain and literal meaning of the text as of almost secondary importance. It was said of one French scholar—D’Aurat—a man of some learning, that he spent his life in trying to find all the Bible in Homer. Such men saw Paradise disguised in the gardens of Alcinous; the temptation of the chaste97 Bellerophon was but a pagan version of the story of Joseph; the fall of Troy evidently prefigured, to their fancy, the destruction of Jerusalem. Some went even further, and turned this tempting98 weapon of allegory against their religious opponents: thus Doctor Jacobus Hugo saw the Lutheran heretics prefigured in the Lotus-eaters of the Odyssey, and thought that the reckless Antinous was a type of Martin Luther himself. Those who are content to take Homer as he is, the poet of all ages, without seeking to set him up either as a prophet or as a moral philosopher, may take comfort from, the brief criticism of Lord Bacon upon all over-curious interpretation—“I do rather think the fable was first, and the exposition devised after.” The most ingenious theories as to the hidden{v.ii-136} meaning of the song are at best but the mists which the Homerists have thrown round their deity—
“The moony vapour rolling round the king.”
He moves among them all, a dim mysterious figure, but hardly less than divine.
END OF THE ODYSSEY.
点击收听单词发音
1 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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2 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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3 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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4 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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5 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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6 hurl | |
vt.猛投,力掷,声叫骂 | |
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7 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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8 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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9 redresser | |
改正[修正,调整,补偿]者;解调器 | |
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10 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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11 condescends | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的第三人称单数 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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12 dreads | |
n.恐惧,畏惧( dread的名词复数 );令人恐惧的事物v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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14 bard | |
n.吟游诗人 | |
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15 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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16 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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17 odyssey | |
n.长途冒险旅行;一连串的冒险 | |
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18 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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19 simile | |
n.直喻,明喻 | |
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20 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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21 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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22 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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23 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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24 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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25 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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26 versatility | |
n.多才多艺,多样性,多功能 | |
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27 expediency | |
n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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28 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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29 diplomacy | |
n.外交;外交手腕,交际手腕 | |
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30 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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31 dissimulation | |
n.掩饰,虚伪,装糊涂 | |
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32 intriguing | |
adj.有趣的;迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词);激起…的好奇心 | |
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33 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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34 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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35 wilfulness | |
任性;倔强 | |
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36 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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37 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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38 sculptors | |
雕刻家,雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 ); [天]玉夫座 | |
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39 utterances | |
n.发声( utterance的名词复数 );说话方式;语调;言论 | |
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40 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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41 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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42 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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43 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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44 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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45 commentators | |
n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 );时事评论员;注释者;实况广播员 | |
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46 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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47 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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48 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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49 trench | |
n./v.(挖)沟,(挖)战壕 | |
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50 bolster | |
n.枕垫;v.支持,鼓励 | |
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51 slays | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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53 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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54 trespasses | |
罪过( trespass的名词复数 ); 非法进入 | |
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55 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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56 bards | |
n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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57 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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58 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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59 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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60 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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61 mound | |
n.土墩,堤,小山;v.筑堤,用土堆防卫 | |
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62 philistines | |
n.市侩,庸人( philistine的名词复数 );庸夫俗子 | |
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63 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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64 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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65 trophy | |
n.优胜旗,奖品,奖杯,战胜品,纪念品 | |
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66 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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67 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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68 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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69 sepulchral | |
adj.坟墓的,阴深的 | |
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70 landmark | |
n.陆标,划时代的事,地界标 | |
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71 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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72 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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73 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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74 culmination | |
n.顶点;最高潮 | |
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75 woes | |
困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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76 begetting | |
v.为…之生父( beget的现在分词 );产生,引起 | |
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77 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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78 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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79 astronomical | |
adj.天文学的,(数字)极大的 | |
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80 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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81 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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82 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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83 rout | |
n.溃退,溃败;v.击溃,打垮 | |
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84 parable | |
n.寓言,比喻 | |
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85 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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86 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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87 grotto | |
n.洞穴 | |
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88 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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89 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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90 mosaic | |
n./adj.镶嵌细工的,镶嵌工艺品的,嵌花式的 | |
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91 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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92 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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93 epitome | |
n.典型,梗概 | |
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94 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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95 interpretations | |
n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 );表演;演绎;理解 | |
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96 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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97 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
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98 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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