WHILST you were sleeping, little Dear-my-soul, strange things happened; but that I saw and heard them, I should never have believed them. The clock stood, of course, in the corner, a moonbeam floated idly on the floor, and a little mauve mouse came from the hole in the chimney corner and frisked and scampered2 in the light of the moonbeam upon the floor. The little mauve mouse was particularly merry; sometimes she danced upon two legs and sometimes upon four legs, but always very daintily and always very merrily.
“Ah, me!” sighed the old clock, “how different mice are nowadays from the mice we used to have in the good old times! Now there was your grandma, Mistress Velvetpaw, [8]and there was your grandpa, Master Sniffwhisker,—how grave and dignified4 they were! Many a night have I seen them dancing upon the carpet below me, but always the stately minuet and never that crazy frisking which you are executing now, to my surprise—yes, and to my horror, too.”
“But why shouldn’t I be merry?” asked the little mauve mouse. “Tomorrow is Christmas, and this is Christmas eve.”
“So it is,” said the old clock. “I had really forgotten all about it. But, tell me, what is Christmas to you, little Miss Mauve Mouse?”
“A great deal to me!” cried the little mauve mouse. “I have been very good a very long time: I have not used any bad words, nor have I gnawed5 any holes, nor have I stolen any canary seed, nor have I worried my mother by running behind the flour-barrel where that horrid6 trap is set. In fact, I have been so good that I am very sure Santa Claus will bring me something very pretty.”
This seemed to amuse the old clock mightily7; in fact the old clock fell to laughing so heartily8 that in an unguarded moment she struck twelve instead of ten, which was exceedingly careless and therefore to be reprehended.
[9]
“Why, you silly little mauve mouse,” said the old clock, “you don’t believe in Santa Claus, do you?”
“Of course I do,” answered the little mauve mouse. “Believe in Santa Claus? Why shouldn’t I? Didn’t Santa Claus bring me a beautiful butter-cracker last Christmas, and a lovely gingersnap, and a delicious rind of cheese, and—and—lots of things? I should be very ungrateful if I did not believe in Santa Claus, and I certainly shall not disbelieve in him at the very moment when I am expecting him to arrive with a bundle of goodies for me.
“I once had a little sister,” continued the little mauve mouse, “who did not believe in Santa Claus, and the very thought of the fate that befell her makes my blood run cold and my whiskers stand on end. She died before I was born, but my mother has told me all about her. Perhaps you never saw her: her name was Squeaknibble, and she was in stature9 one of those long, low, rangy mice that are seldom found in well-stocked pantries. Mother says that Squeaknibble took after our ancestors who came from New England, where the malignant10 ingenuity11 of the people and the ferocity of the cats rendered life precarious12 indeed. Squeaknibble seemed to inherit many ancestral traits, [10]the most conspicuous of which was a disposition to sneer13 at some of the most respected dogmas in mousedom. From her very infancy14 she doubted, for example, the widely accepted theory that the moon was composed of green cheese; and this heresy15 was the first intimation her parents had of the sceptical turn of her mind. Of course her parents were vastly annoyed, for their maturer natures saw that this youthful scepticism portended16 serious, if not fatal, consequences. Yet all in vain did the sagacious couple reason and plead with their headstrong and heretical child.
“For a long time Squeaknibble would not believe that there was any such archfiend as a cat; but she came to be convinced to the contrary one memorable17 night, on which occasion she lost two inches of her beautiful tail, and received so terrible a fright that for fully18 an hour afterward19 her little heart beat so violently as to lift her off her feet and bump her head against the top of our domestic hole. The cat that deprived my sister of so large a percentage of her vertebral colophon was the same brindled20 ogress that nowadays steals ever and anon into this room, crouches21 treacherously behind the sofa, and feigns22 to be asleep, hoping, forsooth, that some of us, heedless of her hated [11]presence, will venture within reach of her diabolical24 claws. So enraged25 was this ferocious26 monster at the escape of my sister that she ground her fangs27 viciously together, and vowed28 to take no pleasure in life until she held in her devouring29 jaws30 the innocent little mouse which belonged to the mangled31 bit of tail she even then clutched in her remorseless claws.”
“Yes,” said the old clock, “now that you recall the incident, I recollect32 it well. I was here then, in this very corner, and I remember that I laughed at the cat and chided her for her awkwardness. My reproaches irritated her; she told me that a clock’s duty was to run itself down, not to be depreciating the merits of others! Yes, I recall the time; that cat’s tongue is fully as sharp as her claws.”
“Be that as it may,” said the little mauve mouse, “it is a matter of history, and therefore beyond dispute, that from that very moment the cat pined for Squeaknibble’s life; it seemed as if that one little two-inch taste of Squeaknibble’s tail had filled the cat with a consuming passion, or appetite, for the rest of Squeaknibble. So the cat waited and watched and hunted and schemed and devised and did everything possible for a cat—a cruel cat—to do in order to gain her murderous ends. One [12]night—one fatal Christmas eve—our mother had undressed the children for bed, and was urging upon them to go to sleep earlier than usual, since she fully expected that Santa Claus would bring each of them something very palatable33 and nice before morning. Thereupon the little dears whisked their cunning tails, pricked34 up their beautiful ears, and began telling one another what they hoped Santa Claus would bring. One asked for a slice of Roquefort, another for Neufchatel, another for Sap Sago, and a fourth for Edam; one expressed a preference for de Brie, while another hoped to get Parmesan; one clamored for imperial blue Stilton, and another craved35 the fragrant36 boon37 of Caprera. There were fourteen little ones then, and consequently there were diverse opinions as to the kind of gift which Santa Claus should best bring; still, there was, as you can readily understand, an enthusiastic unanimity38 upon this point, namely, that the gift should be cheese of some brand or other.
“‘My dears,’ said our mother, ‘what matters it whether the boon which Santa Claus brings be royal English cheddar or fromage de Bricquebec, Vermont sage39, or Herkimer County skim-milk? We should be content with whatsoever Santa Claus bestows40, so long as it be [13]cheese, disjoined from all traps whatsoever, unmixed with Paris green, and free from glass, strychnine, and other harmful ingredients. As for myself, I shall be satisfied with a cut of nice, fresh, Western reserve; for truly I recognise in no other viand or edible41 half the fragrance42 or half the gustfulness to be met with in one of these pale but aromatic43 domestic products. So run away to your dreams now, that Santa Claus may find you sleeping.’
“The children obeyed,—all but Squeaknibble. ‘Let the others think what they please,’ said she, ‘but I don’t believe in Santa Claus. I’m not going to bed either. I’m going to creep out of this dark hole and have a quiet romp44, all by myself, in the moonlight.’ Oh, what a vain, foolish, wicked little mouse was Squeaknibble! But I will not reproach the dead; her punishment came all too swiftly. Now listen: who do you suppose overheard her talking so disrespectfully of Santa Claus?”
“Why, Santa Claus himself,” said the old clock.
“Oh, no,” answered the little mauve mouse. “It was that wicked, murderous cat! Just as Satan lurks45 and lies in wait for bad children, so does the cruel cat lie in wait for naughty little mice. And you can depend upon it that, [14]when that awful cat heard Squeaknibble speak so disrespectfully of Santa Claus, her wicked eyes glowed with joy, her sharp teeth watered, and her bristling46 fur emitted electric sparks as big as marrowfat peas. Then what did that blood-thirsty monster do but scuttle47 as fast as she could into Dear-my-Soul’s room, leap up into Dear-my-Soul’s crib, and walk off with the pretty little white muff which Dear-my-Soul used to wear when she went for a visit to the little girl in the next block! What upon earth did the horrid old cat want with Dear-my-Soul’s pretty little white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the diabolical ingenuity of that cat! Listen.
“In the first place,” resumed the little mauve mouse, after a pause that testified eloquently48 to the depth of her emotion,—“in the first place, that wretched cat dressed herself up in that pretty little white muff, by which you are to understand that she crawled through the muff just so far as to leave her four cruel legs at liberty.”
“Yes, I understand,” said the old clock.
“Then she put on the boy doll’s fur cap,” said the little mauve mouse, “and when she was arrayed in the boy doll’s fur cap and Dear-my-Soul’s pretty little white muff, of course [15]she didn’t look like a cruel cat at all. But whom did she look like?”
“Like the boy doll,” suggested the old clock.
“No, no!” cried the little mauve mouse.
“Like Dear-my-Soul?” asked the old clock.
“How stupid you are!” exclaimed the little mauve mouse. “Why, she looked like Santa Claus, of course!”
“Oh, yes; I see,” said the old clock. “Now I begin to be interested; go on.”
“Alas!” sighed the little mauve mouse, “not much remains49 to be told; but there is more of my story left than there was of Squeaknibble when that horrid cat crawled out of that miserable50 disguise. You are to understand that, contrary to her sagacious mother’s injunction, and in notorious derision of the mooted51 coming of Santa Claus, Squeaknibble issued from the friendly hole in the chimney corner, and gambolled52 about over this very carpet, and, I dare say, in this very moonlight.”
“I do not know,” said the moonbeam faintly. “I am so very old, and I have seen so many things—I do not know.”
“Right merrily was Squeaknibble gambolling53,” continued the little mauve mouse, “and she had just turned a double back somersault without the use of what remained of her tail [16]when, all of a sudden, she beheld54, looming55 up like a monster ghost, a figure all in white fur! Oh, how frightened she was, and how her little heart did beat! ‘Purr, purr-r-r,’ said the ghost in white fur. ‘Oh, please don’t hurt me!’ pleaded Squeaknibble. ‘No; I’ll not hurt you,’ said the ghost in white fur; ‘I’m Santa Claus, and I’ve brought you a beautiful piece of savory56 old cheese, you dear little mousie, you.’ Poor Squeaknibble was deceived; a sceptic all her life, she was at last befooled by the most palpable and most fatal of frauds. ‘How good of you!’ said Squeaknibble. ‘I didn’t believe there was a Santa Claus, and—’ but before she could say more she was seized by two sharp, cruel claws that conveyed her crushed body to the murderous mouth of mousedom’s most malignant foe57. I can dwell no longer upon this harrowing scene. Suffice it to say that ere the morrow’s sun rose like a big yellow Herkimer County cheese upon the spot where that tragedy had been enacted58, poor Squeaknibble passed to that bourn whence two inches of her beautiful tail had preceded her by the space of three weeks to a day. As for Santa Claus, when he came that Christmas eve, bringing morceaux de Brie and of Stilton for the other little mice, he heard with sorrow [17]of Squeaknibble’s fate; and ere he departed he said that in all his experience he had never known of a mouse or of a child that had prospered59 after once saying that he didn’t believe in Santa Claus.”
“Well, that is a remarkable story,” said the old clock. “But if you believe in Santa Claus, why aren’t you in bed?”
“That’s where I shall be presently,” answered the little mauve mouse, “but I must have my scamper3 you know. It is very pleasant, I assure you, to frolic in the light of the moon; only I cannot understand why you are always so cold and so solemn and so still, you pale, pretty little moonbeam.”
“Indeed, I do not know that I am so,” said the moonbeam. “But I am very old, and I have travelled many, many, leagues, and I have seen wondrous60 things. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean, sometimes I fall upon a slumbering61 flower, sometimes I rest upon a dead child’s face. I see the fairies at their play, and I hear mothers singing lullabies. Last night I swept across the frozen bosom62 of a river. A woman’s face looked up at me; it was the picture of eternal rest. ‘She is sleeping,’ said the frozen river. ‘I’ll rock her to and fro, and sing to her. Pass gently by, O moonbeam; pass gently by, lest you awaken63 her.’”
[18]
“How strangely you talk,” said the old clock. “Now, I’ll warrant me that, if you wanted to, you could tell many a pretty and wonderful story. You must know many a Christmas tale; pray, tell us one to wear away this night of Christmas watching.”
“I know but one,” said the moonbeam. “I have told it over and over again, in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary of it. It is very simple. Should you like to hear it?”
“Indeed we should,” said the old clock; “but before you begin, let me strike twelve; for I shouldn’t want to interrupt you.”
When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more than usual alacrity64, the moonbeam began its story:
“Upon a time—so long ago that I can’t tell how long ago it was—I fell upon a hill-side. It was in a far distant country; this I know, because, although it was the Christmas time, it was not in that country as it is wont65 to be in countries to the north. Hither the snow-king never came; flowers bloomed all the year, and at all times the lambs found pleasant pasturage on the hill-sides. The night wind was balmy, and there was a fragrance of cedar66 in its breath. There were violets on the hill-side, and I fell amongst them and lay there. I kissed them, and [19]they awakened67. ‘Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?’ they said, and they nestled in the grass which the lambs had left uncropped.
“A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hill-side; above him spread an olive-tree, old, ragged68, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty69 branches majestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd’s name was Benoni. Wearied with long watching, he had fallen asleep; his crook70 had slipped from his hand. Upon the hill-side, too, slept the shepherd’s flock. I had counted them again and again; I had stolen across their gentle faces and brought them pleasant dreams of green pastures and of cool water-brooks. I had kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumbering there; and in his dreams he seemed to see Israel’s King come upon earth, and in his dreams he murmured the promised Messiah’s name.
“‘Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?’ quoth the violets. ‘You have come in good time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful things come to pass.’
“‘What are these wonderful things of which you speak?’ I asked.
“‘We heard the old olive-tree telling of them to-night,’ said the violets. ‘Do not go to sleep, little violets,’ said the old olive-tree, ‘for [20]this is Christmas night, and the Master shall walk upon the hill-side in the glory of the midnight hour.’ So we waited and watched; one by one the lambs fell asleep; one by one the stars peeped out; the shepherd nodded and crooned, and crooned and nodded, and at last he, too, went fast asleep, and his crook slipped from his keeping. Then we called to the old olive-tree yonder, asking how soon the midnight hour would come; but all the old olive-tree answered was ‘Presently, presently,’ and finally we, too, fell asleep, wearied by our long watching, and lulled71 by the rocking and swaying of the old olive-tree in the breezes of the night.
“‘But who is this Master?’ I asked.
“‘A child, a little child,’ they answered. ‘He is called the little Master by the others. He comes here often, and plays among the flowers of the hill-side. Sometimes the lambs, gambolling too carelessly, have crushed and bruised72 us so that we lie bleeding and are like to die; but the little Master heals our wounds and refreshes us once again.’
“I marvelled73 much to hear these things. ‘The midnight hour is at hand,’ said I, ‘and I will abide74 with you to see this little Master of whom you speak.’ So we nestled among the [21]verdure of the hill-side, and sang songs one to another.
“‘Come away!’ called the night wind; ‘I know a beauteous sea not far hence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float, away out into the mists and clouds, if you will come with me.’
“But I hid under the violets and amid the tall grass, that the night wind might not woo me with its pleading. ‘Ho, there, old olive-tree!’ cried the violets; ‘do you see the little Master coming? Is not the midnight hour at hand?’
“‘I can see the town yonder,’ said the old olive-tree. ‘A star beams bright over Bethlehem, the iron gates swing open, and the little Master comes.’
“Two children came to the hill-side. The one, older than his comrade, was Dimas, the son of Benoni. He was rugged75 and sinewy76, and over his brown shoulders was flung a goat-skin; a leathern cap did not confine his long, dark curly hair. The other child was he whom they called the little Master; about his slender form clung raiment white as snow, and around his face of heavenly innocence77 fell curls of golden yellow. So beautiful a child I had not seen before, nor have I ever since seen such as he. And as they came together to the hill-side, [22]there seemed to glow about the little Master’s head a soft white light, as if the moon had sent its tenderest, fairest beams to kiss those golden curls.
“‘What sound was that?’ cried Dimas, for he was exceeding fearful.
“‘Have no fear, Dimas,’ said the little Master. ‘Give me thy hand and I will lead thee.’
“Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd, lay; and they stood under the old olive-tree, and the old olive-tree swayed no longer in the night wind, but bent78 its branches reverently in the presence of the little Master. It seemed as if the wind, too, stayed in its shifting course just then; for suddenly there was a solemn hush79, and you could hear no noise, except that in his dreams Benoni spoke80 the Messiah’s name.
“‘Thy father sleeps,’ said the little Master, ‘and it is well that it is so; for that I love thee Dimas, and that thou shalt walk with me in my Father’s Kingdom, I would show thee the glories of my birthright.’
“Then all at once sweet music filled the air, and light, greater than the light of day, illumined the sky and fell upon all that hill-side. The heavens opened, and angels, singing joyous81 songs, walked to the earth. More wondrous [23]still, the stars, falling from their places in the sky, clustered upon the old olive-tree, and swung hither and thither82 like colored lanterns. The flowers of the hill-side all awakened, and they, too, danced and sang. The angels, coming hither, hung gold and silver and jewels and precious stones upon the old olive, where swung the stars; so that the glory of that sight, though I might live forever, I shall never see again. When Dimas heard and saw these things he fell upon his knees, and catching83 the hem1 of the little Master’s garment, he kissed it.
“‘Greater joy than this shall be thine, Dimas,’ said the little Master; ‘but first must all things be fulfilled.’
“All through that Christmas night did the angels come and go with their sweet anthems84; all through that Christmas night did the stars dance and sing; and when it came my time to steal away, the hill-side was still beautiful with the glory and the music of heaven.”
“Well, is that all?” asked the old clock.
“No,” said the moonbeam; “but I am nearly done. The years went on. Sometimes I tossed upon the ocean’s bosom, sometimes I scampered o’er a battle-field, sometimes I lay upon a dead child’s face. I heard the voices of Darkness and [24]mothers’ lullabies and sick men’s prayers—and so the years went on.
“I fell one night upon a hard and furrowed85 face. It was of ghostly pallor. A thief was dying on the cross, and this was his wretched face. About the cross stood men with staves and swords and spears, but none paid heed23 unto the thief. Somewhat beyond this cross another was lifted up, and upon it was stretched a human body my light fell not upon. But I heard a voice that somewhere I had heard before,—though where I did not know,—and this voice blessed those that railed and jeered86 and shamefully entreated87. And suddenly the voice called ‘Dimas, Dimas!’ and the thief upon whose hardened face I rested made answer.
“Then I saw that it was Dimas; yet to this wicked criminal there remained but little of the shepherd child whom I had seen in all his innocence upon the hill-side. Long years of sinful life had seared their marks into his face; yet now, at the sound of that familiar voice, somewhat of the old-time boyish look came back, and in the yearning88 of the anguished89 eyes I seemed to see the shepherd’s son again.
“‘O Dimas, how art thou changed!’ cried [25]the Master, yet there was in his voice no tone of rebuke91 save that which cometh of love.
“Then Dimas wept, and in that hour he forgot his pain. And the Master’s consoling voice and the Master’s presence there wrought92 in the dying criminal such a new spirit, that when at last his head fell upon his bosom, and the men about the cross said that he was dead, it seemed as if I shined not upon a felon’s face, but upon the face of the gentle shepherd lad, the son of Benoni.
“And shining on that dead and peaceful face, I bethought me of the little Master’s words that he had spoken under the old olive-tree upon the hill-side: ‘Your eyes behold93 the promised glory now, O Dimas,’ I whispered, ‘for with the Master you walk in Paradise.’”
Ah, little Dear-my-Soul, you know—you know whereof the moonbeam spake. The shepherd’s bones are dust, the flocks are scattered94, the old olive-tree is gone, the flowers of the hill-side are withered95, and none knoweth where the grave of Dimas is made. But last night, again, there shined a star over Bethlehem, and the angels descended96 from the sky to earth, and the stars sang together in glory. And the bells,—hear them, little Dear-my-Soul, [26]how sweetly they are ringing,—the bells bear us the good tidings of great joy this Christmas morning, that our Christ is born, and that with him he bringeth peace on earth and good-will toward men.
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1
hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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2
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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4
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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5
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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6
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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9
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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15
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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16
portended
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| v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 )；预兆；给…以警告；预告 | |
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17
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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brindled
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| adj.有斑纹的 | |
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crouches
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| n.蹲着的姿势( crouch的名词复数 )v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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22
feigns
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| 假装，伪装( feign的第三人称单数 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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23
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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27
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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28
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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33
palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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34
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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35
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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42
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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romp
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| n.欢闹；v.嬉闹玩笑 | |
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lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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mooted
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| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
gambolled
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gambolling
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的现在分词 ) | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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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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savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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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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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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spoke
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| 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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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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82
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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84
anthems
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| n.赞美诗( anthem的名词复数 )；圣歌；赞歌；颂歌 | |
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85
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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92
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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95
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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96
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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