Living with trees — Winter violets — The house is made habitable — Red willow1 — Scissor-tail and carrion-hawk2 — Lombardy poplars-Black acacia — Other trees — The foss or moat — Rats — A trial of strength with an armadillo — Opossums living with a snake — Alfalfa field and butterflies — Cane3 brake —— Weeds and fennel — Peach trees in blossom — Paroquets — Singing of a field finch4 — Concert-singing in birds — Old John — Cow-birds’ singing — Arrival of summer migrants.
I remember — better than any orchard5, grove6, or wood I have ever entered or seen, do I remember that shady oasis7 of trees at my new home on the illimitable grassy8 plain. Up till now I had never lived with trees excepting those twenty-five I have told about and that other one which was called el arbol because it was the only tree of its kind in all the land. Here there were hundreds, thousands of trees, and to my childish unaccustomed eyes it was like a great unexplored forest. There were no pines, firs, nor eucalyptus9 (unknown in the country then), nor evergreens10 of any kind; the trees being all deciduous11 were leafless now in mid-winter, but even so it was to me a wonderful experience to be among them, to feel and smell their rough moist bark stained green with moss12, and to look up at the blue sky through the network of interlacing twigs13. And spring with foliage15 and blossom would be with us by and by, in a month or two; even now in midwinter there was a foretaste of it, and it came to us first as a delicious fragrance16 in the air at one spot beside a row of old Lombardy poplars — an odour that to the child is like wine that maketh the heart glad to the adult. Here at the roots of the poplars there was a bed or carpet of round leaves which we knew well, and putting the clusters apart with our hands, lo! there were the violets already open — the dim, purple-blue, hidden violets, the earliest, sweetest, of all flowers the most loved by children in that land, and doubtless in many other lands.
There was more than time enough for us small children to feast on violets and run wild in our forest; since for several weeks we were encouraged to live out of doors as far away as we could keep from the house where we were not wanted. For just then great alterations17 were being made to render it habitable: new rooms were being added on to the old building, wooden flooring laid over the old bricks and tiles, and the half-rotten thatch18, a haunt of rats and the home of centipedes and of many other hybernating creeping things, was being stripped off to be replaced by a clean healthy wooden roof. For me it was no hardship to be sent away to make my playground in that wooded wonderland. The trees, both fruit and shade, were of many kinds, and belonged to two widely-separated periods. The first were the old trees planted by some tree-loving owner a century or more before our time, and the second the others which had been put in a generation or two later to fill up some gaps and vacant places and for the sake of a greater variety.
The biggest of the old trees, which I shall describe first, was a red willow growing by itself within forty yards of the house. This is a native tree, and derives19 its specific name rubra, as well as its vernacular20 name, from the reddish colour of the rough bark. It grows to a great size, like the black poplar, but has long narrow leaves like those of the weeping willow. In summer I was never tired of watching this tree, since high up in one of the branches, which in those days seemed to me “so close against the sky,” a scissor-tail tyrant-bird always had its nest, and this high open exposed nest was a constant attraction to the common brown carrion-hawk, called chimango — a hawk with the carrion-crow’s habit of perpetually loitering about in search of eggs and fledglings.
The scissor-tail is one of the most courageous21 of that hawk-hating, violent-tempered tyrant-bird family, and every time a chimango appeared, which was about forty times a day, he would sally out to attack him in mid-air with amazing fury. The marauder driven off, he would return to the tree to utter his triumphant22 rattling23 castanet-like notes and (no doubt) to receive the congratulations of his mate; then to settle down again to watch the sky for the appearance of the next chimango.
A second red willow was the next largest tree in the plantation24, but of this willow I shall have more to say in a later chapter.
The tall Lombardy poplars were the most numerous of the older trees, and grew in double rows, forming walks or avenues, on three sides of the entire enclosed ground. There was also a cross-row of poplars dividing the gardens and buildings from the plantation, and these were the favourite nesting-trees of two of our best-loved birds — the beautiful little goldfinch or Argentine siskin, and the bird called firewood-gatherer by the natives on account of the enormous collection of sticks which formed the nest.
Between the border poplar walk and the foss outside, there grew a single row of trees of a very different kind — the black acacia, a rare and singular tree, and of all our trees this one made the strongest and sharpest impression on my mind as well as flesh, pricking25 its image in me, so to speak. It had probably been planted originally by the early first planter, and, I imagine, experimentally, as a possible improvement on the wide-spreading disorderly aloe, a favourite with the first settlers; but it is a wild lawless plant and had refused to make a proper hedge. Some of these acacias had remained small and were like old scraggy bushes, some were dwarfish26 trees, while others had sprung up like the fabled27 bean-stalk and were as tall as the poplars that grew side by side with them. These tall specimens28 had slender boles and threw out their slender horizontal branches of great length on all sides, from the roots to the crown, the branches and the bole itself being armed with thorns two to four inches long, hard as iron, black or chocolate-brown, polished and sharp as needles; and to make itself more formidable every long thorn had two smaller thorns growing out of it near the base, so that it was in shape like a round tapering29 dagger30 with a crossguard to the handle. It was a terrible tree to climb, yet, when a little older. I had to climb it a thousand times, since there were certain birds which would make their nests in it, often as high up as they could, and some of these were birds that laid beautiful eggs, such as those of the Guira cuckoo, the size of pullets’ eggs, of the purest turquoise31 blue flecked with snowy white.
Among our old or ancient trees the peach was the favourite of the whole house on account of the fruit it gave us in February and March, also later, in April and May, when what we called our winter peach ripened32. Peach, quince, and cherry were the three favourite fruit-trees in the colonial times, and all three were found in some of the quintas or orchards33 of the old estancia houses. We had a score of quince trees, with thick gnarled trunks and old twisted branches like rams’ horns, but the peach trees numbered about four to five hundred and grew well apart from one another, and were certainly the largest I have ever seen. Their size was equal to that of the oldest and largest cherry trees one sees in certain favoured spots in Southern England, where they grow not in close formation but wide apart with ample room for the branches to spread on all sides.
The trees planted by a later generation, both shade and fruit, were more varied34. The most abundant was the mulberry, of which there were many hundreds, mostly in rows, forming walks, and albeit35 of the same species as our English mulberry they differed from it in the great size and roughness of the leaves and in producing fruit of a much smaller size. The taste of the fruit was also less luscious36 and it was rarely eaten by our elders. We small children feasted on it, but it was mostly for the birds. The mulberry was looked on as a shade, not a fruit tree, and the other two most important shade trees, in number, were the acacia blanca, or false acacia, and the paradise tree or pride of China. Besides these there was a row of eight or ten ailanthus trees, or tree of heaven as it is sometimes called, with tall white smooth trunk crowned with a cluster of palm-like foliage. There was also a modern orchard, containing pear, apple, plum, and cherry trees.
The entire plantation, the buildings included, comprising an area of eight or nine acres, was surrounded by an immense ditch or foss about twelve feet deep and twenty to thirty feet wide. It was undoubtedly37 very old and had grown in width owing to the crumbling38 away of the earth at the sides. This in time would have filled and almost obliterated39 it, but at intervals40 of two or three years, at a time when it was dry, quantities of earth were dug up from the bottom and thrown on the mound41 inside. It was in appearance something like a prehistoric42 earthwork. In winter as a rule it became full of water and was a favourite haunt, especially at night, of flocks of teal, also duck of a few other kinds — widgeon, pintail, and shoveller. In summer it gradually dried up, but a few pools of muddy water usually remained through all the hot season and were haunted by the solitary43 or summer snipe, one of the many species of sandpiper and birds of that family which bred in the northern hemisphere and wintered with us when it was our summer. Once the water had gone down in the moat, long grass and herbage would spring up and flourish on its sloping sides, and the rats and other small beasties would return and riddle44 it with innumerable burrows45.
The rats were killed down from time to time with the “smoking machine,” which pumped the fumes47 of sulphur, bad tobacco, and other deadly substances into their holes and suffocated48 them; and I recall two curious incidents during these crusades. One day I was standing49 on the mound at the side of the moat or foss some forty yards from where the men were at work, when an armadillo bolted from his earth and running to the very spot where I was standing began vigorously digging to escape by burying himself in the soil. Neither men nor dogs had seen him, and I at once determined50 to capture him unaided by any one and imagined it would prove a very easy task. Accordingly I laid hold of his black bone-cased tail with both hands and began tugging52 to get him off the ground, bait couldn’t move him. He went on digging furiously, getting deeper and deeper into the earth, and I soon found that instead of my pulling him out he was pulling me in after him. It hurt my small-boy pride to think that an animal no bigger than a cat was going to beat me in a trial of strength, and this made me hold on more tenaciously53 than ever and tug51 and strain more violently, until not to lose him I had to go flat down on the ground. But it was all for nothing: first my hands, then my aching arms were carried down into the earth, and I was forced to release my hold and get up to rid myself of the mould he had been throwing up into my face and all over my head, neck, and shoulders.
In the other case, one of my older brothers seeing the dogs sniffing54 and scratching at a large burrow46, took a spade and dug a couple of feet into the soil and found an adult black-and-white opossum with eight or nine half-grown young lying together in a nest of dry grass, and, wonderful to tell, a large venomous snake coiled up amongst them. The snake was the dreaded55 vivora de la cruz, as the gauchos57 call it, a pit-viper of the same family as the fer-de-lance, the bush-master, and the rattlesnake. It was about three feet long, very thick in proportion, and with broad head and blunt tail. It came forth58 hissing59 and striking blindly right and left when the dogs pulled the opossums out, but was killed with a blow of the spade without injuring the dogs.
This was the first serpent with a cross I had seen, and the sight of the thick blunt body of a greenish-grey colour blotched with dull black, and the broad flat head with its stony-white lidless eyes, gave me a thrill of horror. In after years I became familiar with it and could even venture to pick it up without harm to myself, just as now in England I pick up the less dangerous adder60 when I come upon one. The wonder to us was that this extremely irascible and venomous serpent should be living in a nest with a large family of opossums, for it must be borne in mind that the opossum is a rapacious61 and an exceedingly savage-tempered beast.
This then was the world in which I moved and had my being, within the limits of the old rat-haunted foss among the enchanted62 trees. But it was not the trees only that made it so fascinating, it had open spaces and other forms of vegetation which were exceedingly attractive too.
There was a field of alfalfa about half an acre in size, which flowered three times a year, and during the flowering time it drew the butterflies from all the surrounding plain with its luscious bean-like fragrance, until the field was full of them, red, black, yellow, and white butterflies, fluttering in flocks round every blue spike63.
Canes64, too, in a large patch or “brake” as we called it, grew at another spot; a graceful65 plant about twenty-five feet high, in appearance unlike the bamboo, as the long pointed66 leaves were of a glaucous blue-green colour. The canes were valuable to us as they served as fishing-rods when we were old enough for that sport, and were also used as lances when we rode forth to engage in mimic67 battles on the plain. But they also had an economic value, as they were used by the natives when making their thatched roofs as a substitute for the bamboo cane, which cost much more as it had to be imported from other countries. Accordingly at the end of the summer, after the cane had flowered, they were all cut down, stripped of their leaves, and taken away in bundles, and we were then deprived till the following season of the pleasure of hunting for the tallest and straightest canes to cut them down and strip off leaves and bark to make beautiful green polished rods for our sports.
There were other open spaces covered with a vegetation almost as interesting as the canes and the trees: this was where what were called “weeds” were allowed to flourish. Here were the thorn-apple, chenopodium, sow-thistle, wild mustard, redweed, viper’s bugloss, and others, both native and introduced, in dense68 thickets69 five or six feet high. It was difficult to push one’s way through these thickets, and one was always in dread56 of treading on a snake. At another spot fennel flourished by itself, as if it had some mysterious power, perhaps its peculiar71 smell, of keeping other plants at a proper distance. It formed quite a thicket70, and grew to a height of ten or twelve feet. This spot was a favourite haunt of mine, as it was in a waste place at the furthest point from the house, a wild solitary spot where I could spend long hours by myself watching the birds. But I also loved the fennel for itself, its beautiful green feathery foliage and the smell of it, also the taste, so that whenever I visited that secluded72 spot I would rub the crushed leaves in my palms and chew the small twigs for their peculiar fennel flavour.
Winter made a great change in the plantation, since it not only stripped the trees of their leaves but swept away all that rank herbage, the fennel included, allowing the grass to grow again. The large luxuriantly-growing annuals also disappeared from the garden and all about the house, the big four-o’clock bushes with deep red stems and wealth of crimson73 blossoms, and the morning-glory convolvulus with its great blue trumpets74, climbing over and covering every available place with its hop-like mass of leaves and abundant blooms. My life in the plantation in winter was a constant watching for spring. May, June, and July were the leafless months, but not wholly songless. On any genial75 and windless day of sunshine in winter a few swallows would reappear, nobody could guess from where, to spend the bright hours wheeling like house-martins about the house, revisiting their old breeding-holes under the eaves, and uttering their lively little rippling76 songs, as of water running in a pebbly77 stream. When the sun declined they would vanish, to be seen no more until we had another perfect spring-like day.
On such days in July and on any mild misty78 morning, standing on the mound within the moat I would listen to the sounds from the wide open plain, and they were sounds of spring — the constant drumming and rhythmic79 cries of the spur-wing lapwings engaged in their social meetings and “dances,” and the song of the pipit soaring high up and pouring out its thick prolonged strains as it slowly floated downwards80 to the earth.
In August the peach blossomed. The great old trees standing wide apart on their grassy carpet, barely touching81 each other with the tips of their widest branches, were like great mound-shaped clouds of exquisite82 rosy-pink blossoms. There was then nothing in the universe which could compare in loveliness to that spectacle. I was a worshipper of trees at this season, and I remember my shocked and indignant feeling when one day a flock of green paroquets came screaming down and alighted on one of the trees near me. This paroquet never bred in our plantation; they were occasional visitors from their home in an old grove about nine miles away, and their visits were always a great pleasure to us. On this occasion I was particularly glad, because the birds had elected to settle on a tree close to where I was standing. But the blossoms thickly covering every twig14 annoyed the parrots, as they could not find space enough to grasp a twig without grasping its flower as well; so what did the birds do in their impatience83 but begin stripping the blossoms off the branches on which they were perched with their sharp beaks84, so rapidly that the flowers came down in a pink shower, and in this way in half a minute every bird made a twig bare where he could sit perched at ease. There were millions of blossoms; only one here and there would ever be a peach, yet it vexed85 me to see the parrots cut them off in that heedless way: it was a desecration86, a crime even in a bird.
Even now when I recall the sight of those old flowering peach trees, with trunks as thick as a man’s body, and the huge mounds87 or clouds of myriads88 of roseate blossoms seen against the blue ethereal sky, I am not sure that I have seen anything in my life more perfectly89 beautiful. Yet this great beauty was but half the charm I found in these trees: the other half was in the bird-music that issued from them. It was the music of but one kind of bird, a small greenish yellow field finch, in size like the linnet though with a longer and slimmer body, and resembling a linnet too in its general habits. Thus, in autumn it unites in immense flocks, which keep together during the winter months and sing in concert and do not break up until the return of the breeding season. In a country where there were no bird-catchers or human persecutors of small birds, the flocks of this finch, called Misto by the natives, were far larger than any linnet flocks ever seen in England. The flock we used to have about our plantation numbered many thousands, and you would see them like a cloud wheeling about in the air, then suddenly dropping and vanishing from sight in the grass, where they fed on small seeds and tender leaves and buds. On going to the spot they would rise with a loud humming sound of innumerable wings, and begin rushing and whirling about again, chasing each other in play and chirping90, and presently all would drop to the ground again.
In August, when the spring begins to infect their blood, they repair to the trees at intervals during the day, where they sit perched and motionless for an hour or longer, all singing together. This singing time was when the peach trees were in blossom, and it was invariably in the peach trees they settled and could be seen, the little yellow birds in thousands amid the millions of pink blossoms, pouring out their wonderful music.
One of the most delightful92 bird sounds or noises to be heard in England is the concert-singing of a flock of several hundreds, and sometimes of a thousand or more linnets in September and October, and even later in the year, before these great congregations have been broken up or have migrated. The effect produced by the small field finch of the pampas was quite different. The linnet has a little twittering song with breaks in it and small chirping sounds, and when a great multitude of birds sing together the sound at a distance of fifty or sixty yards is as of a high wind among the trees, but on a nearer approach the mass of sound resolves itself into a tangle93 of thousands of individual sounds, resembling that of a great concourse of starlings at roosting time, but more musical in character. It is as if hundreds of fairy minstrels were all playing on stringed and wind instruments of various forms, every one intent on his own performance without regard to the others.
The field finch does not twitter or chirp91 and has no break or sudden change in his song, which is composed of a series of long-drawn notes, the first somewhat throaty but growing clearer and brighter towards the end, so that when thousands sing together it is as if they sang in perfect unison94, the effect on the hearing being like that on the sight of flowing water or of rain when the multitudinous falling drops appear as silvery-grey lines on the vision. It is an exceedingly beautiful effect, and so far as I know unique among birds that have the habit of singing in large companies.
I remember that we had a carpenter in those days, an Englishman named John, a native of Cumberland, who used to make us laugh at his slow heavy way when, after asking him some simple question, we had to wait until he put down his tools and stared at us for about twenty seconds before replying. One of my elder brothers had dubbed95 him the “Cumberland boor96.” I remember one day on going to listen to the choir97 of finches in the blossoming orchard, I was surprised to see John standing near the trees doing nothing, and as I came up to him he turned towards me with a look which astonished me on his dull old face — that look which perhaps one of my readers has by chance seen on the face of a religious mystic in a moment of exaltation. “Those little birds! I never heard anything like it!” he exclaimed, then trudged98 off to his work. Like most Englishmen, he had, no doubt, a vein99 of poetic100 feeling hidden away somewhere in his soul.
We also had the other kind of concert-singing by another species in the plantation. This was the common purple cow-bird, one of the Troupial family, exclusively American, but supposed to have affinities101 with the starlings of the Old World. This cow-bird is parasitical102 (like the European cuckoo) in its breeding habits, and having no domestic affairs of its own to attend to it lives in flocks all the year round, leading an idle vagabond life. The male is of a uniform deep purple-black, the female a drab or mouse-colour. The cow-birds were excessively numerous among the trees in summer, perpetually hunting for nests in which to deposit their eggs: they fed on the ground out on the plain and were often in such big flocks as to look like a huge black carpet spread out on the green sward. On a rainy day they did not feed: they congregated103 on the trees in thousands and sang by the hour. Their favourite gathering-place at such times was behind the house, where the trees grew pretty thick and were sheltered on two sides by the black acacias and double rows of Lombardy poplars, succeeded by double rows of large mulberry trees, forming walks, and these by pear, apple and cherry trees. From whichever side the wind blew it was calm here, and during the heaviest rain the birds would sit here in their thousands, pouring out a continuous torrent104 of song, which resembled the noise produced by thousands of starlings at roosting-time, but was louder and differed somewhat in character owing to the peculiar song of the cow-bird, which begins with hollow guttural sounds, followed by a burst of loud clear ringing notes.
These concert-singers, the little green and yellow field finch and the purple cow-bird, were with us all the year round, with many others which it would take a whole chapter to tell of. When, in July and August, I watched for the coming spring, it was the migrants, the birds that came annually105 to us from the far north, that chiefly attracted me. Before their arrival the bloom was gone from the peach trees, and the choir of countless106 little finches broken up and scattered107 all over the plain. Then the opening leaves were watched, and after the willows108 the first and best-loved were the poplars. During all the time they were opening, when they were still a yellowish-green in colour, the air was full of the fragrance, but not satisfied with that I would crush and rub the new small leaves in my hands and on my face to get the delicious balsamic smell in fuller measure. And of all the trees, after the peach, the poplars appeared to feel the new season with the greatest intensity109, for it seemed to me that they felt the sunshine even as I did, and they expressed it in their fragrance just as the peach and other trees did in their flowers. And it was also expressed in the new sound they gave out to the wind. The change was really wonderful when the rows on rows of immensely tall trees which for months had talked and cried in that strange sibilant language, rising to shrieks110 when a gale111 was blowing, now gave out a larger volume of sound, more continuous, softer, deeper, and like the wash of the sea on a wide shore.
The other trees would follow, and by and by all would be in full foliage once more, and ready to receive their strange beautiful guests from the tropical forests in the distant north.
The most striking of the newcomers was the small scarlet112 tyrant-bird, which is about the size of our spotted113 flycatcher; all a shining scarlet except the black wings and tail. This bird had a delicate bell-like voice, but it was the scarlet colour shining amid the green foliage which made me delight in it above all other birds. Yet the humming-bird, which arrived at the same time, was wonderfully beautiful too, especially when he flew close to your face and remained suspended motionless on mist-like wings for a few moments, his feathers looking and glittering like minute emerald scales.
Then came other tyrant-birds and the loved swallows — the house-swallow, which resembles the English house-martin, the large purple martin, the Golodrina domestica, and the brown tree-martin. Then, too, came the yellow-billed cuckoo — the kowe-kowe as it is called from its cry. Year after year I listened for its deep mysterious call, which sounded like gow-gow-gow-gow-gow, in late September, even as the small English boy listens for the call of his cuckoo, in April; and the human-like character of the sound, together with the startlingly impressive way in which it was enunciated114, always produced the idea that it was something more than a mere115 bird call. Later, in October when the weather was hot, I would hunt for the nest, a frail116 platform made of a few sticks with four or five oval eggs like those of the turtledove in size and of a pale green colour.
There were other summer visitors, but I must not speak of them as this chapter contains too much on that subject. My feathered friends were so much to me that I am constantly tempted117 to make this sketch118 of my first years a book about birds and little else. There remains119, too, much more to say about the plantation, the trees and their effect on my mind, also some adventures I met with, some with birds and others with snakes, which will occupy two or three or more chapters later on.
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1
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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finch
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| n.雀科鸣禽(如燕雀，金丝雀等) | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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eucalyptus
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| n.桉树，桉属植物 | |
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evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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deciduous
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| adj.非永久的；短暂的；脱落的；落叶的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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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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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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dwarfish
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| a.像侏儒的，矮小的 | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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28
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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30
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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31
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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34
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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35
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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36
luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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37
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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38
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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39
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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40
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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41
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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42
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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43
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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44
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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45
burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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46
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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47
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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48
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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51
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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52
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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53
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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54
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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55
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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56
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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57
gauchos
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| n.南美牧人( gaucho的名词复数 ) | |
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58
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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59
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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60
adder
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| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
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61
rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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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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63
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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67
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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69
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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70
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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71
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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72
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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73
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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74
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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77
pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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78
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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79
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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80
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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81
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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82
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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83
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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84
beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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85
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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86
desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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87
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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88
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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89
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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90
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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91
chirp
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| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
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92
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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93
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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94
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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95
dubbed
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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96
boor
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| n.举止粗野的人；乡下佬 | |
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97
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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98
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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99
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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100
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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101
affinities
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| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
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102
parasitical
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| adj. 寄生的(符加的) | |
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103
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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105
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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106
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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107
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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108
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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109
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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110
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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111
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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112
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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113
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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114
enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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115
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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116
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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117
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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118
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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119
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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