Come! another log upon the hearth2. True, our little parlor3 is comfortable, especially here where the old man sits in his old arm-chair; but on Thanksgiving-night the blaze should dance higher up the chimney and send a shower of sparks into the outer darkness. Toss on an armful of those dry oak chips, the last relicts of the Mermaid4’s knee-timbers — the bones of your namesake, Susan. Higher yet, and clearer, be the blaze, till our cottage windows glow the ruddiest in the village and the light of our household mirth flash far across the bay to Nahant.
And now come, Susan; come, my children. Draw your chairs round me, all of you. There is a dimness over your figures. You sit quivering indistinctly with each motion of the blaze, which eddies5 about you like a flood; so that you all have the look of visions or people that dwell only in the firelight, and will vanish from existence as completely as your own shadows when the flame shall sink among the embers.
Hark! let me listen for the swell6 of the surf; it should be audible a mile inland on a night like this. Yes; there I catch the sound, but only an uncertain murmur7, as if a good way down over the beach, though by the almanac it is high tide at eight o’clock, and the billows must now be dashing within thirty yards of our door. Ah! the old man’s ears are failing him, and so is his eyesight, and perhaps his mind, else you would not all be so shadowy in the blaze of his Thanksgiving fire.
How strangely the past is peeping over the shoulders of the present! To judge by my recollections, it is but a few moments since I sat in another room. Yonder model of a vessel9 was not there, nor the old chest of drawers, nor Susan’s profile and mine in that gilt10 frame — nothing, in short, except this same fire, which glimmered12 on books, papers and a picture, and half discovered my solitary13 figure in a looking-glass. But it was paler than my rugged14 old self, and younger, too, by almost half a century.
Speak to me, Susan; speak, my beloved ones; for the scene is glimmering15 on my sight again, and as it brightens you fade away. Oh, I should be loth to lose my treasure of past happiness and become once more what I was then — a hermit16 in the depths of my own mind, sometimes yawning over drowsy17 volumes and anon a scribbler of wearier trash than what I read; a man who had wandered out of the real world and got into its shadow, where his troubles, joys and vicissitudes18 were of such slight stuff that he hardly knew whether he lived or only dreamed of living. Thank Heaven I am an old man now and have done with all such vanities!
Still this dimness of mine eyes! — Come nearer, Susan, and stand before the fullest blaze of the hearth. Now I behold19 you illuminated20 from head to foot, in your clean cap and decent gown, with the dear lock of gray hair across your forehead and a quiet smile about your mouth, while the eyes alone are concealed21 by the red gleam of the fire upon your spectacles. There! you made me tremble again. When the flame quivered, my sweet Susan, you quivered with it and grew indistinct, as if melting into the warm light, that my last glimpse of you might be as visionary as the first was, full many a year since. Do you remember it? You stood on the little bridge over the brook22 that runs across King’s Beach into the sea. It was twilight23, the waves rolling in, the wind sweeping24 by, the crimson25 clouds fading in the west and the silver moon brightening above the hill; and on the bridge were you, fluttering in the breeze like a sea-bird that might skim away at your pleasure. You seemed a daughter of the viewless wind, a creature of the ocean-foam26 and the crimson light, whose merry life was spent in dancing on the crests27 of the billows that threw up their spray to support your footsteps. As I drew nearer I fancied you akin28 to the race of mermaids29, and thought how pleasant it would be to dwell with you among the quiet coves30 in the shadow of the cliffs, and to roam along secluded31 beaches of the purest sand, and, when our Northern shores grew bleak32, to haunt the islands, green and lonely, far amid summer seas. And yet it gladdened me, after all this nonsense, to find you nothing but a pretty young girl sadly perplexed33 with the rude behavior of the wind about your petticoats. Thus I did with Susan as with most other things in my earlier days, dipping her image into my mind and coloring it of a thousand fantastic hues34 before I could see her as she really was.
Now, Susan, for a sober picture of our village. It was a small collection of dwellings36 that seemed to have been cast up by the sea with the rock-weed and marine37 plants that it vomits38 after a storm, or to have come ashore39 among the pipe-staves and other lumber40 which had been washed from the deck of an Eastern schooner41. There was just space for the narrow and sandy street between the beach in front and a precipitous hill that lifted its rocky forehead in the rear among a waste of juniper-bushes and the wild growth of a broken pasture. The village was picturesque42 in the variety of its edifices43, though all were rude. Here stood a little old hovel, built, perhaps, of driftwood, there a row of boat-houses, and beyond them a two-story dwelling35 of dark and weatherbeaten aspect, the whole intermixed with one or two snug44 cottages painted white, a sufficiency of pig-styes and a shoemaker’s shop. Two grocery stores stood opposite each other in the centre of the village. These were the places of resort at their idle hours of a hardy45 throng46 of fishermen in red baize shirts, oilcloth trousers and boots of brown leather covering the whole leg — true seven-league boots, but fitter to wade47 the ocean than walk the earth. The wearers seemed amphibious, as if they did but creep out of salt water to sun themselves; nor would it have been wonderful to see their lower limbs covered with clusters of little shellfish such as cling to rocks and old ship-timber over which the tide ebbs48 and flows. When their fleet of boats was weather-bound, the butchers raised their price, and the spit was busier than the frying-pan; for this was a place of fish, and known as such to all the country round about. The very air was fishy49, being perfumed with dead sculpins, hard-heads and dogfish strewn plentifully50 on the beach. — You see, children, the village is but little changed since your mother and I were young.
How like a dream it was when I bent51 over a pool of water one pleasant morning and saw that the ocean had dashed its spray over me and made me a fisherman! There was the tarpaulin52, the baize shirt, the oilcloth trousers and seven-league boots, and there my own features, but so reddened with sunburn and sea-breezes that methought I had another face, and on other shoulders too. The seagulls and the loons and I had now all one trade: we skimmed the crested54 waves and sought our prey55 beneath them, the man with as keen enjoyment56 as the birds. Always when the east grew purple I launched my dory, my little flat-bottomed skiff, and rowed cross-handed to Point Ledge57, the Middle Ledge, or perhaps beyond Egg Rock; often, too, did I anchor off Dread58 Ledge — a spot of peril59 to ships unpiloted — and sometimes spread an adventurous60 sail and tracked across the bay to South Shore, casting my lines in sight of Scituate. Ere nightfall I hauled my skiff high and dry on the beach, laden61 with red rock-cod62 or the white-bellied ones of deep water, haddock bearing the black marks of St. Peter’s fingers near the gills, the long-bearded hake whose liver holds oil enough for a midnight lamp, and now and then a mighty63 halibut with a back broad as my boat. In the autumn I toled and caught those lovely fish the mackerel. When the wind was high, when the whale-boats anchored off the Point nodded their slender masts at each other and the dories pitched and tossed in the surf, when Nahant Beach was thundering three miles off and the spray broke a hundred feet in the air round the distant base of Egg Rock, when the brimful and boisterous64 sea threatened to tumble over the street of our village, — then I made a holiday on shore.
Many such a day did I sit snugly65 in Mr. Bartlett’s store, attentive66 to the yarns67 of Uncle Parker — uncle to the whole village by right of seniority, but of Southern blood, with no kindred in New England. His figure is before me now enthroned upon a mackerel-barrel — a lean old man of great height, but bent with years and twisted into an uncouth68 shape by seven broken limbs; furrowed69, also, and weatherworn, as if every gale70 for the better part of a century had caught him somewhere on the sea. He looked like a harbinger of tempest — a shipmate of the Flying Dutchman. After innumerable voyages aboard men-of-war and merchantmen, fishing-schooners71 and chebacco-boats, the old salt had become master of a hand-cart, which he daily trundled about the vicinity, and sometimes blew his fish-horn through the streets of Salem. One of Uncle Parker’s eyes had been blown out with gunpowder72, and the other did but glimmer11 in its socket73. Turning it upward as he spoke74, it was his delight to tell of cruises against the French and battles with his own shipmates, when he and an antagonist75 used to be seated astride of a sailor’s chest, each fastened down by a spike-nail through his trousers, and there to fight it out. Sometimes he expatiated76 on the delicious flavor of the hagden, a greasy77 and goose-like fowl78 which the sailors catch with hook and line on the Grand Banks. He dwelt with rapture79 on an interminable winter at the Isle80 of Sables81, where he had gladdened himself amid polar snows with the rum and sugar saved from the wreck82 of a West India schooner. And wrathfully did he shake his fist as he related how a party of Cape83 Cod men had robbed him and his companions of their lawful84 spoils and sailed away with every keg of old Jamaica, leaving him not a drop to drown his sorrow. Villains85 they were, and of that wicked brotherhood86 who are said to tie lanterns to horses’ tails to mislead the mariner87 along the dangerous shores of the Cape.
Even now I seem to see the group of fishermen with that old salt in the midst. One fellow sits on the counter, a second bestrides an oil-barrel, a third lolls at his length on a parcel of new cod-lines, and another has planted the tarry seat of his trousers on a heap of salt which will shortly be sprinkled over a lot of fish. They are a likely set of men. Some have voyaged to the East Indies or the Pacific, and most of them have sailed in Marblehead schooners to Newfoundland; a few have been no farther than the Middle Banks, and one or two have always fished along the shore; but, as Uncle Parker used to say, they have all been christened in salt water and know more than men ever learn in the bushes. A curious figure, by way of contrast, is a fish-dealer from far up-country listening with eyes wide open to narratives89 that might startle Sinbad the Sailor. — Be it well with you, my brethren! Ye are all gone — some to your graves ashore and others to the depths of ocean — but my faith is strong that ye are happy; for whenever I behold your forms, whether in dream or vision, each departed friend is puffing90 his long nine, and a mug of the right blackstrap goes round from lip to lip.
But where was the mermaid in those delightful91 times? At a certain window near the centre of the village appeared a pretty display of gingerbread men and horses, picture-books and ballads92, small fish-hooks, pins, needles, sugarplums and brass93 thimbles — articles on which the young fishermen used to expend94 their money from pure gallantry. What a picture was Susan behind the counter! A slender maiden95, though the child of rugged parents, she had the slimmest of all waists, brown hair curling on her neck, and a complexion96 rather pale except when the sea-breeze flushed it. A few freckles97 became beauty-spots beneath her eyelids98. — How was it, Susan, that you talked and acted so carelessly, yet always for the best, doing whatever was right in your own eyes, and never once doing wrong in mine, nor shocked a taste that had been morbidly99 sensitive till now? And whence had you that happiest gift of brightening every topic with an unsought gayety, quiet but irresistible100, so that even gloomy spirits felt your sunshine and did not shrink from it? Nature wrought101 the charm. She made you a frank, simple, kind-hearted, sensible and mirthful girl. Obeying Nature, you did free things without indelicacy, displayed a maiden’s thoughts to every eye, and proved yourself as innocent as naked Eve. — It was beautiful to observe how her simple and happy nature mingled103 itself with mine. She kindled104 a domestic fire within my heart and took up her dwelling there, even in that chill and lonesome cavern105 hung round with glittering icicles of fancy. She gave me warmth of feeling, while the influence of my mind made her contemplative. I taught her to love the moonlight hour, when the expanse of the encircled bay was smooth as a great mirror and slept in a transparent106 shadow, while beyond Nahant the wind rippled107 the dim ocean into a dreamy brightness which grew faint afar off without becoming gloomier. I held her hand and pointed108 to the long surf-wave as it rolled calmly on the beach in an unbroken line of silver; we were silent together till its deep and peaceful murmur had swept by us. When the Sabbath sun shone down into the recesses109 of the cliffs, I led the mermaid thither110 and told her that those huge gray, shattered rocks, and her native sea that raged for ever like a storm against them, and her own slender beauty in so stern a scene, were all combined into a strain of poetry. But on the Sabbath-eve, when her mother had gone early to bed and her gentle sister had smiled and left us, as we sat alone by the quiet hearth with household things around, it was her turn to make me feel that here was a deeper poetry, and that this was the dearest hour of all. Thus went on our wooing, till I had shot wild-fowl enough to feather our bridal-bed, and the daughter of the sea was mine.
I built a cottage for Susan and myself, and made a gateway111 in the form of a Gothic arch by setting up a whale’s jaw-bones. We bought a heifer with her first calf112, and had a little garden on the hillside to supply us with potatoes and green sauce for our fish. Our parlor, small and neat, was ornamented113 with our two profiles in one gilt frame, and with shells and pretty pebbles114 on the mantelpiece, selected from the sea’s treasury115 of such things on Nahant Beach. On the desk, beneath the looking-glass, lay the Bible, which I had begun to read aloud at the book of Genesis, and the singing-book that Susan used for her evening psalm116. Except the almanac, we had no other literature. All that I heard of books was when an Indian history or tale of shipwreck117 was sold by a pedler or wandering subscription-man to some one in the village, and read through its owner’s nose to a slumbrous auditory.
Like my brother-fishermen, I grew into the belief that all human erudition was collected in our pedagogue118, whose green spectacles and solemn phiz as he passed to his little schoolhouse amid a waste of sand might have gained him a diploma from any college in New England. In truth, I dreaded119 him. — When our children were old enough to claim his care, you remember, Susan, how I frowned, though you were pleased at this learned man’s encomiums on their proficiency120. I feared to trust them even with the alphabet: it was the key to a fatal treasure. But I loved to lead them by their little hands along the beach and point to nature in the vast and the minute — the sky, the sea, the green earth, the pebbles and the shells. Then did I discourse121 of the mighty works and coextensive goodness of the Deity122 with the simple wisdom of a man whose mind had profited by lonely days upon the deep and his heart by the strong and pure affections of his evening home. Sometimes my voice lost itself in a tremulous depth, for I felt his eye upon me as I spoke. Once, while my wife and all of us were gazing at ourselves in the mirror left by the tide in a hollow of the sand, I pointed to the pictured heaven below and bade her observe how religion was strewn everywhere in our path, since even a casual pool of water recalled the idea of that home whither we were travelling to rest for ever with our children. Suddenly your image, Susan, and all the little faces made up of yours and mine, seemed to fade away and vanish around me, leaving a pale visage like my own of former days within the frame of a large looking-glass. Strange illusion!
My life glided123 on, the past appearing to mingle102 with the present and absorb the future, till the whole lies before me at a glance. My manhood has long been waning124 with a stanch125 decay; my earlier contemporaries, after lives of unbroken health, are all at rest without having known the weariness of later age; and now with a wrinkled forehead and thin white hair as badges of my dignity I have become the patriarch — the uncle — of the village. I love that name: it widens the circle of my sympathies; it joins all the youthful to my household in the kindred of affection.
Like Uncle Parker, whose rheumatic bones were dashed against Egg Rock full forty years ago, I am a spinner of long yarns. Seated on the gunnel of a dory or on the sunny side of a boat-house, where the warmth is grateful to my limbs, or by my own hearth when a friend or two are there, I overflow126 with talk, and yet am never tedious. With a broken voice I give utterance127 to much wisdom. Such, Heaven be praised! is the vigor128 of my faculties129 that many a forgotten usage, and traditions ancient in my youth, and early adventures of myself or others hitherto effaced130 by things more recent, acquire new distinctness in my memory. I remember the happy days when the haddock were more numerous on all the fishing-grounds than sculpins in the surf — when the deep-water cod swam close inshore, and the dogfish, with his poisonous horn, had not learnt to take the hook. I can number every equinoctial storm in which the sea has overwhelmed the street, flooded the cellars of the village and hissed131 upon our kitchen hearth. I give the history of the great whale that was landed on Whale Beach, and whose jaws132, being now my gateway, will last for ages after my coffin133 shall have passed beneath them. Thence it is an easy digression to the halibut — scarcely smaller than the whale — which ran out six codlines and hauled my dory to the mouth of Boston harbor before I could touch him with the gaff.
If melancholy134 accidents be the theme of conversation, I tell how a friend of mine was taken out of his boat by an enormous shark, and the sad, true tale of a young man on the eve of marriage who had been nine days missing, when his drowned body floated into the very pathway on Marble-head Neck that had often led him to the dwelling of his bride, as if the dripping corpse135 would have come where the mourner was. With such awful fidelity136 did that lover return to fulfil his vows137! Another favorite story is of a crazy maiden who conversed138 with angels and had the gift of prophecy, and whom all the village loved and pitied, though she went from door to door accusing us of sin, exhorting139 to repentance140 and foretelling141 our destruction by flood or earthquake. If the young men boast their knowledge of the ledges142 and sunken rocks, I speak of pilots who knew the wind by its scent143 and the wave by its taste, and could have steered144 blindfold145 to any port between Boston and Mount Desert guided only by the rote146 of the shore — the peculiar147 sound of the surf on each island, beach and line of rocks along the coast. Thus do I talk, and all my auditors148 grow wise while they deem it pastime.
I recollect8 no happier portion of my life than this my calm old age. It is like the sunny and sheltered slope of a valley where late in the autumn the grass is greener than in August, and intermixed with golden dandelions that had not been seen till now since the first warmth of the year. But with me the verdure and the flowers are not frost-bitten in the midst of winter. A playfulness has revisited my mind — a sympathy with the young and gay, an unpainful interest in the business of others, a light and wandering curiosity — arising, perhaps, from the sense that my toil149 on earth is ended and the brief hour till bedtime may be spent in play. Still, I have fancied that there is a depth of feeling and reflection under this superficial levity150 peculiar to one who has lived long and is soon to die.
Show me anything that would make an infant smile, and you shall behold a gleam of mirth over the hoary151 ruin of my visage. I can spend a pleasant hour in the sun watching the sports of the village children on the edge of the surf. Now they chase the retreating wave far down over the wet sand; now it steals softly up to kiss their naked feet; now it comes onward152 with threatening front, and roars after the laughing crew as they scamper153 beyond its reach. Why should not an old man be merry too, when the great sea is at play with those little children? I delight, also, to follow in the wake of a pleasure-party of young men and girls strolling along the beach after an early supper at the Point. Here, with handkerchiefs at nose, they bend over a heap of eel-grass entangled154 in which is a dead skate so oddly accoutred with two legs and a long tail that they mistake him for a drowned animal. A few steps farther the ladies scream, and the gentlemen make ready to protect them against a young shark of the dogfish kind rolling with a lifelike motion in the tide that has thrown him up. Next they are smit with wonder at the black shells of a wagon-load of live lobsters155 packed in rock-weed for the country-market. And when they reach the fleet of dories just hauled ashore after the day’s fishing, how do I laugh in my sleeve, and sometimes roar outright156, at the simplicity157 of these young folks and the sly humor of the fishermen! In winter, when our village is thrown into a bustle158 by the arrival of perhaps a score of country dealers159 bargaining for frozen fish to be transported hundreds of miles and eaten fresh in Vermont or Canada, I am a pleased but idle spectator in the throng. For I launch my boat no more.
When the shore was solitary, I have found a pleasure that seemed even to exalt160 my mind in observing the sports or contentions161 of two gulls53 as they wheeled and hovered162 about each other with hoarse163 screams, one moment flapping on the foam of the wave, and then soaring aloft till their white bosoms164 melted into the upper sunshine. In the calm of the summer sunset I drag my aged88 limbs with a little ostentation165 of activity, because I am so old, up to the rocky brow of the hill. There I see the white sails of many a vessel outward bound or homeward from afar, and the black trail of a vapor166 behind the Eastern steamboat; there, too, is the sun, going down, but not in gloom, and there the illimitable ocean mingling167 with the sky, to remind me of eternity168.
But sweetest of all is the hour of cheerful musing169 and pleasant talk that comes between the dusk and the lighted candle by my glowing fireside. And never, even on the first Thanksgiving-night, when Susan and I sat alone with our hopes, nor the second, when a stranger had been sent to gladden us and be the visible image of our affection, did I feel such joy as now. All that belongs to me are here: Death has taken none, nor Disease kept them away, nor Strife170 divided them from their parents or each other; with neither poverty nor riches to disturb them, nor the misery171 of desires beyond their lot, they have kept New England’s festival round the patriarch’s board. For I am a patriarch. Here I sit among my descendants, in my old arm-chair and immemorial corner, while the firelight throws an appropriate glory round my venerable frame. — Susan! My children! Something whispers me that this happiest hour must be the final one, and that nothing remains172 but to bless you all and depart with a treasure of recollected173 joys to heaven. Will you meet me there? Alas174! your figures grow indistinct, fading into pictures on the air, and now to fainter outlines, while the fire is glimmering on the walls of a familiar room, and shows the book that I flung down and the sheet that I left half written some fifty years ago. I lift my eyes to the looking-glass, and perceive myself alone, unless those be the mermaid’s features retiring into the depths of the mirror with a tender and melancholy smile.
Ah! One feels a chilliness175 — not bodily, but about the heart — and, moreover, a foolish dread of looking behind him, after these pastimes. I can imagine precisely176 how a magician would sit down in gloom and terror after dismissing the shadows that had personated dead or distant people and stripping his cavern of the unreal splendor177 which had changed it to a palace.
And now for a moral to my reverie. Shall it be that, since fancy can create so bright a dream of happiness, it were better to dream on from youth to age than to awake and strive doubtfully for something real? Oh, the slight tissue of a dream can no more preserve us from the stern reality of misfortune than a robe of cobweb could repel178 the wintry blast. Be this the moral, then: In chaste179 and warm affections, humble180 wishes and honest toil for some useful end there is health for the mind and quiet for the heart, the prospect181 of a happy life and the fairest hope of heaven.
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1
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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mermaids
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| n.（传说中的）美人鱼( mermaid的名词复数 ) | |
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coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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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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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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33
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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34
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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35
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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36
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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37
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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38
vomits
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| 呕吐物( vomit的名词复数 ) | |
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39
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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40
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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41
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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42
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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43
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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44
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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45
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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46
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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47
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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48
ebbs
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| 退潮( ebb的名词复数 )； 落潮； 衰退 | |
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49
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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50
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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51
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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52
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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53
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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55
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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56
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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57
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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58
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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59
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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60
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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61
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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62
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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63
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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64
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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65
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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66
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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67
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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68
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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69
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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71
schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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72
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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73
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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74
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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75
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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76
expatiated
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
greasy
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|
| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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78
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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79
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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80
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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81
sables
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| n.紫貂( sable的名词复数 )；紫貂皮；阴暗的；暗夜 | |
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82
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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83
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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84
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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85
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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86
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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87
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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88
aged
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|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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89
narratives
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| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
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90
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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91
delightful
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|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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92
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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93
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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94
expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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95
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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96
complexion
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|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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97
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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98
eyelids
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| 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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99
morbidly
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|
| adv.病态地 | |
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100
irresistible
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|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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101
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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102
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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103
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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104
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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105
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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106
transparent
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|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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107
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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108
pointed
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|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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109
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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110
thither
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|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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111
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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112
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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113
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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115
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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116
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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117
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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118
pedagogue
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| n.教师 | |
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119
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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120
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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121
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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122
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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123
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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124
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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125
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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126
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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127
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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128
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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129
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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130
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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131
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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132
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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133
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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134
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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135
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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136
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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137
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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138
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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139
exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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140
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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141
foretelling
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的现在分词 ) | |
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142
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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143
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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144
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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145
blindfold
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|
| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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146
rote
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| n.死记硬背，生搬硬套 | |
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147
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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148
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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149
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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150
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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151
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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152
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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153
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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154
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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156
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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157
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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158
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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159
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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160
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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161
contentions
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| n.竞争( contention的名词复数 )；争夺；争论；论点 | |
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162
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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163
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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164
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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165
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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166
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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167
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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168
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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169
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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170
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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171
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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172
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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173
recollected
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| 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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174
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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175
chilliness
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| n.寒冷，寒意，严寒 | |
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176
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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177
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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178
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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179
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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180
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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181
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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