She smiles, including in her wide embrace
City, and town, and tower, and sea with ships
Sprinkled; be our companion while we track
While, free as air, o’er printless sands we march,
Roaming, or resting under grateful shade,
In peace and meditative5 cheerfulness.
Wordsworth.
We have now taken a comprehensive view of the rural life of England; of the mode in which “gentle and simple,” rich and poor, pass their life in the country; of the sports, the pastimes, the labours and various pursuits which fill up the round of rural existence; of the charms and advantages which there await the lovers of peace, of poetry, of natural beauty, and of pure thoughts: and I think it must be confessed that though other countries may boast a more brilliant climate, none can offer a more varied6 and attractive beauty; other modes of life may be more exciting, but none can be more calmly delightful7, none more conducive8 to a healthful and manly9 spirit.
The more we see of our own country, the more do we love it; and it is for this reason, that in closing this volume, I cannot take leave of my readers without advising them to do as I have done,—see as much of it as they can. There is no part of it but is filled[604] with some high historical or literary association: it is the land where brave men have contended and poets sung, and philosophers and politicians have meditated10 works and measures, of which the world is now reaping the honour and enjoyment11; there is no part of it but has some trace of those manners and dialects which belong to the living of a thousand years ago, and therefore are most interesting motives12 to our tracing back the stream of time, and beholding13 the growth of our country’s fortunes from age to age; there is no part of it, but has its swarming14 cities, or its fields smiling like a garden beneath the triumphant16 effect of British tillage,—or its wild hills and forests, that, untouched by the plough, are left to be fruitful of free thoughts, of poetic17 feelings, of picturesque18 beauty and magnificence, of health to the hearts and spirits of our countrymen and countrywomen, necessary to generate those high thoughts and maintain those endeavours that shall yet lead noble England to the height of its destined19 honour.
It is glorious, indeed, to visit the countries of ancient art and renown—Greece, Italy, Egypt, or sacred Palestine—my spirit kindles20 at the very mention of them,—yet whether it were my privilege or not to traverse those glorious regions, I should still wish to wander over every hill, and through every busy city of my native land. To me, I repeat, there is no part of this illustrious country but opens some new feeling of affection. As I pass over her plains, I am filled with admiration21 of that skill and indefatigable22 industry which have covered them with such affluence23 of cattle, such exuberant24 grass, such depths of waving corn; as I pass by her rural halls and hamlet abodes26, I find myself perpetually on classic ground, amid the homes of poets and patriots27; when I enter her cities, I am struck with all their busy and swarming children, with their endless manufactures; their institutions for rebutting28 human evils, and raising the human character; with rich men carrying on gigantic enterprises of commerce or national improvement, and poor men associating to ascertain29 and defend their rights. These are all animating30 objects of notice; and I will tell those who may not hope to see much of foreign regions, that there is enough in merry England to fill the longest life with delight, go where they will. I would have those who are young and able, to take their knapsacks on their backs, and with a stick in their hand, they may[605] find pleasures worth enjoying, go which way they will in these islands, though they do as many an adventurer has done, set up their staff as an indicator32, and march off in the direction in which it falls.[36]
[36] Jamais je n’ai tant pensé, tant existé, tant vécu, tant été moi, si j’ose ainsi dire33, que dans ceux voyages que j’ai faits seul et à pied. La marche a quelque chose qui anime et avive mes idées; je ne puis presque penser quand je reste en place; il faut que mon corps34 soit en branle pour y mettre mon esprit. La vue de la campagne, la succession des aspects agréables, le grand air, le grand appétit, la bonne santé que je gagne en marchant, la liberté du cabaret, l’éloignement de tout35 ce qui me fait sentir ma dépendance, de tout ce qui me rappelle à ma situation, tout cela dégage mon ame, me donne une plus grande audace de penser, me jette en quelque sorte dans l’immensité des êtres pour les combiner, les choisir, me les approprier sans gêne et sans crainte. Je dispose en ma?tre de la nature entière; mon c?ur, errant d’objet en objet, s’unit, s’identifie à ceux qui le flattent, s’entoure d’images charmantes, s’enivre de sentiments délicieux. Si pour les fixer je m’amuse à les décrire en moimême, quelle vigueur de pinceau, quelle fra?cheur de coloris, quelle énergie d’expression je leur donne!—Rousseau.
What a summer’s delight there lies in any one such progress. Suppose you took your route from the metropolis36 through the south and west. How delightful are the richly cultivated fields, the green hop-grounds, the hanging woods of Kent; how pleasant the heathy hills and scattered38 woodlands of Surrey; the thickly-strewn villas40 of the wealthy, the vine-covered cottages and village greens of the poor. Are not the flowery lanes and woody scenery of Berkshire, and the open downs of Wiltshire worth traversing? What a sweet sylvan41 retirement42 in the one; what an airy, wide-spreading amplitude43 of vision in the other! It were worth somewhat to read Miss Mitford’s living sketches44 in her own sweet neighbourhood; it were worth a great deal more to meet Miss Mitford herself, as she lives amongst her simple neighbours, who know how much she is their friend, or amongst her wealthy and educated ones, who know how much she deserves of their esteem45 and admiration. Would it be nothing to ramble46 amongst the ancient walls of Winchester, every spot of which is as thickly strown with historical recollections as it is venerable in presence? Would it be nothing to climb those downs, and see around far-spreading greenness, sinking and swelling47 in the softest lines of beauty; and below, vales, stretching in different directions, contrasting their rich woodiness most strikingly with the bare solitudes49[606] of the down? To see the venerable cathedral lifting its hoary50 head from the vale, and numbers of subject churches shewing their humbler towers and spires51 all along the valleys; and catch the glitter of those streams which water those valleys, as they wind to the sun. I have trodden these downs and dales in summer weather with feelings of buoyant delight, that admit of no description. There is Stonehenge, standing53 in the midst of Salisbury Plain, which is worth a long pilgrimage to see. To see! Yes, and to feel in all its lonely grandeur54, with all its savage55 and mysterious antiquity56 upon it. It is a walk from Salisbury, that, on a spring or autumn day, with a congenial spirit, were enough to make that a life’s pleasant memory. Ascend57 first from that truly old English city, along whose streets and past almost every door run living streams of most beautiful water from the sweet brimful Avon—to the ramparts of Old Sarum. What a stupendous work of antiquity you stand upon; what a scene lies all around you! How beautifully rises that noble cathedral above the subject city; how finely the magnificent spire52 above the fabric58 itself! And en passant, what a feature of fair and solemn dignity is the cathedral in our English cities! As you approach them, and see afar off these noble monuments of past science towering aloft in sublime59 dignity, you are at once reminded that you are on classic ground; that you are about to enter a place where our ancestors worked out some portion of the national fame; and are thereby60 awakened61 from other thoughts to look about you for all that is worthy62 of notice. But this is but a passing tribute to the grave beauty of those glorious old piles—they deserve more; but other objects now call us on. See what green and watered valleys allure63 you forward. See where the downs stretch their solitary64 heads amid the clear and spiritual hues65 of the sky. And as you go on, the chime of flocks, and the discovery of sweet hamlets, and the voices of their children at play, and the tinkle66 of the plough-team bells, shall make you feel that the rural peace and delight of Old England are as strong in her heart as ever. For myself, the smallest peculiarity68 of rural fashions and habits in different parts of the country attracts my attention, and gives me a certain degree of pleasure. The sight of herds70 of swine grazing in the wide fields of Berkshire and Hampshire as orderly as sheep do, is what, at[607] the first view, gives an agreeable surprise to the man from the midland and northern counties, where it is never seen. The sight of the clematis, which flings its flowery masses over hedges and copses; of myrtles, hydrangeas, fuchias, and other tender plants, blossoming in the gardens of the south: the appearance of different birds and insects, as the chough, the nightingale in greater frequency, the woodlark sending its voice from the distant uplands; the large stag-beetle, and other insects; these, and other things observed in one part of the island which are never met with in another, small matters though they be in themselves, all give a novel interest to some new spot, and some agreeable hour. Nay71 to me, I say, the very varying of rural costumes and implements72 are objects of interest. Those odd ladders in Berkshire, stretching at the feet to a width of sometimes two yards, and then tapering73 up rapidly; as if Berkshire peasants could not stand on such ladders as all England beside stands on. The light wagons74 and carts in the south, so different from the heavy ones of the midland counties; and some of them so painted and adorned75 in front with large roses, and other flowers; and their teams, with bells at their bridles76, and frames of bells over the leader’s head, and barbaric top-knots on their heads, and scarlet77 fringes and tassels78 on their gears; and tails all bound up with ribbons, and curious platting. The wagoners, each in his straw hat and white slop, with
His carter’s-whip, that on his shoulder rests,
The sceptre of his sway.
Horses at plough, harnessed with a simple collar of straw, and a few ropes. Oxen with their heavy wooden yokes80 ploughing in one part of the country as primitively81 as they did in the days of Alfred, ay, or of King David; and shepherds with their crooks83 in another, shew to those who never saw them but in books, that some of our oldest practices still remain.
The various constructions of billhooks, shovels84, and wheelbarrows which prevail in different quarters of the island, contribute to the picturesque: from the clumsy rudiment85 of a barrow seen in Cornwall, which lies on the ground without legs, and the sides of which are cut out of two pieces of wood, rudely tapering off into handles; through all the various shapes of that little[608] vehicle, up to its most perfect one. The shovels used by the labourers in the West of England, with handles as tall as themselves, would make the men of the midland counties stare; and again, the billhook of the midland counties, with a back edge as well as a front one, would be equally strange to the chopsticks of Surrey and Sussex. The various modes of country employment promote the same effect. The ploughman whistling after his team; the shepherds on the downs, driving their white flocks before them like a rolling cloud to evening fold or morning pasture; the dwellers86 on heaths and moors87, paring the turf for fuel, or cutting from the peat-beds their black bricks, and piling their black pyramids on the waste. Every different district displays its peculiar67 employment. Durham and Northumberland exhibit their extensive and curious coal mines; Yorkshire and Lancashire their weaving and spinning; the hills of Derbyshire their lead mines; Nottingham and Leicester shires their coals again; Lincoln and Norfolk their vast corn farms; the Southern downs their shepherds; Devon and Cornwall their tin and copper88 mines; Gloucester and Somerset display their fields of teazles again, indicating that there our finest broad-cloths are made; Stafford and Warwick shires swarm15 with collieries, iron-founderies, and potteries89; and so on. Each district has its peculiar pursuit and occupation pointed90 out by nature, and all these things give variety to the country and its inhabitants, and scatter37 everywhere interesting subjects of inquiry91 for the passer-by.
I say then, cross only the south of England, and how delightful were the route to him who has the love of nature and of his country in his heart; and no imperious cares to dispute it with them. Walk up, as I have said, from Salisbury to Stonehenge. Sit down amid that solemn circle, on one of its fallen stones:—contemplate the gigantic erection, reflect on its antiquity, and what England has passed through and become while those stones have stood there. Walk forth92 over that beautiful and immense plain,—see the green circles, and lines, and mounds93, which ancient superstition94 or heroism95 have everywhere traced upon it, and which nature has beautified with a carpet of turf as fine and soft as velvet96. Join those simple shepherds, and talk with them. Reflect, poetical97 as our poets have made the shepherd and his life,—what must be the monotony of that life in lowland counties—day after day, and[609] month after month, and year after year,—never varying, except from the geniality98 of summer to winter; and what it must be then; how dreary99 its long reign31 of cold, and wet and snow!
When you leave them, plunge100 into the New Forest in Hampshire. There is a region where a summer month might be whiled away as in a fairyland. There, in the very heart of that old forest you find the spot where Rufus fell by the bolt of Tyrell, looking very much as it might look then. All around you lie forest and moorland for many a mile. The fallow and red deer in thousands herd69 there as of old. The squirrels gambol101 in the oaks above you; the swine rove in the thick fern and the deep glades102 of the forest as in a state of nature. The dull tinkle of the cattle bell comes through the wood; and ever and anon, as you wander forward, you catch the blue smoke of some hidden abode25 curling over the tree tops; and come to sylvan bowers103, and little bough-overshadowed cottages, as primitive82 as any that the reign of the Conqueror104 himself could have shewn. What haunts are in these glades for poets: what streams flow through their bosky banks, to soothe105 at once the ear and eye enamoured of peace and beauty. What glades for endless grouping and colourings for the painter.
At Boldre you may find a spot worth seeing, for it is the parsonage once inhabited by the venerable William Gilpin, the descendant of Barnard Gilpin, the apostle of the north; the author of “Forest Scenery,”—and near it is the school, which he built and endowed for the poor from the sale of his drawings. Not very distant from this, stands the rural dwelling106 for many years, and till lately, the residence of one of England’s truest-hearted women, Caroline Bowles, now Mrs. Southey—and not far off you have the woods of Netley Abbey—the Isle107 of Wight, the Solent, and the open sea.
But still move on through the fair fields of Dorset and Somerset, to the enchanted108 land of Devon. If you want stern grandeur, follow its north-western coast; if peaceful beauty, look down into some one of its rich vales, green as an emerald, and pastured by its herds of red cattle; if all the summer loveliness of woods and rivers, you may ascend the Tamar or the Tavy, or many another stream; or you may stroll on through valleys that for glorious solitudes, or fair English homes, amid their woods and hills, shall[610] leave you nothing to desire. If you want sternness you may pass into Dartmoor. There are wastes and wilds, crags of granite109, views into far-off districts, and the sound of waters hurrying away over their rocky beds, enough to satisfy the largest hungering and thirsting after poetical delight. I shall never forget the feelings of delicious entrancement with which I approached the outskirts110 of Dartmoor. I found myself among the woods near Haytor Crags. It was an autumn evening. The sun, near its setting, threw its yellow beams amongst the trees, and lit up the ruddy tors on the opposite side of the valley into a beautiful glow. Below, the deep dark river went sounding on its way with a melancholy111 music, and as I wound up the steep road beneath the gnarled oaks, I ever and anon caught glimpses of the winding112 valley to the left, all beautiful with wild thickets113 and half shrouded114 faces of rock, and still on high those glowing ruddy tors standing in the blue air in their sublime silence. My road wound up, and up, the heather and the bilberry on either hand shewing me that cultivation115 had never disturbed the soil they grew in; and one sole woodlark from the far-ascending forest to the right, filled the wide solitude48 with his wild autumnal note. At that moment I reached an eminence116, and at once saw the dark crags of Dartmoor high aloft before me, and one large solitary house in the valley beneath the woods. So fair, so silent, save for the woodlark’s note and the moaning river, so unearthly did the whole scene seem—that my imagination delighted to look upon it as an enchanted land,—and to persuade itself that that house stood as it would stand for ages, under the spell of silence, but beyond the reach of death and change.
But even there you need not rest—there lies a land of grey antiquity, of desolate117 beauty still before you—Cornwall. It is a land almost without a tree. That is, all its high and wild plains are destitute118 of them, and the bulk of its surface is of this character. Some sweet and sheltered vales it has, filled with noble wood, as that of Tresilian near Truro; but over a great portion of it extend grey heaths. It is a land where the wild furze seems never to have been rooted up, and where the huge masses of stone that lie about its hills and valleys are clad with the lichen119 of centuries. And yet how does this bare and barren land fasten on your imagination! It is a country that seems to have retained its[611] ancient attachments120 longer than any other. The British tongue here lingered till lately—as the ruins of King Arthur’s palace still crown the stormy steep of Tintagel; and the saints that succeeded the heroic race, seem to have left their names on almost every town and village.
It were well worth a journey there merely to see the vast mines which perforate the earth, and pass under the very sea; and the swarming population that they employ. It were a beautiful sight to see the bands of young maidens122, that sit beneath long sheds, crushing the ore and singing in chorus. But far more were it worth the trip to stand at the Land’s-End, on that lofty, savage, and shattered coast, with the Atlantic roaring all round you. The Hebrides themselves, wild and desolate, and subject to obscuring mists as they are, never made me feel more shipped into a dream-land than that scenery. At one moment the sun shining over the calm sea, in whose transparent123 depths the tawny124 rocks were seen far down. Right and left extend the dun cliffs and cavernous precipices125, and at their feet the white billows playing gracefully126 to and fro over the nearly sunken rocks, as through the manes of huge sea-lions. At the next moment all wrapt in the thickest obscurity of mist; the sea only cognizable by its sound; the dun crags looming127 through the fog vast and awfully128, and all round you on the land nothing visible, as you trace back your way, but huge grey stones that strew39 the whole earth. In the midst of such a scene I came to a little deserted129 hut, standing close by a solitary mere121 amongst the rocks, and the dreamy effect became most perfect. What a quick and beautiful contrast was it to this, as the very same night I pursued my way along the shore, the clear moon hanging on the distant horizon, the waves of the ocean on one hand coming up all luminous130 and breaking on the strand131 in billows of fire, and on the other hand the sloping turf sown with glowworms for some miles, thick as the stars overhead.
I speak of the delight which a solitary man may gather up for ever from such excursions; that will come before him again and again in all their beauty from his past existence, into many a crowd and many a solitary room; but how much more may be reaped by a congenial band of affectionate spirits in such a course.[612] To them, a thousand different incidents or odd adventures, flashes of wit and moments of enjoyment, combine to quicken both their pleasures and friendship. The very flight from a shower, or the dining on a turnip-pie, no very uncommon132 dish in the rural inns of Cornwall, may furnish merriment for the future. And if this one route would be a delicious summer’s ramble, with all its coasting and its sea-ports into the bargain, how many such stretch themselves in every direction through England. The fair orchard-scenes of Hereford and Worcester, in spring all one region of bloom and fragrance,—the hills of Malvern and the Wrekin. The fairy dales of Derbyshire; the sweet forest and pastoral scenes of Staffordshire; the wild dales, the scars and tarns133 of Yorkshire; the equally beautiful valleys and hills of Lancashire, with all those quaint134 old halls that are scattered through it, memorials of past times, and all connected with some incident or other of English history. And then there is Northumberland—the classic ground of the ancient ballad—the country of the Percy—of Chevy Chace—of the Hermit135 of Warkworth—of Otterburn and Humbledown—of Flodden, and many another stirring scene. And besides all these are the mountain regions of Cumberland, of Wales, of Scotland, and Ireland, that by the power of steam are being brought every day more within the reach of thousands. What an inexhaustible wealth of beauty lies in those regions! These, if every other portion of the kingdom were reduced by ploughing and manufacturing and steaming to the veriest common-place, these, in the immortal136 strength of their nature, bid defiance137 to the efforts of any antagonist138, or reducing spirit. These will still remain wild and fair, the refuge and haunt of the painter and the poet—of all lovers of beauty, and breathers after quiet and freshness. Nothing can pull down their lofty and scathed139 heads; nothing can dry up those everlasting140 waters, that leap down their cliffs, and run along their vales in gladness; nothing can certainly exterminate141 those dark heaths, and drain off those mountain lakes, where health and liberty seem to dwell together; nothing can efface142 the loveliness of those regions, save the hand of Him who placed them there. I rejoice to think that while this great nation remains143, whatever may be the magnitude of the designs for the good of the world in which Providence144 purposes to employ it,—however populous it may be necessary[613] for it to become,—whatever the machinery145 and manufactories that may be needfully at work in it; that while Cumberland, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland continue, there will continue regions of indestructible beauty—of free and unpruned nature, so fair that those who are not satisfied therewith, would not be satisfied with the whole universe. More sublimity146 other countries may boast, more beauty has fallen to the lot of none on God’s globe. And what a satisfaction it is, to see that our poetry of late years has awakened the public mind to a full sense of our natural advantages. It may be said that many traverse the continent who never see their own country, but it cannot be said that the beauty of our own fair islands is overlooked. On the contrary, every one who travels through them himself, sees how increasing are the numbers who do the same. To many a point of beauty and historic interest I have been, from the very Land’s-End to John O’Groat’s; and I do not know one spot of any claims to attention, which I did not find numerously visited from the earliest spring to late in the year. I once was at Loch Katrine early in April, and there were arrivals of several carriages a day. I was at the Land’s-End late in October, and as I reached the Logan Rock, a very interesting party of young people were just coming away from it. As I have said, I walked up to Stonehenge from Salisbury in order to enjoy it in all its solitude. This was late in the autumn; yet I found a large party there, and the shepherds assured me that every day, and all day long, it would continue so till severe weather set in. When Dr. Johnson went as far as the Hebrides, it was reckoned a rare thing. In the summer of 1836, I visited Staffa and Iona in company with seventy persons; and all summer long, three or four times a-week, do those places see scarcely less than a hundred English people land upon them.
Who indeed does not know how every pleasant place on our coasts, how the Peak of Derbyshire, how all Wales, the Highlands of Scotland and many parts of Ireland are annually147 thronged149 with people, who break away from towns and trade to refresh their spirits with the invigorating spirit of the mountains, and with the sights and sounds of ocean? Nay, such is the pressure of the tourist current, that whatever place steam-vessels reach in the mountain districts—it is one of the most ludicrous scenes imaginable to see[614] a packet come to the pier3, and its whole swarm of passengers leap ashore150 and proceed at full gallop151 to storm the inns for beds and accommodation. I have myself, as I believe I have before stated, been forced in the throng148 up to the very attics152 of one of these inns by the rush of people, who filled the whole staircase, and indeed house, calling out for beds, while the poor landlady153 was wringing154 her hands in despair of reducing the clamorous155 chorus into some sort of order.
Ludicrous as this recital156 however is, the spirit which occasions it is an excellent one. It is full of health and good moral feeling. It is one which, if it goes on, hand in hand with our machinery and our literature, must produce the happiest effects. I trust that this volume will add its quota157 to that love of the country which I would desire to see possessing a corner of every human being’s heart. While that is there, I am sure there must be an undecayed portion of the original heart of humanity,—a remnant, at least, of that tone of spirit which makes heaven desirable, and which is capable of enjoying it. He that loves the country as God has made it, in all its varying beauty and immortal freshness, must love God and man too; and while he seeks in mountain solitudes and on sea shores, relief from the weariness of too long jostling in the crowd, will find with delight how this very solitude will quicken his appetite for human society, and his perception of the comforts and home-pleasures of towns. I declare, that when I have been for weeks roaming amongst forests and mountain wastes, I feel, on coming into a city, a sense of its life, activity, and social condition which was before become comparatively dim. As I have entered one in the early morning, and have seen the neat young housemaids rubbing the knockers and cleaning down the steps of their masters’ doors, and have caught glimpses, as I passed along, of well oil-clothed passages, and well carpeted rooms, and fires already burning cheerfully,—I have felt a sense of the comforts and pleasantness of English homes that I have rarely felt besides. Or at evening, as we pass where blinds are yet undrawn, and where fires are seen warmly illumining fair rooms, and happy faces are congregated158 around them, who has not felt the same thing?
But we must now close this volume; and how can that be more fitly done than by ending as we began, and acknowledging with a[615] rejoicing thankfulness, “that the lines have indeed fallen to us in pleasant places,” in a land which it would be difficult to pronounce more blessed in its literature, its religious spirit, or in the splendid dowry of its natural beauty.
The End
The End
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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conducive
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| adj.有益的，有助的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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swarm
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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kindles
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的第三人称单数 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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admiration
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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23
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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24
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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25
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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26
abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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27
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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28
rebutting
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| v.反驳，驳回( rebut的现在分词 )；击退 | |
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29
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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30
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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31
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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32
indicator
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| n.指标；指示物，指示者；指示器 | |
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33
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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34
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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35
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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36
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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37
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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38
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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39
strew
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| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
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40
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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41
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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42
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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43
amplitude
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| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
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44
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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45
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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46
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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47
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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48
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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49
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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50
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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51
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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52
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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53
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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54
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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55
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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56
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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57
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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58
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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59
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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60
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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61
awakened
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| 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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62
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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63
allure
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| n.诱惑力，魅力；vt.诱惑，引诱，吸引 | |
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64
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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65
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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66
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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67
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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68
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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69
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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70
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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71
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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72
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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73
tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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74
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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75
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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76
bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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77
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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78
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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79
boorish
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| adj.粗野的，乡巴佬的 | |
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80
yokes
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| 轭( yoke的名词复数 )； 奴役； 轭形扁担； 上衣抵肩 | |
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81
primitively
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| 最初地，自学而成地 | |
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82
primitive
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|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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83
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
shovels
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|
| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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85
rudiment
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| n.初步；初级；基本原理 | |
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86
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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87
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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89
potteries
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| n.陶器( pottery的名词复数 )；陶器厂；陶土；陶器制造（术） | |
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90
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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91
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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92
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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93
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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94
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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95
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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96
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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97
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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98
geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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99
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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100
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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101
gambol
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| v.欢呼，雀跃 | |
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102
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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103
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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104
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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105
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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106
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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107
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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108
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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109
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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110
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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111
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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112
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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113
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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114
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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115
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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116
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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117
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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118
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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119
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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120
attachments
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| n.（用电子邮件发送的）附件( attachment的名词复数 )；附着；连接；附属物 | |
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121
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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122
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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123
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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124
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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125
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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126
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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127
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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128
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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129
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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130
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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131
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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132
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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133
tarns
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| n.冰斗湖，山中小湖( tarn的名词复数 ) | |
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134
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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135
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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136
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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137
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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138
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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139
scathed
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| v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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141
exterminate
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| v.扑灭，消灭，根绝 | |
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142
efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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143
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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144
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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145
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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146
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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147
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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148
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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149
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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151
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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152
attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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153
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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154
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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155
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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156
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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157
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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158
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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