What is a good day for rowing? Almost any day that is good for living. Living is not quite agreeable in the midst of a tornado14 or an equinoctial storm, neither is rowing. There are days when rowing is as toilsome and exhausting a process as is Bunyan's idea of virtue15; while there are other days, like the present, when it seems a mere16 Oriental passiveness and the forsaking17 of works,—just an excuse to Nature for being out among her busy things. For even at this stillest of hours there is far less repose18 in Nature than we imagine. What created thing can seem more patient than yonder kingfisher on the sea-wall? Yet, as we glide19 near him, we shall see that no creature can be more full of concentrated life; all his nervous system seems on edge, every instant he is rising or lowering on his feet, the tail vibrates, the neck protrudes20 or shrinks again, the feathers ruffle21, the crest22 dilates23; he talks to himself with an impatient chirr, then presently hovers24 and dives for a fish, then flies back disappointed. We say "free as birds," but their lives are given over to arduous25 labors26. And so, when our condition seems most dreamy, our observing faculties28 are sometimes desperately29 on the alert, and we find afterwards, to our surprise, that we have missed nothing. The best observer in the end is not he who works at the microscope or telescope most unceasingly, but he whose whole nature becomes sensitive and receptive, drinking in everything, like a sponge that saturates30 itself with all floating vapors31 and odors, though it seems inert32 and unsuspicious until you press it and it tells the tale.
Most men do their work out of doors and their dreaming at home; and those whose work is done at home need something like a wherry in which to dream out of doors. On a squally day, with the wind northwest, it is a dream of action, and to round yonder point against an ebbing33 tide makes you feel as if you were Grant before Richmond; when you put about, you gallop34 like Sheridan, and the winds and waves become a cavalry35 escort. On other days all elements are hushed into a dream of peace, and you look out upon those once stormy distances as Landseer's sheep look into the mouth of the empty cannon36 on a dismantled37 fort. These are the days for revery, and your thoughts fly forth38, gliding39 without friction40 over this smooth expanse; or, rather, they are like yonder pair of white butterflies that will flutter for an hour just above the glassy surface, traversing miles of distance before they alight again.
By a happy trait of our midsummer, these various phases of wind and water may often be included in a single day. On three mornings out of four the wind blows northwest down our bay, then dies to a calm before noon. After an hour or two of perfect stillness, you see the line of blue ripple7 coming up from the ocean till it conquers all the paler water, and the southwest breeze sets in. This middle zone of calm is like the noonday of the Romans, when they feared to speak, lest the great god Pan should be awakened42. While it lasts, a thin, aerial veil drops over the distant hills of Conanicut, then draws nearer and nearer till it seems to touch your boat, the very nearest section of space being filled with a faint disembodied blueness, like that which fills on winter days, in colder regions, the hollows of the snow. Sky and sea show but gradations of the same color, and afford but modifications43 of the same element. In this quietness, yonder schooner44 seems not so much to lie at anchor in the water as to anchor the water, so that both cease to move; and though faint ripples may come and go elsewhere on the surface, the vessel45 rests in this liquid island of absolute calm. For there certainly is elsewhere a sort of motionless movement, as Keats speaks of "a little noiseless noise among the leaves," or as the summer clouds form and disappear without apparent wind and without prejudice to the stillness. A man may lie in the profoundest trance and still be breathing, and the very pulsations of the life of nature, in these calm hours, are to be read in these changing tints47 and shadows and ripples, and in the mirage48-bewildered outlines of the islands in the bay. It is this incessant49 shifting of relations, this perpetual substitution of fantastic for real values, this inability to trust your own eye or ear unless the mind makes its own corrections,—that gives such an inexhaustible attraction to life beside the ocean. The sea-change comes to you without your waiting to be drowned. You must recognize the working of your own imagination and allow for it. When, for instance, the sea-fog settles down around us at nightfall, it sometimes grows denser50 and denser till it apparently51 becomes more solid than the pavements of the town, or than the great globe itself; and when the fog-whistles go wailing52 on through all the darkened hours, they seem to be signalling not so much for a lost ship as for a lost island.
How unlike are those weird53 and gloomy nights to this sunny noon, when I rest my oars in this sheltered bay, where a small lagoon54 makes in behind Coaster's Harbor Island, and the very last breath and murmur55 of the ocean are left outside! The coming tide steals to the shore in waves so light they are a mere shade upon the surface till they break, and then die speechless for one that has a voice. And even those rare voices are the very most confidential56 and silvery whispers in which Nature ever spoke57 to man; the faintest summer insect seems resolute58 and assured beside them; and yet it needs but an indefinite multiplication59 of these sounds to make up the thunder of the surf. It is so still that I can let the wherry drift idly along the shore, and can watch the life beneath the water. The small fry cluster and evade between me and the brink60; the half-translucent shrimp61 glides62 gracefully63 undisturbed, or glances away like a flash if you but touch the surface; the crabs65 waddle67 or burrow68, the smaller species mimicking69 unconsciously the hue70 of the soft green sea-weed, and the larger looking like motionless stones, covered with barnacles and decked with fringing weeds. I am acquainted with no better Darwinian than the crab66; and however clumsy he may be when taken from his own element, he has a free and floating motion which is almost graceful64 in his own yielding and buoyant home. It is so with all wild creatures, but especially with those of water and air. A gull72 is not reckoned an especially graceful bird, but yonder I see one, snowy white, that has come to fish in this safe lagoon, and it dips and rises on its errands as lightly as a butterfly or a swallow. Beneath that neighboring causeway the water-rats run over the stones, lithe73 and eager and alert, the body carried low, the head raised now and then like a hound's, the tail curving gracefully and aiding the poise74; now they are running to the water as if to drink, now racing75 for dear life along the edge, now fairly swimming, then devoting an interval76 to reflection, like squirrels, then again searching over a pile of sea-weed and selecting some especial tuft, which is carried, with long, sinuous77 leaps, to the unseen nest. Indeed, man himself is graceful in his unconscious and direct employments: the poise of a fisherman, for instance, the play of his arm, the cast of his line or net,—these take the eye as do the stealthy movements of the hunter, the fine attitudes of the wood-chopper, the grasp of the sailor on the helm. A haystack and a boat are always picturesque78 objects, and so are the men who are at work to build or use them. So is yonder stake-net, glistening79 in the noonday light,—the innumerable meshes81 drooping82 in soft arches from the high stakes, and the line of floats stretching shoreward, like tiny stepping-stones; two or three row-boats are gathered round it, with fishermen in red or blue shirts, while one white sail-boat hovers near. And I have looked down on our beach in spring, at sunset, and watched them drawing nets for the young herring, when the rough men looked as graceful as the nets they drew, and the horseman who directed might have been Redgauntlet on the Solway Sands.
I suppose it is from this look of natural fitness that a windmill is always such an appropriate object by the sea-shore. It is simply a four-masted schooner, stranded83 on a hill-top, and adapting itself to a new sphere of duty. It can have needed but a slight stretch of invention in some seaman84 to combine these lofty vans, and throw over them a few remodelled85 sails. The principle of their motion is that by which a vessel beats to windward; the miller86 spreads or reefs his sails, like a sailor,—reducing them in a high wind to a mere "pigeon-wing" as it is called, two or three feet in length, or in some cases even scudding87 under bare poles. The whole structure vibrates and creaks under rapid motion, like a mast; and the angry vans, disappointed of progress, are ready to grind to powder all that comes within their grasp, as they revolve88 hopelessly in this sea of air.
When the sun grows hot, I like to take refuge in a sheltered nook beside Goat Island Lighthouse, where the wharf89 shades me, and the resonant90 plash of waters multiplies itself among the dark piles, increasing the delicious sense of coolness. While the noonday bells ring twelve, I take my rest. Round the corner of the pier91 the fishing-boats come gliding in, generally with a boy asleep forward, and a weary man at the helm; one can almost fancy that the boat itself looks weary, having been out since the early summer sunrise. In contrast to this expression of labor27 ended, the white pleasure-boats seem but to be taking a careless stroll by water; while a skiff full of girls drifts idly along the shore, amid laughter and screaming and much aimless splash. More resolute and business-like, the boys row their boat far up the bay; then I see a sudden gleam of white bodies, and then the boat is empty, and the surrounding water is sprinkled with black and bobbing heads. The steamboats look busier yet, as they go puffing92 by at short intervals93, and send long waves up to my retreat; and then some schooner sails in, full of life, with a white ripple round her bows, till she suddenly rounds to drops anchor, and is still. Opposite me, on the landward side of the bay, the green banks slope to the water; on yonder cool piazza94 there is a young mother who swings her baby in the hammock, or a white-robed figure pacing beneath the trailing vines. Peace and lotus-eating on shore; on the water, even in the stillest noon, there are life and sparkle and continual change.
One of those fishermen whose boats have just glided95 to their moorings is to me a far more interesting person than any of his mates, though he is perhaps the only one among them with whom I have never yet exchanged a word. There is good reason for it; he has been deaf and dumb since boyhood. He is reported to be the boldest sailor among all these daring men; he is the last to retreat before the coming storm; the first after the storm to venture through the white and whirling channels, between dangerous ledges96, to which others give a wider berth97. I do not wonder at this, for think how much of the awe98 and terror of the tempest must vanish if the ears be closed! The ominous99 undertone of the waves on the beach and the muttering thunder pass harmless by him. How infinitely100 strange it must be to have the sight of danger, but not the sound! Fancy such a deprivation101 in war, for instance, where it is the sounds, after all, that haunt the memory the longest; the rifle's crack, the irregular shots of skirmishers, the long roll of alarm, the roar of great guns. This man would have missed them all. Were a broadside from an enemy's gunboat to be discharged above his head, he would not hear it; he would only recognize, by some jarring of his other senses, the fierce concussion102 of the air.
How much deeper seems his solitude103 than that of any other "lone104 fisher on the lonely sea"! Yet all such things are comparative; and while the others contrast that wave-tossed isolation105 with the cheeriness of home, his home is silent too. He has a wife and children; they all speak, but he hears not their prattle106 or their complaints. He summons them with his fingers, as he summons the fishes, and they are equally dumb to him. Has he a special sympathy with those submerged and voiceless things? Dunfish, in the old newspapers, were often called "dumb'd fish"; and they perchance come to him as to one of their kindred. They may have learned, like other innocent things, to accept this defect of utterance109, and even imitate it. I knew a deaf-and-dumb woman whose children spoke and heard; but while yet too young for words, they had learned that their mother was not to be reached in that way; they never cried or complained before her, and when most excited would only whisper. Her baby ten months old, if disturbed in the night, would creep to her and touch her lips, to awaken41 her, but would make no noise.
One might fancy that all men who have an agonizing110 sorrow or a fearful secret would be drawn111 by irresistible112 attraction into the society of the deaf and dumb. What awful passions might not be whispered, what terror safely spoken, in the charmed circle round yonder silent boat,—a circle whose centre is a human life which has not all the susceptibilities of life, a confessional where even the priest cannot hear! Would it not relieve sorrow to express itself, even if unheeded? What more could one ask than a dumb confidant? and if deaf also, so much the safer. To be sure, he would give you neither absolution nor guidance; he could render nothing in return, save a look or a clasp of the hand; nor can the most gifted or eloquent113 friendship do much more. Ah! but suddenly the thought occurs, suppose that the defect of hearing, as of tongue, were liable to be loosed by an overmastering emotion, and that by startling him with your hoarded114 confidence you were to break the spell! The hint is too perilous115; let us row away.
A few strokes take us to the half-submerged wreck116 of a lime-schooner that was cut to the water's edge, by a collision in a gale, twelve months ago. The water kindled117 the lime, the cable was cut, the vessel drifted ashore118 and sunk, still blazing, at this little beach. When I saw her, at sunset, the masts had been cut away, and the flames held possession on board. Fire was working away in the cabin, like a live thing, and sometimes glared out of the hatchway; anon it clambered along the gunwale, like a school-boy playing, and the waves chased it as in play; just a flicker119 of flame, then a wave would reach up to overtake it; then the flames would be, or seem to be, where the water had been; and finally, as the vessel lay careened, the waves took undisturbed possession of the lower gunwale, and the flames of the upper. So it burned that day and night; part red with fire, part black with soaking; and now twelve months have made all its visible parts look dry and white, till it is hard to believe that either fire or water has ever touched it. It lies over on its bare knees, and a single knee, torn from the others, rests imploringly120 on the shore, as if that had worked its way to land, and perished in act of thanksgiving. At low tide, one half the frame is lifted high in air, like a dead tree in the forest.
Perhaps all other elements are tenderer in their dealings with what is intrusted to them than is the air. Fire, at least, destroys what it has ruined; earth is warm and loving, and it moreover conceals121; water is at least caressing,—it laps the greater part of this wreck with protecting waves, covers with sea-weeds all that it can reach, and protects with incrusting shells. Even beyond its grasp it tosses soft pendants of moss122 that twine123 like vine-tendrils, or sway in the wind. It mellows124 harsh colors into beauty, and Ruskin grows eloquent over the wave-washed tint46 of some tarry, weather-beaten boat. But air is pitiless: it dries and stiffens125 all outline, and bleaches126 all color away, so that you can hardly tell whether these ribs127 belonged to a ship or an elephant; and yet there is a certain cold purity in the shapes it leaves, and the birds it sends to perch108 upon these timbers are a more graceful company than lobsters128 or fishes. After all, there is something sublime129 in that sepulture of the Parsees, who erect130 near every village a dokhma, or Tower of Silence, upon whose summit they may bury their dead in air.
Thus widely may one's thoughts wander from a summer boat. But the season for rowing is a long one, and far outlasts131 in Oldport the stay of our annual guests. Sometimes in autumnal mornings I glide forth over water so still, it seems as if saturated132 by the Indian-summer with its own indefinable calm. The distant islands lift themselves on white pedestals of mirage; the cloud-shadows rest softly on Conanicut; and what seems a similar shadow on the nearer slopes of Fort Adams is in truth but a mounted battery, drilling, which soon moves and slides across the hazy133 hill like a cloud.
I hear across nearly a mile of water the faint, Sharp orders and the sonorous134 blare of the trumpet135 That follows each command; the horsemen gallop and wheel; suddenly the band within the fort strikes up for guard-mounting, and I have but to shut my eyes to be carried back to warlike days that passed by,—was it centuries ago? Meantime, I float gradually towards Brenton's Cove71; the lawns that reach to the water's edge were never so gorgeously green in any summer, and the departure of the transient guests gives to these lovely places an air of cool seclusion136; when fashion quits them, the imagination is ready to move in. An agreeable sense of universal ownership comes over the winter-staying mind in Oldport. I like to keep up this little semblance137 of habitation on the part of our human birds of passage; it is very pleasant to me, and perhaps even pleasanter to them, that they should call these emerald slopes their own for a month or two; but when they lock the doors in autumn, the ideal key reverts138 into my hands, and it is evident that they have only been "tenants139 by the courtesy," in the fine legal phrase. Provided they stay here long enough to attend to their lawns and pay their taxes, I am better satisfied than if these estates were left to me the whole year round.
The tide takes the boat nearer to the fort; the horsemen ride more conspicuously140, with swords and trappings that glisten80 in the sunlight, while the white fetlocks of the horses twinkle in unison141 as they move. One troop-horse without a rider wheels and gallops142 with the rest, and seems to revel143 in the free motion. Here also the tide reaches or seems to reach the very edge of the turf; and when the light battery gallops this way, it is as if it were charging on my floating fortress144. Upon the other side is a scene of peace; and a fisherman sings in his boat as he examines the floats of his stake-net, hand over hand. A white gull hovers close above him, and a dark one above the horsemen, fit emblems145 of peace and war. The slightest sounds, the rattle107 of an oar13, the striking of a hoof146 against a stone, are borne over the water to an amazing distance, as if the calm bay amid its seeming quiet, were watchful147 of the slightest noise. But look! in a moment the surface is rippled148, the sky is clouded, a swift change comes over the fitful mood of the season; the water looks colder and deeper, the greensward assumes a chilly149 darkness, the troopers gallop away to their stables, and the fisherman rows home. That indefinable expression which separates autumn from summer creeps almost in an instant over all. Soon, even upon this Isle150 of Peace, it will be winter.
Each season, as winter returns, I try in vain to comprehend this wonderful shifting of expression that touches even a thing so essentially151 unchanging as the sea. How delicious to all the senses is the summer foam above yonder rock; in winter the foam is the same, the sparkle as radiant, the hue of the water scarcely altered; and yet the effect is, by comparison, cold, heavy, and leaden. It is like that mysterious variation which chiefly makes the difference between one human face and another; we call it by vague names, and cannot tell in what it lies; we only know that when expression changes, all is gone. No warmth of color, no perfection of outline can supersede152 those subtile influences which make one face so winning that all human affection gravitates to its spell, and another so cold or repellent that it dwells forever in loneliness, and no passionate153 heart draws near. I can fancy the ocean beating in vague despair against its shores in winter, and moaning, "I am as beautiful, as restless, as untamable as ever: why are my cliffs left desolate154? why am I not loved as I was loved in summer?"
点击收听单词发音
1 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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2 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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3 destitution | |
n.穷困,缺乏,贫穷 | |
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4 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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5 swirls | |
n.旋转( swirl的名词复数 );卷状物;漩涡;尘旋v.旋转,打旋( swirl的第三人称单数 ) | |
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6 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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7 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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8 ripples | |
逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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9 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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10 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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11 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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12 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13 oar | |
n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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14 tornado | |
n.飓风,龙卷风 | |
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15 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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16 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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17 forsaking | |
放弃( forsake的现在分词 ); 弃绝; 抛弃; 摒弃 | |
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18 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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19 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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20 protrudes | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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21 ruffle | |
v.弄皱,弄乱;激怒,扰乱;n.褶裥饰边 | |
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22 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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23 dilates | |
v.(使某物)扩大,膨胀,张大( dilate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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24 hovers | |
鸟( hover的第三人称单数 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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25 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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26 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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27 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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28 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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29 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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30 saturates | |
浸湿,浸透( saturate的第三人称单数 ); 使…大量吸收或充满某物 | |
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31 vapors | |
n.水汽,水蒸气,无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 );自夸者;幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁(症)v.自夸,(使)蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32 inert | |
adj.无活动能力的,惰性的;迟钝的 | |
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33 ebbing | |
(指潮水)退( ebb的现在分词 ); 落; 减少; 衰落 | |
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34 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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35 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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36 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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37 dismantled | |
拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 ); 拆卸; 废除; 取消 | |
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38 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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39 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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40 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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41 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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42 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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43 modifications | |
n.缓和( modification的名词复数 );限制;更改;改变 | |
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44 schooner | |
n.纵帆船 | |
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45 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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46 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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47 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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48 mirage | |
n.海市蜃楼,幻景 | |
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49 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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50 denser | |
adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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51 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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52 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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53 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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54 lagoon | |
n.泻湖,咸水湖 | |
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55 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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56 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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57 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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58 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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59 multiplication | |
n.增加,增多,倍增;增殖,繁殖;乘法 | |
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60 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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61 shrimp | |
n.虾,小虾;矮小的人 | |
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62 glides | |
n.滑行( glide的名词复数 );滑音;音渡;过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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63 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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64 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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65 crabs | |
n.蟹( crab的名词复数 );阴虱寄生病;蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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66 crab | |
n.螃蟹,偏航,脾气乖戾的人,酸苹果;vi.捕蟹,偏航,发牢骚;vt.使偏航,发脾气 | |
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67 waddle | |
vi.摇摆地走;n.摇摆的走路(样子) | |
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68 burrow | |
vt.挖掘(洞穴);钻进;vi.挖洞;翻寻;n.地洞 | |
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69 mimicking | |
v.(尤指为了逗乐而)模仿( mimic的现在分词 );酷似 | |
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70 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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71 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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72 gull | |
n.鸥;受骗的人;v.欺诈 | |
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73 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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74 poise | |
vt./vi. 平衡,保持平衡;n.泰然自若,自信 | |
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75 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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76 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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77 sinuous | |
adj.蜿蜒的,迂回的 | |
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78 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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79 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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80 glisten | |
vi.(光洁或湿润表面等)闪闪发光,闪闪发亮 | |
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81 meshes | |
网孔( mesh的名词复数 ); 网状物; 陷阱; 困境 | |
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82 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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83 stranded | |
a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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84 seaman | |
n.海员,水手,水兵 | |
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85 remodelled | |
v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86 miller | |
n.磨坊主 | |
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87 scudding | |
n.刮面v.(尤指船、舰或云彩)笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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88 revolve | |
vi.(使)旋转;循环出现 | |
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89 wharf | |
n.码头,停泊处 | |
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90 resonant | |
adj.(声音)洪亮的,共鸣的 | |
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91 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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92 puffing | |
v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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93 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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94 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
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95 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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96 ledges | |
n.(墙壁,悬崖等)突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 );(平窄的)壁架;横档;(尤指)窗台 | |
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97 berth | |
n.卧铺,停泊地,锚位;v.使停泊 | |
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98 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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99 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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100 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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101 deprivation | |
n.匮乏;丧失;夺去,贫困 | |
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102 concussion | |
n.脑震荡;震动 | |
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103 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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104 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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105 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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106 prattle | |
n.闲谈;v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话;发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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107 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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108 perch | |
n.栖木,高位,杆;v.栖息,就位,位于 | |
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109 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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110 agonizing | |
adj.痛苦难忍的;使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦;折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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111 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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112 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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113 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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114 hoarded | |
v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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116 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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117 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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118 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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119 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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120 imploringly | |
adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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121 conceals | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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122 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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123 twine | |
v.搓,织,编饰;(使)缠绕 | |
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124 mellows | |
(使)成熟( mellow的第三人称单数 ); 使色彩更加柔和,使酒更加醇香 | |
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125 stiffens | |
(使)变硬,(使)强硬( stiffen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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126 bleaches | |
使(颜色)变淡,变白,漂白( bleach的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127 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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128 lobsters | |
龙虾( lobster的名词复数 ); 龙虾肉 | |
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129 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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130 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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131 outlasts | |
v.比…长久,比…活得长( outlast的第三人称单数 ) | |
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132 saturated | |
a.饱和的,充满的 | |
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133 hazy | |
adj.有薄雾的,朦胧的;不肯定的,模糊的 | |
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134 sonorous | |
adj.响亮的,回响的;adv.圆润低沉地;感人地;n.感人,堂皇 | |
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135 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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136 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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137 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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138 reverts | |
恢复( revert的第三人称单数 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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139 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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140 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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141 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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142 gallops | |
(马等)奔驰,骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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143 revel | |
vi.狂欢作乐,陶醉;n.作乐,狂欢 | |
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144 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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145 emblems | |
n.象征,标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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146 hoof | |
n.(马,牛等的)蹄 | |
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147 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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148 rippled | |
使泛起涟漪(ripple的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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149 chilly | |
adj.凉快的,寒冷的 | |
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150 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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151 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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152 supersede | |
v.替代;充任 | |
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153 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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154 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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