Ere they remounted to resume their journey, the Christian11 Knight12 again moistened his lips and dipped his hands in the living fountain, and said to his pagan associate of the journey, “I would I knew the name of this delicious fountain, that I might hold it in my grateful remembrance; for never did water slake13 more deliciously a more oppressive thirst than I have this day experienced.”
“It is called in the Arabic language,” answered the Saracen, “by a name which signifies the Diamond of the Desert.”
“And well is it so named,” replied the Christian. “My native valley hath a thousand springs, but not to one of them shall I attach hereafter such precious recollection as to this solitary15 fount, which bestows16 its liquid treasures where they are not only delightful17, but nearly indispensable.”
“You say truth,” said the Saracen; “for the curse is still on yonder sea of death, and neither man nor beast drinks of its waves, nor of the river which feeds without filling it, until this inhospitable desert be passed.”
They mounted, and pursued their journey across the sandy waste. The ardour of noon was now past, and a light breeze somewhat alleviated18 the terrors of the desert, though not without bearing on its wings an impalpable dust, which the Saracen little heeded19, though his heavily-armed companion felt it as such an annoyance20 that he hung his iron casque at his saddle-bow, and substituted the light riding-cap, termed in the language of the time a MORTIER, from its resemblance in shape to an ordinary mortar22. They rode together for some time in silence, the Saracen performing the part of director and guide of the journey, which he did by observing minute marks and bearings of the distant rocks, to a ridge23 of which they were gradually approaching. For a little time he seemed absorbed in the task, as a pilot when navigating24 a vessel25 through a difficult channel; but they had not proceeded half a league when he seemed secure of his route, and disposed, with more frankness than was usual to his nation, to enter into conversation.
“You have asked the name,” he said, “of a mute fountain, which hath the semblance21, but not the reality, of a living thing. Let me be pardoned to ask the name of the companion with whom I have this day encountered, both in danger and in repose26, and which I cannot fancy unknown even here among the deserts of Palestine?”
“It is not yet worth publishing,” said the Christian. “Know, however, that among the soldiers of the Cross I am called Kenneth — Kenneth of the Couching Leopard27; at home I have other titles, but they would sound harsh in an Eastern ear. Brave Saracen, let me ask which of the tribes of Arabia claims your descent, and by what name you are known?”
“Sir Kenneth,” said the Moslem28, “I joy that your name is such as my lips can easily utter. For me, I am no Arab, yet derive29 my descent from a line neither less wild nor less warlike. Know, Sir Knight of the Leopard, that I am Sheerkohf, the Lion of the Mountain, and that Kurdistan, from which I derive my descent, holds no family more noble than that of Seljook.”
“I have heard,” answered the Christian, “that your great Soldan claims his blood from the same source?”
“Thanks to the Prophet that hath so far honoured our mountains as to send from their bosom30 him whose word is victory,” answered the paynim. “I am but as a worm before the King of Egypt and Syria, and yet in my own land something my name may avail. Stranger, with how many men didst thou come on this warfare?”
“By my faith,” said Sir Kenneth, “with aid of friends and kinsmen31, I was hardly pinched to furnish forth32 ten well-appointed lances, with maybe some fifty more men, archers33 and varlets included. Some have deserted34 my unlucky pennon — some have fallen in battle — several have died of disease — and one trusty armour-bearer, for whose life I am now doing my pilgrimage, lies on the bed of sickness.”
“Christian,” said Sheerkohf, “here I have five arrows in my quiver, each feathered from the wing of an eagle. When I send one of them to my tents, a thousand warriors mount on horseback — when I send another, an equal force will arise — for the five, I can command five thousand men; and if I send my bow, ten thousand mounted riders will shake the desert. And with thy fifty followers36 thou hast come to invade a land in which I am one of the meanest!”
“Now, by the rood, Saracen,” retorted the Western warrior, “thou shouldst know, ere thou vauntest thyself, that one steel glove can crush a whole handful of hornets.”
“Ay, but it must first enclose them within its grasp,” said the Saracen, with a smile which might have endangered their new alliance, had he not changed the subject by adding, “And is bravery so much esteemed37 amongst the Christian princes that thou, thus void of means and of men, canst offer, as thou didst of late, to be my protector and security in the camp of thy brethren?”
“Know, Saracen,” said the Christian, “since such is thy style, that the name of a knight, and the blood of a gentleman, entitle him to place himself on the same rank with sovereigns even of the first degree, in so far as regards all but regal authority and dominion40. Were Richard of England himself to wound the honour of a knight as poor as I am, he could not, by the law of chivalry41, deny him the combat.”
“Methinks I should like to look upon so strange a scene,” said the Emir, “in which a leathern belt and a pair of spurs put the poorest on a level with the most powerful.”
“You must add free blood and a fearless heart,” said the Christian; “then, perhaps, you will not have spoken untruly of the dignity of knighthood.”
“And mix you as boldly amongst the females of your chiefs and leaders?” asked the Saracen.
“God forbid,” said the Knight of the Leopard, “that the poorest knight in Christendom should not be free, in all honourable43 service, to devote his hand and sword, the fame of his actions, and the fixed44 devotion of his heart, to the fairest princess who ever wore coronet on her brow!”
“But a little while since,” said the Saracen, “and you described love as the highest treasure of the heart — thine hath undoubtedly45 been high and nobly bestowed47?”
“Stranger,” answered the Christian, blushing deeply as he spoke42, “we tell not rashly where it is we have bestowed our choicest treasures. It is enough for thee to know that, as thou sayest, my love is highly and nobly bestowed — most highly — most nobly; but if thou wouldst hear of love and broken lances, venture thyself, as thou sayest, to the camp of the Crusaders, and thou wilt49 find exercise for thine ears, and, if thou wilt, for thy hands too.”
The Eastern warrior, raising himself in his stirrups, and shaking aloft his lance, replied, “Hardly, I fear, shall I find one with a crossed shoulder who will exchange with me the cast of the jerrid.”
“I will not promise for that,” replied the Knight; “though there be in the camp certain Spaniards, who have right good skill in your Eastern game of hurling50 the javelin51.”
“Dogs, and sons of dogs!” ejaculated the Saracen; “what have these Spaniards to do to come hither to combat the true believers, who, in their own land, are their lords and taskmasters? with them I would mix in no warlike pastime.”
“Let not the knights52 of Leon or Asturias hear you speak thus of them,” said the Knight of the Leopard. “ But,” added he, smiling at the recollection of the morning’s combat, “if, instead of a reed, you were inclined to stand the cast of a battle-axe53, there are enough of Western warriors who would gratify your longing54.”
“By the beard of my father, sir,” said the Saracen, with an approach to laughter, “the game is too rough for mere55 sport. I will never shun56 them in battle, but my head” (pressing his hand to his brow) “will not, for a while, permit me to seek them in sport.”
“I would you saw the axe of King Richard,” answered the Western warrior, “to which that which hangs at my saddle-bow weighs but as a feather.”
“We hear much of that island sovereign,” said the Saracen. “Art thou one of his subjects?”
“One of his followers I am, for this expedition,” answered the Knight, “and honoured in the service; but not born his subject, although a native of the island in which he reigns39.”
“How mean you? “ said the Eastern soldier; “have you then two kings in one poor island?”
“As thou sayest,” said the Scot, for such was Sir Kenneth by birth. “It is even so; and yet, although the inhabitants of the two extremities57 of that island are engaged in frequent war, the country can, as thou seest, furnish forth such a body of men-at-arms as may go far to shake the unholy hold which your master hath laid on the cities of Zion.”
“By the beard of Saladin, Nazarene, but that it is a thoughtless and boyish folly58, I could laugh at the simplicity59 of your great Sultan, who comes hither to make conquests of deserts and rocks, and dispute the possession of them with those who have tenfold numbers at command, while he leaves a part of his narrow islet, in which he was born a sovereign, to the dominion of another sceptre than his. Surely, Sir Kenneth, you and the other good men of your country should have submitted yourselves to the dominion of this King Richard ere you left your native land, divided against itself, to set forth on this expedition?”
Hasty and fierce was Kenneth’s answer. “No, by the bright light of Heaven! If the King of England had not set forth to the Crusade till he was sovereign of Scotland, the Crescent might, for me, and all true-hearted Scots, glimmer60 for ever on the walls of Zion.”
Thus far he had proceeded, when, suddenly recollecting61 himself, he muttered, “MEA CULPA! MEA CULPA! what have I, a soldier of the Cross, to do with recollection of war betwixt Christian nations!”
The rapid expression of feeling corrected by the dictates62 of duty did not escape the Moslem, who, if he did not entirely63 understand all which it conveyed, saw enough to convince him with the assurance that Christians64, as well as Moslemah, had private feelings of personal pique65, and national quarrels, which were not entirely reconcilable. But the Saracens were a race, polished, perhaps, to the utmost extent which their religion permitted, and particularly capable of entertaining high ideas of courtesy and politeness; and such sentiments prevented his taking any notice of the inconsistency of Sir Kenneth’s feelings in the opposite characters of a Scot and a Crusader.
Meanwhile, as they advanced, the scene began to change around them. They were now turning to the eastward66, and had reached the range of steep and barren hills which binds67 in that quarter the naked plain, and varies the surface of the country, without changing its sterile68 character. Sharp, rocky eminences69 began to rise around them, and, in a short time, deep declivities and ascents71, both formidable in height and difficult from the narrowness of the path, offered to the travellers obstacles of a different kind from those with which they had recently contended.
Dark caverns73 and chasms75 amongst the rocks — those grottoes so often alluded76 to in Scripture77 — yawned fearfully on either side as they proceeded, and the Scottish knight was informed by the Emir that these were often the refuge of beasts of prey78, or of men still more ferocious79, who, driven to desperation by the constant war, and the oppression exercised by the soldiery, as well of the Cross as of the Crescent, had become robbers, and spared neither rank nor religion, neither sex nor age, in their depredations80.
The Scottish knight listened with indifference81 to the accounts of ravages82 committed by wild beasts or wicked men, secure as he felt himself in his own valour and personal strength; but he was struck with mysterious dread83 when he recollected84 that he was now in the awful wilderness85 of the forty days’ fast, and the scene of the actual personal temptation, wherewith the Evil Principle was permitted to assail86 the Son of Man. He withdrew his attention gradually from the light and worldly conversation of the infidel warrior beside him, and, however acceptable his gay and gallant87 bravery would have rendered him as a companion elsewhere, Sir Kenneth felt as if, in those wildernesses88 the waste and dry places in which the foul89 spirits were wont90 to wander when expelled the mortals whose forms they possessed91, a bare-footed friar would have been a better associate than the gay but unbelieving paynim.
These feelings embarrassed him the rather that the Saracen’s spirits appeared to rise with the journey, and because the farther he penetrated92 into the gloomy recesses93 of the mountains, the lighter94 became his conversation, and when he found that unanswered, the louder grew his song. Sir Kenneth knew enough of the Eastern languages to be assured that he chanted sonnets95 of love, containing all the glowing praises of beauty in which the Oriental poets are so fond of luxuriating, and which, therefore, were peculiarly unfitted for a serious or devotional strain of thought, the feeling best becoming the Wilderness of the Temptation. With inconsistency enough, the Saracen also sung lays in praise of wine, the liquid ruby96 of the Persian poets; and his gaiety at length became so unsuitable to the Christian knight’s contrary train of sentiments, as, but for the promise of amity97 which they had exchanged, would most likely have made Sir Kenneth take measures to change his note. As it was, the Crusader felt as if he had by his side some gay, licentious98 fiend, who endeavoured to ensnare his soul, and endanger his immortal99 salvation100, by inspiring loose thoughts of earthly pleasure, and thus polluting his devotion, at a time when his faith as a Christian and his vow101 as a pilgrim called on him for a serious and penitential state of mind. He was thus greatly perplexed102, and undecided how to act; and it was in a tone of hasty displeasure that, at length breaking silence, he interrupted the lay of the celebrated103 Rudpiki, in which he prefers the mole104 on his mistress’s bosom to all the wealth of Bokhara and Samarcand.
“Saracen,” said the Crusader sternly, “blinded as thou art, and plunged105 amidst the errors of a false law, thou shouldst yet comprehend that there are some places more holy than others, and that there are some scenes also in which the Evil One hath more than ordinary power over sinful mortals. I will not tell thee for what awful reason this place — these rocks — these caverns with their gloomy arches, leading as it were to the central abyss — are held an especial haunt of Satan and his angels. It is enough that I have been long warned to beware of this place by wise and holy men, to whom the qualities of the unholy region are well known. Wherefore, Saracen, forbear thy foolish and ill-timed levity106, and turn thy thoughts to things more suited to the spot — although, alas107 for thee! thy best prayers are but as blasphemy108 and sin.”
The Saracen listened with some surprise, and then replied, with good-humour and gaiety, only so far repressed as courtesy required, “Good Sir Kenneth, methinks you deal unequally by your companion, or else ceremony is but indifferently taught amongst your Western tribes. I took no offence when I saw you gorge109 hog’s flesh and drink wine, and permitted you to enjoy a treat which you called your Christian liberty, only pitying in my heart your foul pastimes. Wherefore, then, shouldst thou take scandal, because I cheer, to the best of my power, a gloomy road with a cheerful verse? What saith the poet, ‘Song is like the dews of heaven on the bosom of the desert; it cools the path of the traveller.’”
“Friend Saracen,” said the Christian, “I blame not the love of minstrelsy and of the GAI SCIENCE; albeit110, we yield unto it even too much room in our thoughts when they should be bent111 on better things. But prayers and holy psalms112 are better fitting than LAIS of love, or of wine-cups, when men walk in this Valley of the Shadow of Death, full of fiends and demons113, whom the prayers of holy men have driven forth from the haunts of humanity to wander amidst scenes as accursed as themselves.”
“Speak not thus of the Genii, Christian,” answered the Saracen, “for know thou speakest to one whose line and nation drew their origin from the immortal race which your sect114 fear and blaspheme.”
“I well thought,” answered the Crusader, “that your blinded race had their descent from the foul fiend, without whose aid you would never have been able to maintain this blessed land of Palestine against so many valiant115 soldiers of God. I speak not thus of thee in particular, Saracen, but generally of thy people and religion. Strange is it to me, however, not that you should have the descent from the Evil One, but that you should boast of it.”
“From whom should the bravest boast of descending116, saving from him that is bravest?” said the Saracen; “from whom should the proudest trace their line so well as from the Dark Spirit, which would rather fall headlong by force than bend the knee by his will? Eblis may be hated, stranger, but he must be feared; and such as Eblis are his descendants of Kurdistan.”
Tales of magic and of necromancy117 were the learning of the period, and Sir Kenneth heard his companion’s confession118 of diabolical119 descent without any disbelief, and without much wonder; yet not without a secret shudder120 at finding himself in this fearful place, in the company of one who avouched121 himself to belong to such a lineage. Naturally insusceptible, however, of fear, he crossed himself, and stoutly122 demanded of the Saracen an account of the pedigree which he had boasted. The latter readily complied.
“Know, brave stranger,” he said, “that when the cruel Zohauk, one of the descendants of Giamschid, held the throne of Persia, he formed a league with the Powers of Darkness, amidst the secret vaults124 of Istakhar, vaults which the hands of the elementary spirits had hewn out of the living rock long before Adam himself had an existence. Here he fed, with daily oblations of human blood, two devouring126 serpents, which had become, according to the poets, a part of himself, and to sustain whom he levied127 a tax of daily human sacrifices, till the exhausted128 patience of his subjects caused some to raise up the scimitar of resistance, like the valiant Blacksmith and the victorious129 Feridoun, by whom the tyrant130 was at length dethroned, and imprisoned131 for ever in the dismal132 caverns of the mountain Damavend. But ere that deliverance had taken place, and whilst the power of the bloodthirsty tyrant was at its height, the band of ravening133 slaves whom he had sent forth to purvey134 victims for his daily sacrifice brought to the vaults of the palace of Istakhar seven sisters so beautiful that they seemed seven houris. These seven maidens135 were the daughters of a sage136, who had no treasures save those beauties and his own wisdom. The last was not sufficient to foresee this misfortune, the former seemed ineffectual to prevent it. The eldest137 exceeded not her twentieth year, the youngest had scarce attained138 her thirteenth; and so like were they to each other that they could not have been distinguished139 but for the difference of height, in which they gradually rose in easy gradation above each other, like the ascent70 which leads to the gates of Paradise. So lovely were these seven sisters when they stood in the darksome vault125, disrobed of all clothing saving a cymar of white silk, that their charms moved the hearts of those who were not mortal. Thunder muttered, the earth shook, the wall of the vault was rent, and at the chasm74 entered one dressed like a hunter, with bow and shafts140, and followed by six others, his brethren. They were tall men, and, though dark, yet comely141 to behold142; but their eyes had more the glare of those of the dead than the light which lives under the eyelids143 of the living. ‘Zeineb,’ said the leader of the band — and as he spoke he took the eldest sister by the hand, and his voice was soft, low, and melancholy144 —‘I am Cothrob, king of the subterranean145 world, and supreme146 chief of Ginnistan. I and my brethren are of those who, created out of the pure elementary fire, disdained147, even at the command of Omnipotence148, to do homage149 to a clod of earth, because it was called Man. Thou mayest have heard of us as cruel, unrelenting, and persecuting150. It is false. We are by nature kind and generous; only vengeful when insulted, only cruel when affronted151. We are true to those who trust us; and we have heard the invocations of thy father, the sage Mithrasp, who wisely worships not alone the Origin of Good, but that which is called the Source of Evil. You and your sisters are on the eve of death; but let each give to us one hair from your fair tresses, in token of fealty153, and we will carry you many miles from hence to a place of safety, where you may bid defiance154 to Zohauk and his ministers.’ The fear of instant death, saith the poet, is like the rod of the prophet Haroun, which devoured155 all other rods when transformed into snakes before the King of Pharaoh; and the daughters of the Persian sage were less apt than others to be afraid of the addresses of a spirit. They gave the tribute which Cothrob demanded, and in an instant the sisters were transported to an enchanted156 castle on the mountains of Tugrut, in Kurdistan, and were never again seen by mortal eye. But in process of time seven youths, distinguished in the war and in the chase, appeared in the environs of the castle of the demons. They were darker, taller, fiercer, and more resolute157 than any of the scattered158 inhabitants of the valleys of Kurdistan; and they took to themselves wives, and became fathers of the seven tribes of the Kurdmans, whose valour is known throughout the universe.”
The Christian knight heard with wonder the wild tale, of which Kurdistan still possesses the traces, and, after a moment’s thought, replied, “Verily, Sir Knight, you have spoken well — your genealogy159 may be dreaded160 and hated, but it cannot be contemned161. Neither do I any longer wonder at your obstinacy162 in a false faith, since, doubtless, it is part of the fiendish disposition163 which hath descended164 from your ancestors, those infernal huntsmen, as you have described them, to love falsehood rather than truth; and I no longer marvel165 that your spirits become high and exalted166, and vent48 themselves in verse and in tunes167, when you approach to the places encumbered168 by the haunting of evil spirits, which must excite in you that joyous169 feeling which others experience when approaching the land of their human ancestry170.”
“By my father’s beard, I think thou hast the right,” said the Saracen, rather amused than offended by the freedom with which the Christian had uttered his reflections; “for, though the Prophet (blessed be his name!) hath sown amongst us the seed of a better faith than our ancestors learned in the ghostly halls of Tugrut, yet we are not willing, like other Moslemah, to pass hasty doom171 on the lofty and powerful elementary spirits from whom we claim our origin. These Genii, according to our belief and hope, are not altogether reprobate172, but are still in the way of probation173, and may hereafter be punished or rewarded. Leave we this to the mollahs and the imaums. Enough that with us the reverence174 for these spirits is not altogether effaced175 by what we have learned from the Koran, and that many of us still sing, in memorial of our fathers’ more ancient faith, such verses as these.”
So saying, he proceeded to chant verses, very ancient in the language and structure, which some have thought derive their source from the worshippers of Arimanes, the Evil Principle.
AHRIMAN.
Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still Holds origin of woe176 and ill! When, bending at thy shrine177, We view the world with troubled eye, Where see we ‘neath the extended sky, An empire matching thine!
If the Benigner Power can yield A fountain in the desert field, Where weary pilgrims drink; Thine are the waves that lash178 the rock, Thine the tornado’s deadly shock, Where countless179 navies sink!
Or if he bid the soil dispense180 Balsams to cheer the sinking sense, How few can they deliver From lingering pains, or pang181 intense, Red Fever, spotted182 Pestilence183, The arrows of thy quiver!
Chief in Man’s bosom sits thy sway, And frequent, while in words we pray Before another throne, Whate’er of specious184 form be there, The secret meaning of the prayer Is, Ahriman, thine own.
Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form, Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm, As Eastern Magi say; With sentient185 soul of hate and wrath186, And wings to sweep thy deadly path, And fangs187 to tear thy prey?
Or art thou mix’d in Nature’s source, An ever-operating force, Converting good to ill; An evil principle innate188, Contending with our better fate, And, oh! victorious still?
Howe’er it be, dispute is vain. On all without thou hold’st thy reign38, Nor less on all within; Each mortal passion’s fierce career, Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear, Thou goadest into sin.
Whene’er a sunny gleam appears, To brighten up our vale of tears, Thou art not distant far; ‘Mid such brief solace189 of our lives, Thou whett’st our very banquet-knives To tools of death and war.
Thus, from the moment of our birth, Long as we linger on the earth, Thou rulest the fate of men; Thine are the pangs190 of life’s last hour, And — who dare answer? — is thy power, Dark Spirit! ended THEN?
[The worthy191 and learned clergyman by whom this species of hymn192 has been translated desires, that, for fear of misconception, we should warn the reader to recollect14 that it is composed by a heathen, to whom the real causes of moral and physical evil are unknown, and who views their predominance in the system of the universe as all must view that appalling193 fact who have not the benefit of the Christian revelation. On our own part, we beg to add, that we understand the style of the translator is more paraphrastic194 than can be approved by those who are acquainted with the singularly curious original. The translator seems to have despaired of rendering195 into English verse the flights of Oriental poetry; and, possibly, like many learned and ingenious men, finding it impossible to discover the sense of the original, he may have tacitly substituted his own.]
These verses may perhaps have been the not unnatural196 effusion of some half-enlightened philosopher, who, in the fabled197 deity198, Arimanes, saw but the prevalence of moral and physical evil; but in the ears of Sir Kenneth of the Leopard they had a different effect, and, sung as they were by one who had just boasted himself a descendant of demons, sounded very like an address of worship to the arch-fiend himself. He weighed within himself whether, on hearing such blasphemy in the very desert where Satan had stood rebuked199 for demanding homage, taking an abrupt200 leave of the Saracen was sufficient to testify his abhorrence201; or whether he was not rather constrained202 by his vow as a Crusader to defy the infidel to combat on the spot, and leave him food for the beasts of the wilderness, when his attention was suddenly caught by an unexpected apparition203.
The light was now verging204 low, yet served the knight still to discern that they two were no longer alone in the desert, but were closely watched by a figure of great height and very thin, which skipped over rocks and bushes with so much agility205 as, added to the wild and hirsute206 appearance of the individual, reminded him of the fauns and silvans, whose images he had seen in the ancient temples of Rome. As the single-hearted Scottishman had never for a moment doubted these gods of the ancient Gentiles to be actually devils, so he now hesitated not to believe that the blasphemous207 hymn of the Saracen had raised up an infernal spirit.
“But what recks it?” said stout123 Sir Kenneth to himself; “down with the fiend and his worshippers!”
He did not, however, think it necessary to give the same warning of defiance to two enemies as he would unquestionably have afforded to one. His hand was upon his mace208, and perhaps the unwary Saracen would have been paid for his Persian poetry by having his brains dashed out on the spot, without any reason assigned for it; but the Scottish Knight was spared from committing what would have been a sore blot209 in his shield of arms. The apparition, on which his eyes had been fixed for some time, had at first appeared to dog their path by concealing210 itself behind rocks and shrubs211, using those advantages of the ground with great address, and surmounting212 its irregularities with surprising agility. At length, just as the Saracen paused in his song, the figure, which was that of a tall man clothed in goat-skins, sprung into the midst of the path, and seized a rein213 of the Saracen’s bridle214 in either hand, confronting thus and bearing back the noble horse, which, unable to endure the manner in which this sudden assailant pressed the long-armed bit, and the severe curb215, which, according to the Eastern fashion, was a solid ring of iron, reared upright, and finally fell backwards216 on his master, who, however, avoided the peril217 of the fall by lightly throwing himself to one side.
The assailant then shifted his grasp from the bridle of the horse to the throat of the rider, flung himself above the struggling Saracen, and, despite of his youth and activity kept him undermost, wreathing his long arms above those of his prisoner, who called out angrily, and yet half-laughing at the same time —“Hamako — fool — unloose me — this passes thy privilege — unloose me, or I will use my dagger218.”
“Thy dagger! — infidel dog!” said the figure in the goat-skins, “hold it in thy gripe if thou canst!” and in an instant he wrenched219 the Saracen’s weapon out of its owner’s hand, and brandished220 it over his head.
“Help, Nazarene!” cried Sheerkohf, now seriously alarmed; “help, or the Hamako will slay221 me.”
“Slay thee!” replied the dweller222 of the desert; “and well hast thou merited death, for singing thy blasphemous hymns223, not only to the praise of thy false prophet, who is the foul fiend’s harbinger, but to that of the Author of Evil himself.”
The Christian Knight had hitherto looked on as one stupefied, so strangely had this rencontre contradicted, in its progress and event, all that he had previously224 conjectured225. He felt, however, at length, that it touched his honour to interfere226 in behalf of his discomfited227 companion, and therefore addressed himself to the victorious figure in the goat-skins.
“Whosoe’er thou art,” he said, “and whether of good or of evil, know that I am sworn for the time to be true companion to the Saracen whom thou holdest under thee; therefore, I pray thee to let him arise, else I will do battle with thee in his behalf.”
“And a proper quarrel it were,” answered the Hamako, “for a Crusader to do battle in-for the sake of an unbaptized dog, to combat one of his own holy faith! Art thou come forth to the wilderness to fight for the Crescent against the Cross? A goodly soldier of God art thou to listen to those who sing the praises of Satan!”
Yet, while he spoke thus, he arose himself, and, suffering the Saracen to rise also, returned him his cangiar, or poniard.
“Thou seest to what a point of peril thy presumption228 hath brought thee,” continued he of the goat-skins, now addressing Sheerkohf, “and by what weak means thy practised skill and boasted agility can be foiled, when such is Heaven’s pleasure. Wherefore, beware, O Ilderim! for know that, were there not a twinkle in the star of thy nativity which promises for thee something that is good and gracious in Heaven’s good time, we two had not parted till I had torn asunder229 the throat which so lately trilled forth blasphemies230.”
“Hamako,” said the Saracen, without any appearance of resenting the violent language and yet more violent assault to which he had been subjected, “I pray thee, good Hamako, to beware how thou dost again urge thy privilege over far; for though, as a good Moslem, I respect those whom Heaven hath deprived of ordinary reason, in order to endow them with the spirit of prophecy, yet I like not other men’s hands on the bridle of my horse, neither upon my own person. Speak, therefore, what thou wilt, secure of any resentment231 from me; but gather so much sense as to apprehend232 that if thou shalt again proffer233 me any violence, I will strike thy shagged head from thy meagre shoulders. — and to thee, friend Kenneth,” he added, as he remounted his steed, “I must needs say, that in a companion through the desert, I love friendly deeds better than fair words. Of the last thou hast given me enough; but it had been better to have aided me more speedily in my struggle with this Hamako, who had well-nigh taken my life in his frenzy,”
“By my faith,” said the Knight, “I did somewhat fail — was somewhat tardy234 in rendering thee instant help; but the strangeness of the assailant, the suddenness of the scene — it was as if thy wild and wicked lay had raised the devil among us — and such was my confusion, that two or three minutes elapsed ere I could take to my weapon.”
“Thou art but a cold and considerate friend,” said the Saracen; “and, had the Hamako been one grain more frantic235, thy companion had been slain236 by thy side, to thy eternal dishonour237, without thy stirring a finger in his aid, although thou satest by, mounted, and in arms.”
“By my word, Saracen,” said the Christian, “if thou wilt have it in plain terms, I thought that strange figure was the devil; and being of thy lineage, I knew not what family secret you might be communicating to each other, as you lay lovingly rolling together on the sand.”
“Thy gibe238 is no answer, brother Kenneth,” said the Saracen; “for know, that had my assailant been in very deed the Prince of Darkness, thou wert bound not the less to enter into combat with him in thy comrade’s behalf. Know, also, that whatever there may be of foul or of fiendish about the Hamako belongs more to your lineage than to mine — this Hamako being, in truth, the anchorite whom thou art come hither to visit.”
“This!” said Sir Kenneth, looking at the athletic239 yet wasted figure before him —“this! Thou mockest, Saracen — this cannot be the venerable Theodorick!”
“Ask himself, if thou wilt not believe me,” answered Sheerkohf; and ere the words had left his mouth, the hermit240 gave evidence in his own behalf.
“I am Theodorick of Engaddi,” he said —“I am the walker of the desert — I am friend of the Cross, and flail241 of all infidels, heretics, and devil-worshippers. Avoid ye, avoid ye! Down with Mahound, Termagaunt, and all their adherents242!”— So saying, he pulled from under his shaggy garment a sort of flail or jointed243 club, bound with iron, which he brandished round his head with singular dexterity244,
“Thou seest thy saint,” said the Saracen, laughing, for the first time, at the unmitigated astonishment245 with which Sir Kenneth looked on the wild gestures and heard the wayward muttering of Theodorick, who, after swinging his flail in every direction, apparently246 quite reckless whether it encountered the head of either of his companions, finally showed his own strength, and the soundness of the weapon, by striking into fragments a large stone which lay near him.
“This is a madman,” said Sir Kenneth.
“Not the worse saint,” returned the Moslem, speaking according to the well-known Eastern belief, that madmen are under the influence of immediate247 inspiration. “Know, Christian, that when one eye is extinguished, the other becomes more keen; when one hand is cut off, the other becomes more powerful; so, when our reason in human things is disturbed or destroyed, our view heavenward becomes more acute and perfect.”
Here the voice of the Saracen was drowned in that of the hermit, who began to hollo aloud in a wild, chanting tone, “I am Theodorick of Engaddi — I am the torch-brand of the desert — I am the flail of the infidels! The lion and the leopard shall be my comrades, and draw nigh to my cell for shelter; neither shall the goat be afraid of their fangs. I am the torch and the lantern — Kyrie Eleison!”
He closed his song by a short race, and ended that again by three forward bounds, which would have done him great credit in a gymnastic academy, but became his character of hermit so indifferently that the Scottish Knight was altogether confounded and bewildered.
The Saracen seemed to understand him better. “You see,” he said, “that he expects us to follow him to his cell, which, indeed, is our only place of refuge for the night. You are the leopard, from the portrait on your shield; I am the lion, as my name imports; and by the goat, alluding248 to his garb249 of goat-skins, he means himself. We must keep him in sight, however, for he is as fleet as a dromedary.”
In fact, the task was a difficult one, for though the reverend guide stopped from time to time, and waved his hand, as if to encourage them to come on, yet, well acquainted with all the winding250 dells and passes of the desert, and gifted with uncommon251 activity, which, perhaps, an unsettled state of mind kept in constant exercise, he led the knights through chasms and along footpaths252 where even the light-armed Saracen, with his well-trained barb253, was in considerable risk, and where the iron-sheathed254 European and his over-burdened steed found themselves in such imminent255 peril as the rider would gladly have exchanged for the dangers of a general action. Glad he was when, at length, after this wild race, he beheld256 the holy man who had led it standing257 in front of a cavern72, with a large torch in his hand, composed of a piece of wood dipped in bitumen258, which cast a broad and flickering259 light, and emitted a strong sulphureous smell.
Undeterred by the stifling260 vapour, the knight threw himself from his horse and entered the cavern, which afforded small appearance of accommodation. The cell was divided into two parts, in the outward of which were an altar of stone and a crucifix made of reeds: this served the anchorite for his chapel261. On one side of this outward cave the Christian knight, though not without scruple262, arising from religious reverence to the objects around, fastened up his horse, and arranged him for the night, in imitation of the Saracen, who gave him to understand that such was the custom of the place. The hermit, meanwhile, was busied putting his inner apartment in order to receive his guests, and there they soon joined him. At the bottom of the outer cave, a small aperture263, closed with a door of rough plank264, led into the sleeping apartment of the hermit, which was more commodious265. The floor had been brought to a rough level by the labour of the inhabitant, and then strewed266 with white sand, which he daily sprinkled with water from a small fountain which bubbled out of the rock in one corner, affording in that stifling climate, refreshment alike to the ear and the taste. Mattresses267, wrought268 of twisted flags, lay by the side of the cell; the sides, like the floor, had been roughly brought to shape, and several herbs and flowers were hung around them. Two waxen torches, which the hermit lighted, gave a cheerful air to the place, which was rendered agreeable by its fragrance269 and coolness.
There were implements270 of labour in one corner of the apartment, in another was a niche271 for a rude statue of the Virgin272. A table and two chairs showed that they must be the handiwork of the anchorite, being different in their form from Oriental accommodations. The former was covered, not only with reeds and pulse, but also with dried flesh, which Theodorick assiduously placed in such arrangement as should invite the appetite of his guests. This appearance of courtesy, though mute, and expressed by gestures only, seemed to Sir Kenneth something entirely irreconcilable273 with his former wild and violent demeanour. The movements of the hermit were now become composed, and apparently it was only a sense of religious humiliation274 which prevented his features, emaciated275 as they were by his austere276 mode of life, from being majestic277 and noble. He trod his cell as one who seemed born to rule over men, but who had abdicated278 his empire to become the servant of Heaven. Still, it must be allowed that his gigantic size, the length of his unshaven locks and beard, and the fire of a deep-set and wild eye were rather attributes of a soldier than of a recluse279.
Even the Saracen seemed to regard the anchorite with some veneration280, while he was thus employed, and he whispered in a low tone to Sir Kenneth, “The Hamako is now in his better mind, but he will not speak until we have eaten — such is his vow.”
It was in silence, accordingly, that Theodorick motioned to the Scot to take his place on one of the low chairs, while Sheerkohf placed himself, after the custom of his nation, upon a cushion of mats. The hermit then held up both hands, as if blessing281 the refreshment which he had placed before his guests, and they proceeded to eat in silence as profound as his own. To the Saracen this gravity was natural; and the Christian imitated his taciturnity, while he employed his thoughts on the singularity of his own situation, and the contrast betwixt the wild, furious gesticulations, loud cries, and fierce actions of Theodorick, when they first met him, and the demure282, solemn, decorous assiduity with which he now performed the duties of hospitality.
When their meal was ended, the hermit, who had not himself eaten a morsel283, removed the fragments from the table, and placing before the Saracen a pitcher284 of sherbet, assigned to the Scot a flask285 of wine.
“Drink,” he said, “my children”— they were the first words he had spoken —“the gifts of God are to be enjoyed, when the Giver is remembered.”
Having said this, he retired286 to the outward cell, probably for performance of his devotions, and left his guests together in the inner apartment; when Sir Kenneth endeavoured, by various questions, to draw from Sheerkohf what that Emir knew concerning his host. He was interested by more than mere curiosity in these inquiries287. Difficult as it was to reconcile the outrageous288 demeanour of the recluse at his first appearance with his present humble289 and placid290 behaviour, it seemed yet more impossible to think it consistent with the high consideration in which, according to what Sir Kenneth had learned, this hermit was held by the most enlightened divines of the Christian world. Theodorick, the hermit of Engaddi, had, in that character, been the correspondent of popes and councils; to whom his letters, full of eloquent291 fervour, had described the miseries292 imposed by the unbelievers upon the Latin Christians in the Holy Land, in colours scarce inferior to those employed at the Council of Clermont by the Hermit Peter, when he preached the first Crusade. To find, in a person so reverend and so much revered293, the frantic gestures of a mad fakir, induced the Christian knight to pause ere he could resolve to communicate to him certain important matters, which he had in charge from some of the leaders of the Crusade.
It had been a main object of Sir Kenneth’s pilgrimage, attempted by a route so unusual, to make such communications; but what he had that night seen induced him to pause and reflect ere he proceeded to the execution of his commission. From the Emir he could not extract much information, but the general tenor294 was as follows:— That, as he had heard, the hermit had been once a brave and valiant soldier, wise in council and fortunate in battle, which last he could easily believe from the great strength and agility which he had often seen him display; that he had appeared at Jerusalem in the character not of a pilgrim, but in that of one who had devoted295 himself to dwell for the remainder of his life in the Holy Land. Shortly afterwards, he fixed his residence amid the scenes of desolation where they now found him, respected by the Latins for his austere devotion, and by the Turks and Arabs on account of the symptoms of insanity296 which he displayed, and which they ascribed to inspiration. It was from them he had the name of Hamako, which expresses such a character in the Turkish language. Sheerkohf himself seemed at a loss how to rank their host. He had been, he said, a wise man, and could often for many hours together speak lessons of virtue297 or wisdom, without the slightest appearance of inaccuracy. At other times he was wild and violent, but never before had he seen him so mischievously298 disposed as he had that day appeared to be. His rage was chiefly provoked by any affront152 to his religion; and there was a story of some wandering Arabs, who had insulted his worship and defaced his altar, and whom he had on that account attacked and slain with the short flail which he carried with him in lieu of all other weapons. This incident had made a great noise, and it was as much the fear of the hermit’s iron flail as regard for his character as a Hamako which caused the roving tribes to respect his dwelling299 and his chapel. His fame had spread so far that Saladin had issued particular orders that he should be spared and protected. He himself, and other Moslem lords of rank, had visited the cell more than once, partly from curiosity, partly that they expected from a man so learned as the Christian Hamako some insight into the secrets of futurity. “He had,” continued the Saracen, “a rashid, or observatory300, of great height, contrived301 to view the heavenly bodies, and particularly the planetary system — by whose movements and influences, as both Christian and Moslem believed, the course of human events was regulated, and might be predicted.”
This was the substance of the Emir Sheerkohf’s information, and it left Sir Kenneth in doubt whether the character of insanity arose from the occasional excessive fervour of the hermit’s zeal302, or whether it was not altogether fictitious303, and assumed for the sake of the immunities304 which it afforded. Yet it seemed that the infidels had carried their complaisance305 towards him to an uncommon length, considering the fanaticism306 of the followers of Mohammed, in the midst of whom he was living, though the professed307 enemy of their faith. He thought also there was more intimacy of acquaintance betwixt the hermit and the Saracen than the words of the latter had induced him to anticipate; and it had not escaped him that the former had called the latter by a name different from that which he himself had assumed. All these considerations authorized308 caution, if not suspicion. He determined309 to observe his host closely, and not to be over-hasty in communicating with him on the important charge entrusted310 to him.
“Beware, Saracen,” he said; “methinks our host’s imagination wanders as well on the subject of names as upon other matters. Thy name is Sheerkohf, and he called thee but now by another.”
“My name, when in the tent of my father,” replied the Kurdman, “was Ilderim, and by this I am still distinguished by many. In the field, and to soldiers, I am known as the Lion of the Mountain, being the name my good sword hath won for me. But hush311, the Hamako comes — it is to warn us to rest. I know his custom; none must watch him at his vigils.”
The anchorite accordingly entered, and folding his arms on his bosom as he stood before them, said with a solemn voice, “Blessed be His name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit!”
Both warriors replied “Amen!” and, arising from the table, prepared to betake themselves to the couches, which their host indicated by waving his hand, as, making a reverence to each, he again withdrew from the apartment.
The Knight of the Leopard then disarmed312 himself of his heavy panoply313, his Saracen companion kindly314 assisting him to undo46 his buckler and clasps, until he remained in the close dress of chamois leather, which knights and men-at-arms used to wear under their harness. The Saracen, if he had admired the strength of his adversary315 when sheathed in steel, was now no less struck with the accuracy of proportion displayed in his nervous and well-compacted figure. The knight, on the other hand, as, in exchange of courtesy, he assisted the Saracen to disrobe himself of his upper garments, that he might sleep with more convenience, was, on his side, at a loss to conceive how such slender proportions and slimness of figure could be reconciled with the vigour316 he had displayed in personal contest.
Each warrior prayed ere he addressed himself to his place of rest. The Moslem turned towards his KEBLAH, the point to which the prayer of each follower35 of the Prophet was to be addressed, and murmured his heathen orisons; while the Christian, withdrawing from the contamination of the infidel’s neighbourhood, placed his huge cross-handled sword upright, and kneeling before it as the sign of salvation, told his rosary with a devotion which was enhanced by the recollection of the scenes through which he had passed, and the dangers from which he had been rescued, in the course of the day. Both warriors, worn by toil and travel, were soon fast asleep, each on his separate pallet.
点击收听单词发音
1 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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2 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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3 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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4 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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5 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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6 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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7 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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8 prosecuted | |
a.被起诉的 | |
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9 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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10 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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11 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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12 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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13 slake | |
v.解渴,使平息 | |
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14 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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15 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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16 bestows | |
赠给,授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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18 alleviated | |
减轻,缓解,缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 heeded | |
v.听某人的劝告,听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 );变平,使(某物)变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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21 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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22 mortar | |
n.灰浆,灰泥;迫击炮;v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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23 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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24 navigating | |
v.给(船舶、飞机等)引航,导航( navigate的现在分词 );(从海上、空中等)横越;横渡;飞跃 | |
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25 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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26 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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27 leopard | |
n.豹 | |
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28 Moslem | |
n.回教徒,穆罕默德信徒;adj.回教徒的,回教的 | |
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29 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
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30 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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31 kinsmen | |
n.家属,亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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32 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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33 archers | |
n.弓箭手,射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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34 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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35 follower | |
n.跟随者;随员;门徒;信徒 | |
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36 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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37 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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38 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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39 reigns | |
n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 );君主统治时期;任期;当政期 | |
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40 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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41 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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42 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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43 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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44 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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45 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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46 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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47 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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49 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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50 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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51 javelin | |
n.标枪,投枪 | |
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52 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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53 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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54 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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55 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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56 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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57 extremities | |
n.端点( extremity的名词复数 );尽头;手和足;极窘迫的境地 | |
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58 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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59 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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60 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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61 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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62 dictates | |
n.命令,规定,要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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63 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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64 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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65 pique | |
v.伤害…的自尊心,使生气 n.不满,生气 | |
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66 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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67 binds | |
v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 );装订;捆绑;(用长布条)缠绕 | |
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68 sterile | |
adj.不毛的,不孕的,无菌的,枯燥的,贫瘠的 | |
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69 eminences | |
卓越( eminence的名词复数 ); 著名; 高地; 山丘 | |
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70 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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71 ascents | |
n.上升( ascent的名词复数 );(身份、地位等的)提高;上坡路;攀登 | |
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72 cavern | |
n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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73 caverns | |
大山洞,大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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74 chasm | |
n.深坑,断层,裂口,大分岐,利害冲突 | |
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75 chasms | |
裂缝( chasm的名词复数 ); 裂口; 分歧; 差别 | |
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76 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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78 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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79 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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80 depredations | |
n.劫掠,毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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81 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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82 ravages | |
劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
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83 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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84 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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86 assail | |
v.猛烈攻击,抨击,痛斥 | |
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87 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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88 wildernesses | |
荒野( wilderness的名词复数 ); 沙漠; (政治家)在野; 不再当政(或掌权) | |
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89 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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90 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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91 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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92 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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93 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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94 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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95 sonnets | |
n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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96 ruby | |
n.红宝石,红宝石色 | |
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97 amity | |
n.友好关系 | |
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98 licentious | |
adj.放纵的,淫乱的 | |
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99 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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100 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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101 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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102 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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103 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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104 mole | |
n.胎块;痣;克分子 | |
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105 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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106 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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107 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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108 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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109 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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110 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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111 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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112 psalms | |
n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 );圣诗;圣歌;(中的) | |
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113 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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114 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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115 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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116 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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117 necromancy | |
n.巫术;通灵术 | |
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118 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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119 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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120 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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121 avouched | |
v.保证,断言,承认( avouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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124 vaults | |
n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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125 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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126 devouring | |
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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127 levied | |
征(兵)( levy的过去式和过去分词 ); 索取; 发动(战争); 征税 | |
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128 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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129 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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130 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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131 imprisoned | |
下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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133 ravening | |
a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
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134 purvey | |
v.(大量)供给,供应 | |
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135 maidens | |
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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136 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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137 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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138 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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139 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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140 shafts | |
n.轴( shaft的名词复数 );(箭、高尔夫球棒等的)杆;通风井;一阵(疼痛、害怕等) | |
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141 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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142 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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143 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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144 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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145 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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146 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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147 disdained | |
鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
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148 omnipotence | |
n.全能,万能,无限威力 | |
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149 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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150 persecuting | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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151 affronted | |
adj.被侮辱的,被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 );相遇 | |
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152 affront | |
n./v.侮辱,触怒 | |
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153 fealty | |
n.忠贞,忠节 | |
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154 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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155 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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156 enchanted | |
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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157 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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158 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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159 genealogy | |
n.家系,宗谱 | |
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160 dreaded | |
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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161 contemned | |
v.侮辱,蔑视( contemn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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163 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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164 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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165 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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166 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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167 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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168 encumbered | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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169 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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170 ancestry | |
n.祖先,家世 | |
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171 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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172 reprobate | |
n.无赖汉;堕落的人 | |
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173 probation | |
n.缓刑(期),(以观后效的)察看;试用(期) | |
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174 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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175 effaced | |
v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
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176 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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177 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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178 lash | |
v.系牢;鞭打;猛烈抨击;n.鞭打;眼睫毛 | |
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179 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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180 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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181 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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182 spotted | |
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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183 pestilence | |
n.瘟疫 | |
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184 specious | |
adj.似是而非的;adv.似是而非地 | |
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185 sentient | |
adj.有知觉的,知悉的;adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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186 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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187 fangs | |
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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188 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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189 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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190 pangs | |
突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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191 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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192 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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193 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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194 paraphrastic | |
adj.改写成容易明白的,说明性的 | |
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195 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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196 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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197 fabled | |
adj.寓言中的,虚构的 | |
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198 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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199 rebuked | |
责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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200 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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201 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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202 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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203 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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204 verging | |
接近,逼近(verge的现在分词形式) | |
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205 agility | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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206 hirsute | |
adj.多毛的 | |
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207 blasphemous | |
adj.亵渎神明的,不敬神的 | |
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208 mace | |
n.狼牙棒,豆蔻干皮 | |
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209 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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210 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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211 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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212 surmounting | |
战胜( surmount的现在分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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213 rein | |
n.疆绳,统治,支配;vt.以僵绳控制,统治 | |
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214 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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215 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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216 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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217 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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218 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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219 wrenched | |
v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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220 brandished | |
v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 );炫耀 | |
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221 slay | |
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
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222 dweller | |
n.居住者,住客 | |
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223 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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224 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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225 conjectured | |
推测,猜测,猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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226 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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227 discomfited | |
v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词);使狼狈;使挫折;挫败 | |
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228 presumption | |
n.推测,可能性,冒昧,放肆,[法律]推定 | |
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229 asunder | |
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
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230 blasphemies | |
n.对上帝的亵渎,亵渎的言词[行为]( blasphemy的名词复数 );侮慢的言词(或行为) | |
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231 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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232 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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233 proffer | |
v.献出,赠送;n.提议,建议 | |
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234 tardy | |
adj.缓慢的,迟缓的 | |
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235 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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236 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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237 dishonour | |
n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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238 gibe | |
n.讥笑;嘲弄 | |
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239 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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240 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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241 flail | |
v.用连枷打;击打;n.连枷(脱粒用的工具) | |
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242 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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243 jointed | |
有接缝的 | |
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244 dexterity | |
n.(手的)灵巧,灵活 | |
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245 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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246 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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247 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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248 alluding | |
提及,暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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249 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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250 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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251 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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252 footpaths | |
人行小径,人行道( footpath的名词复数 ) | |
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253 barb | |
n.(鱼钩等的)倒钩,倒刺 | |
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254 sheathed | |
adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的;覆盖的;铠装的;装鞘了的v.将(刀、剑等)插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 );包,覆盖 | |
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255 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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256 beheld | |
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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257 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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258 bitumen | |
n.沥青 | |
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259 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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260 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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261 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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262 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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263 aperture | |
n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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264 plank | |
n.板条,木板,政策要点,政纲条目 | |
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265 commodious | |
adj.宽敞的;使用方便的 | |
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266 strewed | |
v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 );散落于;点缀;撒满 | |
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267 mattresses | |
褥垫,床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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268 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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269 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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270 implements | |
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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271 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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272 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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273 irreconcilable | |
adj.(指人)难和解的,势不两立的 | |
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274 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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275 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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276 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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277 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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278 abdicated | |
放弃(职责、权力等)( abdicate的过去式和过去分词 ); 退位,逊位 | |
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279 recluse | |
n.隐居者 | |
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280 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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281 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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282 demure | |
adj.严肃的;端庄的 | |
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283 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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284 pitcher | |
n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐;(棒球)投手 | |
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285 flask | |
n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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286 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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287 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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288 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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289 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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290 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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291 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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292 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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293 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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294 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
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295 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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296 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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297 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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298 mischievously | |
adv.有害地;淘气地 | |
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299 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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300 observatory | |
n.天文台,气象台,瞭望台,观测台 | |
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301 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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302 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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303 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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304 immunities | |
免除,豁免( immunity的名词复数 ); 免疫力 | |
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305 complaisance | |
n.彬彬有礼,殷勤,柔顺 | |
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306 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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307 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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308 authorized | |
a.委任的,许可的 | |
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309 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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310 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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311 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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312 disarmed | |
v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 );使息怒 | |
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313 panoply | |
n.全副甲胄,礼服 | |
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314 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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315 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
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316 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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