We now enter upon the most holy ground ever trod by the biographer,—the sacred recesses2 of the human heart. In the annals of ordinary life, or even in those of many great men, the record of their early love may not be important to the reader. But to the poet, these more subtle and more tender emotions are events of the greatest importance. Every heart contains more or less of the poetical3 sentiment, and the love and marriage of any individual is a matter of great moment to him, although it may not be to his biographer. But here we write of a poet. To him, all the strings4 of human feeling had a clear and unmistakable sound. To him, the undertones of life played an important part in the harmony of his being. All that was pure and sweet in love he saw. All that was beautiful and lovable in life he felt, with a keenness none but the poet can know. Hence to him, we find, as in the history of the grand poets of ancient days, his love was a holy sentiment, to be[134] valued as God’s best gift, and to be worshipped as a part of Him.
In a neighboring farm-house, but a short distance from his father’s farm, lived Mary S. Agnew. She was born and reared in the same community, went to the same school, attended the same church, and was a playmate, classmate, and trusted companion. They sought each other in childhood’s days, and their friendship ripened5 into love as imperceptibly and surely as the coming and going of the years developed their lives, and pressed them forward into manhood and womanhood. Her dark hair and eyes, her slender form, her lovable disposition6, her conscientiousness7 and purity were presented to him in that strong light, under which all lovers see the merits and virtues8 of their sweethearts. Added to that was the romance and insight of that other sense which poets are said to possess. He built a shrine9 to this idol10 wherever he went, and through all his early years she was, as he said in verse, the representative to him of the goodness of God. On the farm, he made verses in her honor; at the Quaker meeting he was thankful for her; at the parties and social gatherings12 among the young folks, she was the centre of his thought. Not foolishly or blindly did he exhibit his affection. Not extravagantly13 or obtrusively14 did he follow his wooing. But his poetry and his prose give here and there a clew to the deep and fervent15 love of his youthful days. Some of his very sweetest poetry found its inspiration in[135] that love, and when the volume is published, if ever it is, in which shall appear those sonnets16, which have modestly been kept thus far from the public gaze, there will be found gems18 that the world cannot well spare. How sincere, disinterested19, and noble was his affection, was proved by his faithful and unabated love, after he had seen the world and its loveliest ladies, and after the cruel hand of disease had chiselled20 away the round and rosy21 cheeks, and left, in place of the sparkling, blushing maiden22 of his early love, a pallid23 spectre—a shadow of her former self. In all his wanderings, he never neglected her. In all his most tender writings, her image is more or less clear. In one of his volumes, “The Poet’s Journal,” he gives a history of his love and sorrow; of the awakening25, after years of death, in the sweetest and most touching26 of all his poems.
He allowed some of his earlier verses to see the light of print, wherein he makes mention, indirectly27, of Mary S. Agnew. When travelling along the Danube, in 1845, he thus writes:—
“Old playmates! bid me welcome
Amid your brother-band;
Give me the old affection,—
The glowing grasp of hand!
I seek no more the realms of old,—
Here is my Fatherland.
Come hither, gentle maiden,
Who weep’st in tender joy!
[136]
Repays the world’s annoy,
Which warms the wandering boy.
In many a mountain fastness,
And through the gorgeous cities,
’Twas loneliness to roam;
For the sweetest music in my heart
Was the olden songs of home.”
When in Florence, in 1846, he wrote a poem entitled “In Italy,” wherein were the following expressive31 lines:—
“Rich is the soil with Fancy’s gold;
The stirring memories of old
And wake my spirit’s young ambition.
But as the radiant sunsets close
My soul forgets the olden glory,
And deems our love a dearer story.
Thy words, in Memory’s ear, outchime
The music of the Tuscan rhyme;
Thou standest here—the gentle-hearted—
I see before thee fade away
And turn from Petrarch’s passion-glances
To my own dearer heart-romances.”
The fair Italian dream I chased;
For the true clime of song and sun
Lies in the heart which mine hath won.”
[137]
When he reached London in 1846, after his long pilgrimage, and when so reduced in funds and friends, he yet had the time and mind to write of her these graceful38 rhymes:—
“I’ve wandered through the golden lands
Where art and beauty blended shine—
Beam from the canvas made divine,
And many a god in marble stands,
With soul in every breathing line;
And forms the world has treasured long
Within me touched the world of song.”
“Yet brighter than those radiant dreams
Where more than mortal beauty beams
In sybil’s lips, and angel’s eyes—
One image, like the moonlight, seems
Between them and my heart to rise,
And in its brighter, dearer ray,
The stars of Genius fade away.”
It is an interesting study and one not altogether unprofitable, to follow, through an author’s works the marks of his peculiar41 likes, joys, and sorrows. For in science, philosophy, history or poetry, the feelings of the student will unguardedly creep into his manuscripts as if between the lines, and often a little word, or a thoughtlessly inserted sentence or comment, will reveal whole chapters of a life which has been carefully, scrupulously42 hidden. So in Bayard Taylor’s poetry, written on sea and on land, at home and abroad, in poverty and in affluence43, there is a certain[138] vein44 of originality45, and certain references to his own life, which, when placed together, give the clew to his inner life, and reveal a charming domestic scene, which cannot be described in prose. One of his characters in “The Poet’s Journal,” says:—
“Dear Friend, one volume of your life I read
Beneath these vines: you placed it in my hand
And made it mine,—but how the tale has sped
Since then, I know not, or can understand
From this fair ending only. Let me see
The intervening chapters, dark and bright,
In order, as you lived them.”
To which another makes reply in the words below, which so delicately and feelingly refer to his early love, his sorrow at the death of Mary, his first wife, and the brightness of the later affection. To one who has passed through the same trying experience, these lines are marvellously expressive:—
Of fame, or gold, or place, concerns you less,
Dear friend, than how I lost that sorest load
I started with, and came to dwell at last
In the House Beautiful.”
“You, who would write ‘Resurgam’ o’er my dead,
The resurrection of my heart shall know.”
“For pain, that only lives in memory,
Like battle-scars, it is no pain to show.”
Then he goes on to recite a tale so like his own, that it needs scarce any change, but to substitute the names[139] of himself, and those he loved, for the fictitious47 names we find in the poems. But, before making further quotation48, the reader should be made acquainted with the circumstances which prompted those illuminated49 lines.
While Mr. Taylor was away, Miss Agnew gradually and surely declined in health, until consumption, with all its terrible certainty and serpent-like stealth, made her its victim. It was one of those unaccountable visitations which sometimes come to the young and beautiful in the midst of joy and perfect content. How sadly the news of her sickness fell upon the heart of her lover, and how tenderly and anxiously he prayed and waited for letters from her, which should contain better tidings, he has himself related. Pale and weak, she greeted him on his return from California, with the prediction that she could not live beyond the falling leaves. No skill, no tender nursing, no charm of an abiding50 love, could stay the hand of death, which, as unseen and secret as the decay in a rose, gradually stole away her color, her beauty, and her life.
He felt that he must lose her; and the whole world, which had before appeared so bright, became dark and chilly51. The test showed that while his ambition led him to see the great nations of the earth, to write poems for posterity52, and to write his name in italics on the scrolls53 of fame, there was one solace54, one comfort, one desire, which included all the others and made them subservient55. He was true to his plighted56 word.[140] He had become noted57 and prosperous, while she had remained at the country farm-house in Kennett. He was the associate of Bryant, Greeley, Webster, and Willis; she, the companion of the farmers and Quakers of Chester County. But strong, manly58, and honest, his love knew no abatement59 and his respect felt no check.
It is a touching picture—that simple, solemn marriage in the room of the patient, an almost helpless invalid60! He came to redeem61 his pledge; and in that simple abode62, with death standing63 just outside the door, with a bride scarce able to whisper that she took him for her lawful64 spouse65, he became a husband. The dim, appealing eyes, the tender little flush in her cheek, the tremor66 of her thin hand, told the joy in her pure heart, but showed also that her happiness would be as brief as it was sincere.
The marriage took place Oct. 24th, 1850, and on the 21st of the following December his wife died. She lingered much longer than her friends expected. At the marriage it was said that she could not live but a very few days. Yet, so soon was it after their union, that the day which is usually the happiest and the day which is usually the gloomiest in a man’s life, came to him within ten weeks of each other. A year after her death, he wrote a poem, “Winter Solstice,” in which he mentions his bereavement:—
[141]
Passed with the slow retreating sun,
As day by day some beams depart,
The beauty and the life of one,
Whose love made Summer in my heart.
Day after day, the latest flower,
More pale and dim with every hour,—
And ceased upon the darkest day!
The warmth and glow that with her died
No light of coming suns shall bring;
The heart its wintry gloom may hide,
But cannot feel a second Spring.
O darkest day of all the year!
In vain thou com’st with balmy skies,
No after fortune can restore;
The perfect lot, designed for Man,
That should be mine, but is no more.”
Still later, he gave expression to his loneliness in that most pathetic of all his writings, “The Phantom73.”
In the old, familiar seat;
And shade and sunshine chase each other
O’er the carpet at my feet.”
“And many kind, remembered faces
Voices, that wake the sweeter music
Of one that now is dumb.
They sing, in tones as glad as ever,
The songs she loved to hear;
They braid the rose in summer garlands,
Whose flowers to her were dear.
[142]
And still, her footsteps in the passage,
Her blushes at the door,
Her timid words of maiden welcome,
Come back to me once more.”
“She stays without, perchance, a moment,
To dress her dark-brown hair;
Her light step on the stair!”
“She tarries long: but lo! a whisper
Beyond the open door,
A shadow on the floor!”
“But my heart grows sick with weary waiting
As many a time before:
Her foot is ever at the threshold,
Yet never passes o’er.”
In his “Picture of St. John” he describes, with a feeling born of experience, a scene like the closing one in the life of his wife.
“Day by day
Her cheeks grew thin, her footstep faint and slow;
And yet so fondly, with such hopeful play
Joy dwelt with her, and in her eager breath
Life showered its promise, surer to betray,
Aye, she was happy! God be thanked for this,
That she was happy!—happier than she knew,
[143]
Had even the hope that cheated her been true;
As cannot find fulfilment here, and dies.”
Nearer the end of the same poem, he writes:—
“With cold and changeless face beside her grave
I stood, and coldly heard the shuddering85 sound
And still later he says, as only he can say who has felt it:—
“My body moved in its mechanic course
Of soulless function: thought and passion ceased,
Or blindly stirred with undirected force,—
A weary trance which only Time decreased
By slow reductions.”
A sonnet17 of that dark hour, written on a leaf of his diary, remains87 to us, from which we quote two verses:—
And fall, thou drear December rain!
Tear the last clinging leaves away!
Reckless as yonder naked tree,
No blast of yours can trouble me.”
“Moan on, ye winds! and pour, thou rain!
If shed for her whose fading eyes,
Will open soon on Paradise;
The eye of Heaven shall blinded be,
Or ere ye cease, if shed for me.”
[144]
“The light is dying out o’er all the land,
And in my heart the light is dying. She,
My life’s best life, is fading silently
From Earth, from me, and from the dreams we planned,
Since first Love led us with his beaming hand
From hope to hope, yet kept his crown in store.
The light is dying out o’er all the land:
To me it comes no more.
The blossom of my heart, she shrinks away
And gentler in her dear eyes, day by day.
God, in Thy mercy, bid the arm delay,
The blossoms yet unblown?
In vain,—in vain! God will not bid the Spring
replace with sudden green the Autumn’s gold;
Strike up the vales where water-courses sing,
Thenceforth forever round her glorious frame:
For all her radiant presence, May shall bring
A memory and a name.”
Again, in “The Two Visions,” was the low moan of a poet’s stricken heart.
A vision blessed my heart for years;
And so secure its features grew,
[145]
I saw her there, a household dove,
In consummated100 peace of love,
And sweeter joy and saintlier grace
Breathed o’er the beauty of her face.”
“That vision died, in drops of woe,
In blotting drops, dissolving slow:
Another vision fills my sight.
A colder heart at rest below;
And darkness over all the world.”
How accurately104 he portrayed105 his inner life, from the death of Mary to his subsequent marriage, can only be understood by reading his poem of “The Poet’s Journal” entire. But, as far as brief quotations106 may give it, we will try to supply enough for the purposes of a book suck as this is intended to be. In his despair he writes:—
“And every gift that Life to me had given
Lies at my feet, in useless fragments trod:
There is no justice or in Earth or Heaven:
There is no pity in the heart of God.”
...
“I pine for something human,
Man, woman, young or old—
Something to meet and welcome,
Something to clasp and hold.
I have a mouth for kisses,
But there’s no one to give and take;
Beating for nobody’s sake.”
[146]
“The sea might rise and drown me,—
Cliffs fall and crush my head,—
Were there one to love me, living,
Or weep to see me dead!”
...
“Last night the Tempter came to me, and said:
‘Why sorrow any longer for the dead?
Forget the Past,—thy pain but lives in thought.
An answer: she will answer thee no more.
Give up thine idle prayer that Death may come
And thou mayst somewhere find her: Death is dumb
To those that seek him. Live: for youth is thine.
Let not thy rich blood, like neglected wine,
Grow thin and stale, but rouse thyself, at last,
And take a man’s revenge upon the Past.’”
...
“This heart is flesh, I cannot make it stone:
This blood is hot, I cannot stop its flow,
These arms are vacant—whereso’er I go,
...
“Long, long ago, the Hand whereat I railed
This wild revolt: I see wherein I failed:
My heart was false, when most I thought it true,
My sorrow selfish, when I thought it pure.
For those we lose, if still their love endure
Translation to that other land, where Love
Breathes the immortal wisdom, ask in heaven
No greater sacrifice than we had given
On earth, our love’s integrity to prove.
If we are blest to know the other blest,
Then treason lies in sorrow.”
...
“I had knelt, in the awful Presence,
And covered my guilty head,
[147]
And received His absolution,
For my sins toward the dead.”
“Now first I dare remember
That day of death and woe:
Within, the dreadful silence,
Without, the sun and snow.”
...
And cinque-foil stars the fields of home,
And winds, that take the white-weed, roll
The meadows into foam:
To other Mays that I have seen,
Where more resplendent blossoms burn,
And statelier woods are green;—
Mays, when my heart expanded first,
A honeyed blossom, fresh with dew;
The only clouds I knew.
For she, whose softly-murmured name
The music of the month expressed,
Walked by my side, in holy shame
Of girlish love confessed.”
“The old, old tale of girl and boy,
Repeated ever, never old:
To each in turn the gates of joy,
The gates of heaven unfold.”
...
“So I think, when days are sweetest,
And the world is wholly fair,
She may sometime steal upon me
Through the dimness of the air,
With the cross upon her bosom
And the amaranth in her hair.
[148]
Once to meet her, ah! to meet her,
And to hold her gently fast
Till I blessed her, till she blessed me,—
That were happiness, at last:
That were bliss beyond our meetings
In the autumns of the Past!”
...
“Still, still that lovely ghost appears,
Too fair, too pure, to bid depart;
No riper love of later years
Can steal its beauty from the heart.”
“Dear, boyish heart that trembled so
With bashful fear and fond unrest,—
More frightened than a dove, to know
Another bird within its nest!”
...
“Restored and comforted, I go
To grapple with my tasks again;
Through silent worship taught to know
The blessed peace that follows pain.”
...
“If Love should come again, I ask my heart
Couldst thou be calm, nor feel thine ancient smart,
If Love should come again?”
Nor with embarrassed welcome chill thy guest,
If Love should come again?”
...
“Have I passed through Death’s unconscious birth,
In a dream the midnight bare?
I look on another and fairer Earth:
I breathe a wondrous air!”
“Is it she that shines, as never before,
The tremulous hills above,—
Or the heart within me, awake once more
To the dawning light of love?”
[149]
“Bathed in the morning, let my heart surrender
The doubts that darkness gave,
And rise to meet the advancing splendor—
O Night! no more thy slave.”
...
“One thought sits brooding in my bosom,
As broodeth in her nest the dove;
A strange, delicious doubt o’ercomes me,—
But is it love?”
“I see her, hear her, daily, nightly:
My secret dreams around her move,
Can this be love?”
“I breathe but peace when she is near me,—
A peace her absence takes away:
My heart commands her constant presence;
Will hers obey?”
...
“‘Canst thou forgive me, Angel mine,’
My heart to build a second shrine?
See, still I kneel and weep at thine,
But I am human, thou divine!’
Still silently she smiled.
“‘Dost undivided worship claim,
To keep thine altar undefiled?
Or must I bear thy tender blame,
And in thy pardon feel my shame,
Whene’er I breathe another name?’
She looked at me, and smiled.”
...
“No treason in my love I see,
For treason cannot dwell with truth:
But later blossoms crown a tree
Too deeply set to die in youth.
[150]
The blighted promise of the old
In this new love is reconciled;
For, when my heart confessed its hold,
The lips of ancient sorrow smiled!
It brightens backward through the Past
And forward, till it fades at last
In light, before the feet of God,
Where stands the saint, whose radiant brow
This solace beams, while I adore:
Be happy: if thou lovedst not now,
Thou never couldst have loved before!”
...
“Would she, my freedom and my bliss to know,
With my disloyalty be reconciled,
And bless the Soldan’s child?
For she is lost: but she, the later bride,
Who came my ruined fortune to restore,
Back from the desert wanders at my side,
And leads me home once more.
If human love, she sighs, could move a wife
The holiest sacrifice of love to make,
Then the transfigured angel of thy life
Is happier for thy sake!”
...
“‘It was our wedding-day
A month ago,’ dear heart, I hear you say.
If months, or years, or ages since have passed,
I know not: I have ceased to question Time.
And all stood back, and none my right denied,
Before us. Since that day
I count my life: The Past is washed away.”
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收听单词发音
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1
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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2
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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3
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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4
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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5
ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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7
conscientiousness
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| 责任心 | |
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8
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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9
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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10
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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11
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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12
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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13
extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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14
obtrusively
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| adv.冒失地，莽撞地 | |
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15
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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16
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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17
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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18
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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19
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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20
chiselled
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| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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21
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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22
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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23
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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24
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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25
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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26
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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27
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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28
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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29
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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30
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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31
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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32
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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34
bowers
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| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
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35
bards
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| n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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36
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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37
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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38
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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39
limned
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| v.画( limn的过去式和过去分词 )；勾画；描写；描述 | |
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40
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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41
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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42
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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43
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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44
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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45
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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46
haps
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| n.粗厚毛披巾；偶然，机会，运气( hap的名词复数 ) | |
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47
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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48
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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49
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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50
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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51
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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52
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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53
scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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54
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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55
subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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56
plighted
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| vt.保证，约定（plight的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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57
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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58
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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59
abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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60
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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61
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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62
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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63
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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64
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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65
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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66
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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67
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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68
despoil
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| v.夺取，抢夺 | |
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69
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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70
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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71
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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72
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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73
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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74
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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75
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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76
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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77
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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78
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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79
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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80
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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81
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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82
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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83
wondrous
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| 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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84
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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85
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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86
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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87
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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88
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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89
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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90
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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91
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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93
blanching
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| adj.漂白的n.热烫v.使变白( blanch的现在分词 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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94
smites
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的第三人称单数 ) | |
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95
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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96
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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97
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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98
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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99
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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100
consummated
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| v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 )；使完美；完婚；（婚礼后的）圆房 | |
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101
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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102
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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103
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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104
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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105
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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106
quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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107
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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108
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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109
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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110
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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111
shuns
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的第三人称单数 ) | |
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112
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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113
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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114
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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115
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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116
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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117
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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118
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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119
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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120
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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121
gilds
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| 把…镀金( gild的第三人称单数 )； 给…上金色； 作多余的修饰（反而破坏原已完美的东西）； 画蛇添足 | |
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122
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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