Beneath an avenue of lime-trees, which, from their size and luxuriance, appeared almost coeval4 with the soil in which they grew, Burkhardt of Unspunnen wandered to and fro with uneasy step, as if some recent sorrow occupied his troubled mind. At times he stood with his eyes stedfastly fixed5 on the earth, as if he expected to see the object of his contemplation start forth6 from its bosom7; at other times he would raise his eyes to the summits of the trees, whose branches, now gently agitated8 by the night breeze, seemed to breathe sighs of compassion9 in remembrance of those happy hours which had once been passed beneath their welcome shade. When, however, advancing from beneath them, he beheld10 the deep blue heavens with the bright host of stars, hope sprang up within him at the thoughts of that glory to which those heavens and those stars, all lovely and beauteous as they seem, are but the faint heralds12, and for a time dissipated the grief which had so long weighed heavily upon his heart.
From these reflections he was suddenly aroused by the tones of a manly13 voice addressing him. Burkhardt advancing, beheld, standing14 in the light of the moon, two pilgrims, clothed in the usual coarse and sombre garb15, with their broad hats drawn16 over their brows.
“Praise be to God!” said the pilgrim who had just before awakened18 Burkhardt’s attention, and who, from his height and manner, appeared to be the elder of the two. His words were echoed by a voice whose gentle and faultering accents showed the speaker to be still but of tender years.
“Whither are you going, friends? what seek you here, at this late hour?” said Burkhardt. “If you wish to rest you after your journey enter, and with God’s blessing19, and my hearty20 welcome, recruit yourselves.”
“Noble sir, you have more than anticipated our petition,” replied the elder pilgrim; “our duty has led us far from our native land, being bound on a pilgrimage to fulfil the vow21 of a beloved parent. We have been forced during the heat of the day to climb the steep mountain paths; and the strength of my brother, whose youth but ill befits him for such fatigues22, began to fail, when the sight of your castle’s towers, which the moon’s clear beams discovered to us, revived our hopes. We resolved to beg a night’s lodging23 under your hospitable24 roof, that we might be enabled, on to-morrow’s dawn, to pursue our weary way.”
“Follow me, my friends,” said Burkhardt, as he, with quickened step, preceded them, that he might give some orders for their entertainment The pilgrims rejoicing in so kind a reception, followed the knight25 in silence into a high-vaulted saloon, over which the tapers26 that were placed in branches against the walls cast a solemn but pleasing light, well in accordance with the present feelings of the parties.
The knight then discerned two countenances28, the pleasing impression of which was considerably29 heightened by the modest yet easy manner with which the youthful pair received their host’s kind attentions. Much struck with their appearance and demeanour, Burkhardt was involuntarily led back into the train of thoughts from which their approach had aroused him; and the scenes of former days flitted before him as he recollected31 that in this hall his beloved child was ever wont32 to greet him with her welcome smile on his return from the battle or the chase; brief scenes of happiness, which had been followed by events that had cankered his heart, and rendered memory but an instrument of bitterness and chastisement34.
Supper was soon after served, and the pilgrims were supplied with the greatest attention, yet conversation wholly languished35; for his melancholy37 reflections occupied Burkhardt, and respect, or perhaps a more kindly38 feeling, towards their host and benefactor39, seemed to have sealed the lips of his youthful guests. After supper, however, a flask40 of the baron41’s old wine cheered his flagging spirits, and emboldened42 the elder pilgrim to break through the spell which had chained them.
“Pardon me, noble sir,” said he, “for I feel it must seem intrusive43 in me to seek the cause of that sorrow which renders you so sad a spectator of the bounty44 and happiness which you liberally bestow45 upon others. Believe me, it is not the impulse of a mere46 idle curiosity that makes me express my wonder that you can thus dwell alone in this spacious47 and noble mansion48, the prey49 to a deeply-rooted sorrow. Would that it were in our power to alleviate50 the cares of one who with such bounteous51 hand relieves the wants of his poorer brethren!”
“I thank you for your sympathy, good pilgrim,” said the old noble, “but what can it avail you to know the story of those griefs which have made this earth a desert? and which are, with rapid pace, conducting me where alone I can expect to find rest. Spare me, then, the pain of recalling scenes which I would fain bury in oblivion. As yet, you are in the spring of life, when no sad remembrance gives a discordant53 echo of past follies54, or of joys irrecoverably lost. Seek not to darken the sunshine of your youth with a knowledge of those fierce, guilty beings who, in listening to the fiend-like suggestions of their passions, are led astray from the paths of rectitude, and tear asunder55 the ties of nature.”
Burkhardt thus sought to avoid the entreaty57 of the pilgrim. But the request was still urged with such earnest though delicate persuasion58, and the rich tones of the stranger’s voice awoke within him so many thoughts of days long, long past, that the knight felt himself almost irresistibly59 impelled60 to unburden his long-closed heart to one who seemed to enter into its feelings with a sincere cordiality.
“Your artless sympathy has won my confidence, my young friends,” said he, “and you shall learn the cause of my sorrow.
“You see me here, lonely and forsaken61. But fortune once looked upon me with her blandest62 smiles; and I felt myself rich in the consciousness of my prosperity, and the gifts which bounteous Heaven had bestowed63. My powerful vassals64 made me a terror to those enemies which the protection that I was ever ready to afford to the oppressed and helpless brought against me. My broad and fertile possessions enabled me, with liberal hand, to relieve the wants of the poor, and to exercise the rights of hospitality in a manner becoming my state and my name. But of all the gifts which Heaven had showered upon me, that which I most prized was a wife, whose virtues65 had made her the idol66 of both the rich and the poor. But she who was already an angel, and unfitted for this grosser world, was too soon, alas67! claimed by her kindred spirits. One brief year alone had beheld our happiness.
“My grief and anguish36 were most bitter, and would soon have laid me in the same grave with her, but that she had left me a daughter, for whose dear sake I struggled earnestly against my affliction. In her were now centred all my cares, all my hopes, all my happiness. As she grew in years, so did her likeness68 to her sainted mother increase; and every look and gesture reminded me of my Agnes. With her mother’s beauty I had, with fond presumption69, dared to cherish the hope that Ida would inherit her mother’s virtues.
“Greatly did I feel the void that my irreparable loss had made; but the very thought of marrying again seemed to me a profanation70. If, however, even for a single instant I had entertained this disposition71, one look at our child would have crushed it, and made me cling with still fonder hope to her, in the fond confidence that she would reward me for every sacrifice that I could make. Alas! my friends, this hope was built on an unsure foundation! and my heart is even now tortured when I think on those delusive72 dreams.
“Ida, with the fondest caresses73, would dispel74 each care from my brow; in sickness and in health she watched me with the tenderest solicitude75; her whole endeavour seemed to be to anticipate my wishes. But, alas! like the serpent, which only fascinates to destroy, she lavished76 these caresses and attentions to blind me, and wrap me in fatal security.
“Many and deep were the affronts77, revenged indeed, but not forgotten, which had long since caused (with shame I avow78 it) a deadly hatred79 between myself and Rupert, Lord of W?dischwyl, which the slightest occasion seemed to increase to a degree of madness. As he dared no longer throw down the gauntlet, he found means, much harder than steel or iron, to glut80 his revenge upon me.
“Duke Berchtold of Z?hringen, one of those wealthy and powerful tyrants81 who are the very pests of that society of whose rights they ought to be the ready guardians83, had made a sudden irruption on the peaceful inhabitants of the mountains, seizing their herds84 and flocks, and insulting their wives and daughters. Though possessed85 of great courage, yet being not much used to warfare86, these unhappy men found it impossible to resist the tyrant82, and hastened to entreat56 my instant succour. Without a moment’s delay, I assembled my brave vassals, and marched against the spoiler. After a long and severe struggle, God blessed our cause, and our victory was complete.
“On the morning that I was to depart on my return to my castle, one of my followers87 announced to me that the duke had arrived in my camp, and wished an immediate88 interview with me. I instantly went forth to meet him; and Berchtold, hastening towards me with a smile, offered me his hand in token of reconciliation89. I frankly90 accepted it, not suspecting that falsehood could lurk92 beneath so open and friendly an aspect.
“‘My friend,’ said he, ‘for such I must call you; your valour in this contest has won my esteem93, although I could at once convince you that I have just cause of quarrel with the insolent94 mountaineers. But, in spite of your victory in this unjust strife95, into which doubtless you were induced to enter by the misrepresentations of those villains96, yet as my nature abhors97 to prolong dissensions, I would willingly cease to think that we are enemies, and commence a friendship which, on my part, at least, shall not be broken. In token, therefore, that you do not mistrust a fellow-soldier, return with me to my castle, that we may there drown all remembrance of our past dissensions.’
“During a long time I resisted his importunity98, for I had now been more than a year absent from my home, and was doubly impatient to return, as I fondly imagined that my delay would occasion much anxiety to my daughter. But the duke, with such apparent kindness and in such a courteous99 manner, renewed and urged his solicitations, that I could resist no longer.
“His Highness entertained me with the greatest hospitality and unremitted attention. But I soon perceived that an honest man is more in his element amidst the toils100 of the battle than amongst the blandishments of a Court, where the lip and the gesture carry welcome, but where the heart, to which the tongue is never the herald11, is corroded101 by the unceasing strifes of jealousy102 and envy. I soon, too, saw that my rough and undisguised manners were an occasion of much mirth to the perfumed and essenced nothings who crowded the halls of the duke. I however stifled103 my resentment104, when I considered that these creatures lived but in his favour, like those swarms105 of insects which are warmed into existence from the dunghill, by the sun’s rays.
“I had remained the unwilling106 guest of the duke during some days, when the arrival of a stranger of distinction was announced with much ceremony; this stranger I found to be my bitterest foe107, Rupert of W?dischwyl. The duke received him with the most marked politeness and attention, and more than once I fancied that I perceived the precedence of me was studiously given to my enemy. My frank yet haughty108 nature could ill brook109 this disparagement110; and, besides, it seemed to me that I should but play the hypocrite if I partook of the same cup with the man for whom I entertained a deadly hatred.
“I resolved therefore to depart, and sought his Highness to bid him farewell. He appeared much distressed111 at my resolution, and earnestly pressed me to avow the cause of my abrupt112 departure. I candidly113 confessed that the undue114 favour which I thought he showed to my rival, was the cause.
“‘I am hurt, deeply hurt,’ said the duke, affecting an air of great sorrow, ‘that my friend, and that friend the valiant115 Unspunnen, should think thus unjustly, dare I add, thus meanly of me. No, I have not even in thought wronged you; and to prove my sincerity116 and my regard for your welfare, know that it was not chance which conducted your adversary117 to my court. He comes in consequence of my eager wish to reconcile two men whom I so much esteem, and whose worth and excellence118 place them amongst the brightest ornaments119 of our favoured land. Let me, therefore,’ said he, taking my hand and the hand of Rupert, who had entered during our discourse120, ‘let me have the satisfaction of reconciling two such men, and of terminating your ancient discord52. You cannot refuse a request so congenial to that holy faith which we all profess121. Suffer me therefore to be the minister of peace, and to suggest that, in token and in confirmation122 of an act which will draw down Heaven’s blessing on us all, you will permit our holy Church to unite in one your far-famed lovely daughter with Lord Rupert’s only son, whose virtues, if reports speak truly, render him no undeserving object of her love.’
“A rage, which seemed in an instant to turn my blood into fire, and which almost choked my utterance123, took possession of me.
“‘What!’ exclaimed I, ‘what, think you that I would thus sacrifice, thus cast away my precious jewel! thus debase my beloved Ida? No, by her sainted mother, I swear that rather than see her married to his son, I would devote her to the cloister124! Nay125, I would rather see her dead at my feet than suffer her purity to be sullied by such contamination!’
“‘But for the presence of his Highness,’ cried Rupert wrathfully, ‘your life should instantly answer for this insult! Nathless, I will well mark you, and watch you, too, my lord; and if you escape my revenge, you are more than man.’
“‘Indeed, indeed, my Lord of Unspunnen,’ said the duke, ‘you are much too rash. Your passion has clouded your reason; and, believe me, you will live to repent128 having so scornfully refused my friendly proposal.’
“‘You may judge me rash, my Lord Duke, and perhaps think me somewhat too bold, because I dare assert the truth in the courts of princes. But since my tongue cannot frame itself to speak that which my heart does not dictate129, and my plain but honest manner seems to displease130 you, I will, with your Highness’s permission, withdraw to my own domain131, whence I have been but too long absent.’
“‘Undoubtedly, my lord, you have my permission,’ said the duke haughtily132, and at the same time turning coldly from me.
“My horse was brought, I mounted him with as much composure as I could command, and I breathed more freely as I left the castle far behind.
“During the second day’s journey I arrived within a near view of my own native mountains, and I felt doubly invigorated as their pure breezes were wafted133 towards me. Still the fond anxiety of a father for his beloved child, and that child his only treasure, made the way seem doubly long. But as I approached the turn of the road which is immediately in front of my castle, I almost then wished the way lengthened134; for my joy, my hopes, and my apprehensions135 crowded upon me almost to suffocation136. ‘A few short minutes, however,’ I thought, ‘and then the truth, ill or good, will be known to me.’
“When I came in full sight of my dwelling137, all seemed in peace; nought138 exhibited any change since I had left it. I spurred my horse on to the gate, but as I advanced the utter stillness and desertion of all around surprised me. Not a domestic, not a peasant, was to be seen in the courts; it appeared as if the inhabitants of the castle were still asleep.
“‘Merciful Heaven!’ I thought, ‘what can this stillness forebode! Is she, is my beloved child dead?’
“I could not summon courage to pull the bell. Thrice I attempted, yet thrice the dread140 of learning the awful truth prevented me. One moment, one word, even one sign, and I might be a forlorn, childless, wretched man, for ever! None but a father can feel or fully127 sympathize in the agony of those moments! none but a father can ever fitly describe them!
“I was aroused from this inactive state by my faithful dog springing towards me to welcome my return with his boisterous142 caresses, and deep and loud-toned expressions of his joy. Then the old porter, attracted by the noise, came to the gate, which he instantly opened; but, as he was hurrying forward to meet me, I readily perceived that some sudden and painful recollection checked his eagerness. I leaped from my horse quickly, and entered the hall. All the other domestics now came forward, except my faithful steward143 Wilfred, he who had been always the foremost to greet his master.
“‘Where is my daughter? where is your mistress?’ I eagerly exclaimed; ‘let me but know that she lives!’
“The faithful Wilfred, who had now entered the hall, threw himself at my feet, and with the tears rolling down his furrowed144 cheeks, earnestly pressed my hand, and hesitatingly informed me that my daughter lived: was well, he believed, but—had quitted the castle.
“‘Now, speak more quickly, old man,’ said I hastily, and passionately145 interrupting him. ‘What is it you can mean? my daughter lives; my Ida is well, but she is not here. Now, have you and my vassals proved recreants146, and suffered my castle in my absence to be robbed of its greatest treasure? Speak! speak plainly, I command ye!’
“‘It is with anguish, as great almost as your own can be, my beloved master, that I make known to you the sad truth that your daughter has quitted her father’s roof to become the wife of Conrad, the son of the Lord of W?dischwyl.’
“‘The wife of Lord Rupert’s son! my Ida the wife of the son of him whose very name my soul loathes147!’
“My wrath126 now knew no bounds; the torments148 of hell seemed to have changed the current of my blood. In the madness of my passion I even cursed my own dear daughter! Yes, pilgrim, I even cursed her on whom I so fondly doted; for whose sake alone life for me had any charms. Oh! how often since have I attempted to recall that curse! and these bitter tears, which even now I cannot control, witness how severe has been my repentance149 of that awful and unnatural150 act!
“Dreadful were the imprecations which I heaped upon my enemy; and deep was the revenge I swore. I know not to what fearful length my unbridled passion would have hurried me, had I not, from its very excess, sunk senseless into the arms of my domestics. When I recovered, I found myself in my own chamber151, and Wilfred seated near me. Some time, however, elapsed before I came to a clear recollection of the past events; and when I did, it seemed as if an age of crime and misery152 had weighed me down, and chained my tongue. My eye involuntarily wandered to that part of the chamber where hung my daughter’s portrait. But this the faithful old man—who had not removed it, no doubt thinking that to do so would have offended me—had contrived153 to hide, by placing before it a piece of armour154, which seemed as though it had accidentally fallen into that position.
“Many more days elapsed ere I was enabled to listen to the particulars of my daughter’s flight, which I will, not to detain you longer with my griefs, now briefly155 relate.—It appeared that, urged by the fame of her beauty, and by a curiosity most natural, I confess to youth, Conrad of W?dischwyl had, for a long time sought, but sought in vain, to see my Ida. Chance at length, however, favoured him. On her way to hear mass at our neighbouring monastery156, he beheld her; and beheld her but to love. Her holy errand did not prevent him from addressing her; and well he knew how to gain the ear of one so innocent, so unsuspicious as my Ida! Too soon, alas! did his flatteries win their way to her guiltless heart.
“My child’s affection for her father was unbounded; and readily would she have sacrificed her life for mine. But when love has once taken possession of the female heart, too quickly drives he thence those sterner guests, reason and duty. Suffice it therefore to say she was won, and induced to unite herself to W?dischwyl, before my return, by his crafty157 and insidious158 argument that I should be more easily persuaded to give them my pardon and my blessing, when I found that the step that she had taken was irrevocable. With almost equal art, he pleaded too that their union would doubtless heal the breach159 between the families of W?dischwyl and Unspunnen; and thus terminate that deadly hatred which my gentle Ida, ever the intercessor for peace, had always condemned160. By this specious161 of sophistry162 my poor child was prevailed upon to tear herself from the heart of a fond parent, to unite herself with the son of that parent’s most bitter enemy.”
The pain of these recollections so overcame Burkhardt, that some time elapsed ere he could master his feelings. At length he proceeded.
“My soul seemed now to have but one feeling, revenge. All other passions were annihilated163 by this master one; and I instantly prepared myself and my vassals to chastise33 this worse than robber. But such satisfaction was (I now thank God) denied me; for the Duke of Z?hringen soon gave me memorable164 cause to recollect30 his parting words. Having attached himself with his numerous followers to my rival’s party, these powerful chiefs suddenly invaded my domain. A severe struggle against most unequal numbers ensued. But, at length, though my brave retainers would fain have prolonged the hopeless strife, resolved to stop a needless waste of blood, I left the field to my foes165; and, with the remnant of my faithful soldiers, hastened, in deep mortification166, to bury myself within these walls. This galling167 repulse168 prevented all possibility of reconciliation with my daughter, whom I now regarded as the cause of my disgrace; and, consequently, I forbade her name even to be mentioned in my presence.
“Years rolled on; and I had no intelligence of her until I learned by a mere chance that she had with her husband quitted her native land. Altogether, more than twenty, to me long, long years, have now passed since her flight; and though, when time brought repentance, and my anger and revenge yielded to better feelings, I made every effort to gain tidings of my poor child, I have not yet been able to discover any further traces of her. Here therefore have I lived a widowed, childless, heart-broken old man. But I have at least learned to bow to the dispensations of an all-wise Providence169, which has in its justice stricken me, for thus remorselessly cherishing that baneful170 passion which Holy Law so expressly forbids. Oh! how I have yearned171 to see my beloved child! how I have longed to clasp her to this withered172, blighted173 heart! With scalding tears of the bitterest repentance have I revoked174 those deadly curses, which, in the plenitude of my unnatural wrath, I dared to utter daily. Ceaselessly do I now weary Heaven with my prayers to obliterate175 all memory of those fatal imprecations; or to let them fall on my own head, and shower down only its choicest blessings176 on that of my beloved child! But a fear, which freezes my veins177 with horror, constantly haunts me lest the maledictions which I dared to utter in my moments of demoniac vindictiveness179, should, in punishment for my impiety180, have been fulfilled.
“Often, in my dreams, do I behold181 my beloved child; but her looks are always in sadness, and she ever seems mildly but most sorrowfully to upbraid182 me for having so inhumanly183 cast her from me. Yet she must, I fear, have died long ere now; for, were she living, she would not, I think, have ceased to endeavour to regain184 the affections of a father who once loved her so tenderly. It is true that at first she made many efforts to obtain my forgiveness. Nay, I have subsequently learned that she even knelt at the threshold of my door, and piteously supplicated185 to be allowed to see me. But my commands had been so peremptory186, and the steward who had replaced Wilfred, after his death, was of so stern and unbending a disposition, that, just and righteous as was this her last request, it was unfeelingly denied to her. Eternal Heaven! she whom I had loved as perhaps never father loved before—she whom I had fondly watched almost hourly lest the rude breeze of winter should chill her, or the summer’s heat should scorch187 her—she whom I had cherished in sickness through many a livelong night, with a mother’s devotion, and more than a mother’s solicitude, even she, the only child of my beloved Agnes, and the anxious object of the last moments of her life, was spurned188 from my door! from this door whence no want goes unrelieved, and where the very beggar finds rest! And now, when I would bless the lips that even could say to me ‘she lives,’ I can nowhere gather the slightest tidings of my child. Ah, had I listened to the voice of reason, had I not suffered my better feelings to be mastered by the wildest and fellest passions, I might have seen herself, and perhaps her children, happy around me, cheering the evening of my life. And when my last hour shall come, they would have closed my eyes in peace, and, in unfeigned sorrow have daily addressed to Heaven their innocent prayers for my soul’s eternal rest.
“You now know, pilgrims, the cause of my grief; and I see by the tears which you have so abundantly shed, that you truly pity the forlorn being before you. Remember him and his sorrows therefore ever in your prayers; and when you kneel at the shrine189 to which you are bound, let not those sorrows be forgotten.”
The elder pilgrim in vain attempted to answer; the excess of his feelings overpowered his utterance. At length, throwing himself at the feet of Burkhardt, and casting off his pilgrim’s habits, he with difficulty exclaimed,—
“See here, thine Ida’s son! and behold in my youthful companion, thine Ida’s daughter! Yes, before you kneel the children of her whom you so much lament190. We came to sue for that pardon, for that love, which we had feared would have been denied us. But, thanks be to God, who has mollified your heart, we have only to implore191 that you will suffer us to use our poor efforts to alleviate your sorrows, and render more bright and cheerful your declining years.”
In wild and agitated surprise, Burkhardt gazed intently upon them. It seemed to him as if a beautiful vision were before him, which he feared even a breath might dispel. When, however, he became assured that he was under the influence of no delusion192, the tumult193 of his feelings overpowered him, and he sank senselessly on the neck of the elder pilgrim; who, with his sister’s assistance, quickly raised the old man, and by their united efforts restored him, ere long, to his senses. But when Burkhardt beheld the younger pilgrim, the very image of his lost Ida, bending over him with the most anxious and tender solicitude, he thought that death had ended all his worldly sufferings, and that heaven had already opened to his view.
“Great God!” at length he exclaimed, “I am unworthy of these Thy mercies! Grant me to receive them as I ought! I need not ask,” added he after a pause, and pressing the pilgrims to his bosom, “for a confirmation of your statement, or of my own sensations of joy. All, all tells me that you are the children of my beloved Ida. Say, therefore, is your mother dead? or dare I hope once more to clasp her to my heart?”
The elder pilgrim, whose name was Hermann, then stated to him that two years had passed since his parent had breathed her last in his arms. Her latest prayer was, that Heaven would forgive her the sorrow she had caused her father, and forbear to visit her own error on her children’s heads. He then added that his father had been dead many years.
“My mother,” continued Hermann, drawing from his bosom a small sealed packet, “commanded me, on her deathbed, to deliver this into your own hands. ‘My son,’ she said, ‘when I am dead, if my father still lives, cast yourself at his feet, and desist not your supplications until you have obtained from him a promise that he will read this prayer. It will acquaint him with a repentance that may incite195 him to recall his curse; and thus cause the earth to lie lightly on all that will shortly remain of his once loved Ida. Paint to him the hours of anguish which even your tender years have witnessed. Weary him, my son, with your entreaties196; cease them not until you have wrung197 from him his forgiveness.’
“As you may suppose, I solemnly engaged to perform my mother’s request; and as soon as our grief for the loss of so dear, so fond a parent, would permit us, my sister and myself resolved, in these pilgrim’s habits, to visit your castle; and, by gradual means, attempt to win your affections, if we found you still relentless199, and unwilling to listen to our mother’s prayer.”
“Praise be to God, my son,” said Burkhardt, “at whose command the waters spring from the barren rock, that He has bidden the streams of love and repentance to flow once more from my once barren and flinty heart. But let me not delay to open this sad memorial of your mother’s griefs. I wish you, my children, to listen to it, that you may hear both her exculpation200 and her wrongs.”
Burkhardt hid his face in his hands, and remained for some moments earnestly struggling with his feelings. At length he broke the seal, and, with a voice which at times was almost overpowered, read aloud the contents.
“My beloved father,—if by that fond title your daughter may still address you,—feeling that my sad days are now numbered, I make this last effort, ere my strength shall fail me, to obtain at least your pity for her you once so much loved; and to beseech201 you to recall that curse which has weighed too heavily upon her heart. Indeed, my father, I am not quite that guilty wretch141 you think me. Do not imagine that, neglecting every tie of duty and gratitude202, I could have left the tenderest of parents to his widowed lonely home, and have united myself with the son of his sworn foe, had I not fondly, most ardently203, hoped, nay, had cherished the idea almost to certainty, that you would, when you found that I was a wife, have quickly pardoned a fault, which the fears of your refusal to our union had alone tempted139 me to commit. I firmly believed that my husband would then have shared with me my father’s love, and have, with his child, the pleasing task of watching over his happiness and comfort. But never did I for an instant imagine that I was permanently205 wounding the heart of that father. My youth, and the ardour of my husband’s persuasions206, must plead some extenuation207 of my fault.
“The day that I learnt the news of your having pronounced against me that fatal curse, and your fixed determination never more to admit me to your presence, has been marked in characters indelible on my memory. At that moment it appeared as if Heaven had abandoned me, had marked me for its reprobation208 as a parricide209! My brain and my heart seemed on fire, whilst my blood froze in my veins. The chillness of death crept over every limb, and my tongue refused all utterance. I would have wept, but the source of my tears was dried within me.
“How long I remained in this state I know not, as I became insensible, and remained so for some days. On returning to a full consciousness of my wretchedness, I would instantly have rushed to you, and cast myself at your feet, to wring210 from you, if possible, your forgiveness; but my limbs were incapable211 of all motion. Soon, too, I learned that the letters which I dictated212 were returned unopened; and my husband at last informed me that all his efforts to see you had been utterly213 fruitless.
“Yet the moment I had gained sufficient strength, I went to the castle, but, unfortunately for me, even as I entered, I encountered a stern wretch, to whom my person was not unknown; and he instantly told me that my efforts to see his master would be useless. I used prayers and entreaties; I even knelt upon the bare ground to him. But so far from listening to me, he led me to the gate, and, in my presence, dismissed the old porter who had admitted me, and who afterwards followed my fortunes until the hour of his death. Finding that all my attempts were fruitless, and that several of the old servants had been discarded on my account, with a heart completely broken, I succumbed214 to my fate, and abandoned all further attempt.
“After the birth of my son (to whose fidelity215 and love I trust this sad memorial), my husband, with the tenderest solicitude, employed every means in his power to divert my melancholy, and having had a valuable property in Italy bequeathed to him, prevailed upon me to repair to that favoured and beauteous country. But neither the fond attentions of my beloved Conrad, nor the bright sunshine and luxurious216 breezes, could overcome a grief so deeply rooted as mine; and I soon found that Italy had less charms for me than my own dear native land, with its dark pine-clad mountains.
“Shortly after we had arrived at Rome, I gave birth to a daughter;—an event which was only too soon followed by the death of my affectionate husband. The necessity of ceaseless attention to my infant in some measure alleviated217 the intense anguish which I suffered from that most severe loss. Nevertheless, in the very depth of this sorrow, which almost overcharged my heart, Heaven only knows how often, and how remorsefully218, while bending over my own dear children in sickness, have I called to mind the anxious fondness with which the tenderest and best of fathers used to watch over me!
“I struggled long and painfully with my feelings, and often did I beseech God to spare my life, that I might be enabled to instruct my children in His holy love and fear, and teach them to atone220 for the error of their parent. My prayer has in mercy been heard; the boon221 I supplicated has been granted; and I trust, my beloved father, that if these children should be admitted to your affections, you will find that I have trained up two blessed intercessors for your forgiveness, when it shall have pleased Heaven to have called your daughter to her account before that dread tribunal where a sire’s curse will plead so awfully222 against her. Recall then, oh, father! recall your dreadful malediction178 from your poor repentant223 Ida! and send your blessing as an angel of mercy to plead for her eternal rest. Farewell, my father, for ever! for ever, farewell! By the cross, whose emblem224 her fevered lips now press; by Him, who in His boundless225 mercy hung upon that cross, your daughter, your once much loved Ida, implores226 you, supplicates227 you, not to let her plead in vain!”
“My child, my child!” sobbed228 Burkhardt, as the letter dropped from his hand, “may the Father of All forgive me as freely as I from the depths of my wrung heart forgive you! Would that your remorseful219 father could have pressed you to his heart, with his own lips have assured you of his affection, and wiped away the tears of sorrow from your eyes! But he will cherish these beloved remembrances of you, and will more jealously guard them than his own life.”
Burkhardt passed the whole of the following day in his chamber, to which the good Father Jerome alone was admitted, as the events of the preceding day rendered a long repose229 absolutely necessary. The following morning, however, he entered the hall, where Hermann and Ida were impatiently waiting for him. His pale countenance27 still exhibited deep traces of the agitation230 he had experienced; but having kissed his children most affectionately, he smilingly flung round Ida’s neck a massive gold chain, richly wrought231, with a bunch of keys appended to it.
“We must duly install our Lady of the Castle,” said he, “and invest her with her appropriate authorities.—But, hark! from the sound of the porter’s horn it seems as if our hostess would have early calls upon her hospitality. Whom have we here?” continued he, looking out up the avenue. “By St. Hubert, a gay and gallant232 knight is approaching, who shall be right welcome—that is, if my lady approve. Well, Willibald, what bring you?—a letter from our good friend the Abbot of St. Anselm. What says he?”
“I am sure that you will not refuse your welcome to a young knight, who is returning by your castle to his home, from the Emperor’s wars. He is well known to me, and I can vouch233 for his being a guest worthy194 of your hospitality, which will not be the less freely granted to him because he does not bask234 in the golden smiles of fortune.”
“No, no, that it shall not, my good friend; and if fortune frown upon him, he shall be doubly welcome. Conduct him hither instantly, good Willibald.”
The steward hastened to usher235 in the stranger, who advanced into the hall with a modest but manly air. He was apparently236 about twenty-five years of age; his person was such as might well, in the dreams of a young maiden237, occupy no unconspicuous place.
“Sir Knight,” said Burkhardt, taking him cordially by the hand, “you are right welcome to my castle, and such poor entertainment as it can afford. We must make you forget your wounds, and the rough usage of a soldier’s life. But, soft, I already neglect my duty in not first introducing our hostess,” added the aged198 knight, presenting Ida. “By my faith,” he continued, “judging from my lady’s blushing smile, you seem not to have met for the first time. Am I right in my conjecture238?”
“We have met, sir,” replied Ida, with such confusion as pleasantly implied that the meeting was not indifferently recollected, “in the parlour of the abbess of the Ursulines, at Munich, where I have sometimes been to visit a much valued friend.”
“The abbess,” said the young knight, “was my cousin; and my good fortune more than once gave me the happiness of seeing in her convent this lady. But little did I expect that amongst these mountains the fickle239 goddess would again have so favoured a homeless wanderer.”
“Well, Sir Knight,” replied Burkhardt, “we trust that fortune has been equally favourable240 to us. And now we will make bold to ask your name; and then, without useless and tedious ceremony, on the part of ourselves and our hostess, bid you again a hearty welcome.”
“My name,” said the stranger, “is Walter de Blumfeldt; though humble241, it has never been disgraced; and with the blessing of Heaven, I hope to hand it down as honoured as I have received it.”
Weeks, months rolled on, and Walter de Blumfeldt was still the guest of the Lord of Unspunnen; till, by his virtues, and the many excellent qualities which daily more and more developed themselves, he wound himself around Burkhardt’s heart, which the chastened life of the old knight had rendered particularly susceptible242 of the kindlier feelings. Frequently would he now, with tears in his eyes, declare that he wished he could convince each and all with whom his former habits had caused any difference, how truly he forgave them, and desired their forgiveness.
“Would,” said he one day, in allusion243 to this subject, “that I could have met my old enemy, the Duke of Z?hringen, and with a truly heartfelt pleasure and joy have embraced him, and numbered him amongst my friends. But he is gathered to his fathers, and I know not whether he has left any one to bear his honours.”
Each time that Walter had offered to depart, Burkhardt had found some excuse to detain him; for it seemed to him that in separating from his young guest he should lose a link of that chain which good fortune had so lately woven for him. Hermann, too, loved Walter as a brother; and Ida fain would have imagined that she loved him as a sister; but her heart more plainly told her what her colder reasoning sought to hide. Unspunnen, who had for some time perceived the growing attachment244 between Walter and Ida, was not displeased245 at the discovery, as he had long ceased to covet246 riches; and had learnt to prize the sterling247 worth of the young knight, who fully answered the high terms in which the Prior of St. Anselm always spoke248 of him. Walking one evening under the shade of that very avenue where he had first encountered Hermann and Ida, he perceived the latter, at some little distance, in conversation with Walter. It was evident to Burkhardt that the young knight was not addressing himself to a very unwilling ear, as Ida was totally regardless of the loud cough with which Burkhardt chose to be seized at that moment; nor did she perceive him, until he exclaimed, or rather vociferated,—
“Do you know, Walter, that, under this very avenue, two pilgrims, bound to some holy shrine, once accosted249 me; but that, in pity to my sins and forlorn condition, they exchanged their penitential journey for an act of greater charity, and have ever since remained to extend their kind cares to an aged and helpless relative. One, however, of these affectionate beings is now about to quit my abode250, and to pass through the rest of this life’s pilgrimage with a helpmate, in the person of the fair daughter of the Baron de Leichtfeldt, and thus leave his poor companion with only the tedious society of an old man. Say, Sir Knight, will thy valour suffer that such wrong be done; or wilt251 thou undertake to conduct this forsaken pilgrim on her way, and guide her through the chequered paths of this variable life? I see by the lowliness with which you bend, and the colour which mantles252 in your cheek, that I speak not to one insensible to an old man’s appeal. But soft, soft, Sir Knight, my Ida is not yet canonized, and therefore cannot afford to lose a hand, which inevitably253 must occur if you continue to press it with such very ardent204 devotion. But what says our pilgrim; does she accept of thy conduct and service, Sir Knight?”
Ida, scarcely able to support herself, threw herself on Burkhardt’s neck. We will not raise the veil which covers the awful moment that renders a man, as he supposes, happy or miserable254 for ever. Suffice it to say that the day which made Hermann the husband of the daughter of the Baron de Leichtfeldt, saw Ida the wife of Walter de Blumfeldt.
Six months had passed rapidly away to the happy inhabitants of Unspunnen, and Burkhardt seemed almost to have grown young again. He was one of the most active in the preparations which were necessary in consequence of Walter suggesting that they should spend Ida’s birthday in a favourite retreat of his and hers. This chosen spot was a beautiful meadow, in front of which meandered255 a small limpid256 stream; at the back was a gorgeous amphitheatre of trees, the wide-spreading branches of which cast a refreshing257 shade over the richly enamelled grass.
In this beauteous retreat were Burkhardt, Walter, and his Ida passing the sultry hours of noon, when Walter, who had been relating some of his adventures at the court of the Emperor, and recounting the magnificence of the tournaments, turning to his bride, said,—
“But what avails all that pomp, my Ida. How happy are we in this peaceful vale! we envy neither princes nor dukes their palaces or their states. What say you, my Ida, could you brook the ceremony of a court, and the pride of royalty258? Methinks even the coronet of a duchess would but ill replace the wreath of blushing roses on your head.”
“Gently, my good husband,” replied Ida, laughing; “they say, you know, that a woman loves these vanities too dearly in her heart ever to despise them. Then how can you expect so frail259 a mortal as your poor wife to hold them in contempt? Indeed, I think,” added she, assuming an air of burlesque260 dignity, “that I should make a lofty duchess, and wear my coronet with most becoming grace. And now, by my faith, Walter, I recollect that you have this day, like a true and gallant knight, promised to grant whatever boon I shall ask. On my bended knee, therefore, I humbly261 sue that if you know any spell or magic wile262, to make a princess or a duchess for only a single day, that you will forthwith exercise your art upon me; just in order to enable me to ascertain263 with how much or how little dignity I could sustain such honours. It is no very difficult matter, Sir Knight: you have only to call in the aid of Number Nip, or some such handy workman of the woods. Answer, most chivalrous264 husband, for thy disconsolate265 wife rises not until her prayer is granted.”
“Why, Ida, you have indeed craved266 a rare boon,” replied Walter; “and how to grant it may well puzzle my brain till it becomes crazed with the effort. But, let me see, let me see,” continued he musingly267; “I have it!—Come hither, love, here is your throne,” said he, placing her on a gentle eminence268 richly covered with the fragrant269 wild thyme and the delicate harebell; “kings might now envy you the incense270 which is offered to you. And you, noble sir,” added he, addressing Burkhardt, “must stand beside her Highness, in quality of chief counsellor. There are your attendants around you; behold that tall oak, he must be your Highness’s pursuivant; and yonder slender mountain ashes, your trusty pages.”
“This is but a poor fulfilment of the task you have undertaken, Sir mummer,” said Ida, with a playful and arch affectation of disappointment.
“Have patience for a brief while, fair dame,” replied Walter, laughing; “for now I must awaken17 your Highness’s men-at-arms.”
Then, taking from his side a silver horn, he loudly sounded the melodious271 reveille. As he withdrew the instrument from his lips, a trumpet272 thrillingly answered to the call; and scarcely had its last notes died away, when, from the midst of the woods, as if the very trees were gifted with life, came forth a troop of horsemen, followed by a body of archers273 on foot. They had but just entirely274 emerged, when numerous peasants, both male and female, appeared in their gayest attire275; and, together with the horsemen and the archers, rapidly and picturesquely276 ranged themselves in front of the astonished Ida, who had already abdicated277 her throne, and clung to the arm of Walter. They then suddenly divided, and twelve pages in richly-emblazoned dresses advanced. After them followed six young girls, whose forms and features the Graces might have envied, bearing two coronets placed on embroidered278 cushions. In the rear of these, supporting his steps with his abbatial staff, walked the venerable Abbot of St. Anselm, who, with his white beard flowing almost to his girdle, and his benign279 looks that showed the pure commerce of the soul which gave life to an eye the brightness of which seventy years had scarcely diminished, seemed to Ida a being of another world. The young girls then advancing, and kneeling before Walter and his wife, presented the coronets.
Ida, who had remained almost breathless with wonder, could now scarcely articulate,—
“Dear, dear Walter, what is all this pomp—what does—what can it mean?”
“Mean! my beloved,” replied her husband; “did you not bid me make you a duchess? I have but obeyed your high commands, and I now salute280 you, Duchess of Z?hringen!”
The whole multitude then made the woods resound281 with the acclamation,—
“Long live the Duke and Duchess of Z?hringen!”
Walter, having for some moments enjoyed the unutterable amazement282 of the now breathless Ida, and the less evident but perhaps equally intense surprise of Burkhardt, turning to the latter, said,—
“My more than father, you see in me the son of your once implacable enemy, the Duke of Z?hringen. He has been many years gathered to his fathers; and I, as his only son, have succeeded to his title and his possessions. My heart, my liberty, were entirely lost in the parlour of the Abbess of the Ursulines. But when I learnt whose child my Ida was, and your sad story, I resolved ere I would make her mine to win not only her love, but also your favour and esteem. How well I have succeeded, this little magic circle on my Ida’s finger is my witness. It will add no small measure to your happiness to know that my father had for many years repented283 of the wrongs which he had done you; and, as much as possible to atone for them, entrusted284 the education of his son to the care of this my best of friends, the Abbot of St. Anselm, that he might learn to shun285 the errors into which his sire had unhappily fallen. And now,” continued he, advancing, and leading Ida towards the abbot, “I have only to beg your blessing, and that this lady, whom through Heaven’s goodness I glory to call my wife, be invested with those insignia of the rank which she is so fit to adorn286.”
Walter, or, as we must now call him, the Duke of Z?hringen, with Ida, then lowly knelt before the venerable abbot, whilst the holy man, with tears in his eyes, invoked287 upon them the blessings of Heaven. His Highness then rising, took one of the coronets, and placing it on Ida’s head, said,—
“Mayst thou be as happy under this glittering coronet, as thou wert under the russet hood91 in which I first beheld thee.”
“God and our Lady aid me!” replied the agitated Ida; “and may He grant that I may wear it with as much humility288. Yet thorns, they say, spring up beneath a crown.”
“True, my beloved,” said the duke, “and they also grow beneath the peasant’s homely289 cap. But the rich alchemy of my Ida’s virtues will ever convert all thorns into the brightest jewels of her diadem290.”
FINIS.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
tints
|
|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
hues
|
|
| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
coeval
|
|
| adj.同时代的；n.同时代的人或事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
herald
|
|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
heralds
|
|
| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
fatigues
|
|
| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
tapers
|
|
| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
countenances
|
|
| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
chastise
|
|
| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
chastisement
|
|
| n.惩罚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
languished
|
|
| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
benefactor
|
|
| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
flask
|
|
| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
emboldened
|
|
| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
intrusive
|
|
| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
bounty
|
|
| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
alleviate
|
|
| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
bounteous
|
|
| adj.丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
discord
|
|
| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
discordant
|
|
| adj.不调和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
follies
|
|
| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
asunder
|
|
| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
entreat
|
|
| v.恳求，恳请 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
entreaty
|
|
| n.恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
persuasion
|
|
| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
irresistibly
|
|
| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
blandest
|
|
| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
63
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
vassals
|
|
| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
idol
|
|
| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
presumption
|
|
| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
profanation
|
|
| n.亵渎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
delusive
|
|
| adj.欺骗的，妄想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
caresses
|
|
| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
dispel
|
|
| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
lavished
|
|
| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
affronts
|
|
| n.（当众）侮辱，（故意）冒犯( affront的名词复数 )v.勇敢地面对( affront的第三人称单数 )；相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
avow
|
|
| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
glut
|
|
| n.存货过多，供过于求；v.狼吞虎咽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
tyrants
|
|
| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
tyrant
|
|
| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
guardians
|
|
| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
herds
|
|
| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
followers
|
|
| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
reconciliation
|
|
| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
hood
|
|
| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
lurk
|
|
| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
insolent
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
villains
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
abhors
|
|
| v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
importunity
|
|
| n.硬要，强求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
toils
|
|
| 网 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
corroded
|
|
| 已被腐蚀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
swarms
|
|
| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
foe
|
|
| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
disparagement
|
|
| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
candidly
|
|
| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
undue
|
|
| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
valiant
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
adversary
|
|
| adj.敌手，对手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
ornaments
|
|
| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
profess
|
|
| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
confirmation
|
|
| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
cloister
|
|
| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
repent
|
|
| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
dictate
|
|
| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
displease
|
|
| vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
domain
|
|
| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
haughtily
|
|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
wafted
|
|
| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
apprehensions
|
|
| 疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
suffocation
|
|
| n.窒息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
nought
|
|
| n.／adj.无，零 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
boisterous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
furrowed
|
|
| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
recreants
|
|
| n.懦夫( recreant的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
147
loathes
|
|
| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的第三人称单数 )；极不喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
torments
|
|
| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
armour
|
|
| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
monastery
|
|
| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
crafty
|
|
| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
insidious
|
|
| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
breach
|
|
| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
specious
|
|
| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
sophistry
|
|
| n.诡辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
annihilated
|
|
| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
foes
|
|
| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
galling
|
|
| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
repulse
|
|
| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
baneful
|
|
| adj.有害的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
yearned
|
|
| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
withered
|
|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
blighted
|
|
| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
revoked
|
|
| adj.[法]取消的v.撤销，取消，废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
obliterate
|
|
| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
malediction
|
|
| n.诅咒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
vindictiveness
|
|
| 恶毒；怀恨在心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
impiety
|
|
| n.不敬；不孝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
upbraid
|
|
| v.斥责，责骂，责备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
inhumanly
|
|
| adv.无人情味地，残忍地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
184
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
supplicated
|
|
| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
peremptory
|
|
| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
scorch
|
|
| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
spurned
|
|
| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
shrine
|
|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
lament
|
|
| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
incite
|
|
| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
exculpation
|
|
| n.使无罪，辩解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
beseech
|
|
| v.祈求，恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
ardently
|
|
| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
permanently
|
|
| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
persuasions
|
|
| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
extenuation
|
|
| n.减轻罪孽的借口；酌情减轻；细 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
reprobation
|
|
| n.斥责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
parricide
|
|
| n.杀父母；杀亲罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
wring
|
|
| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
dictated
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
succumbed
|
|
| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
fidelity
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
alleviated
|
|
| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
218
remorsefully
|
|
| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
remorseful
|
|
| adj.悔恨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
atone
|
|
| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
boon
|
|
| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
222
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
223
repentant
|
|
| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
emblem
|
|
| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
225
boundless
|
|
| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
implores
|
|
| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
227
supplicates
|
|
| vt.& vi.祈求，哀求，恳求（supplicate的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
228
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
vouch
|
|
| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
bask
|
|
| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
usher
|
|
| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
237
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
conjecture
|
|
| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
fickle
|
|
| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
favourable
|
|
| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
susceptible
|
|
| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
245
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
covet
|
|
| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
sterling
|
|
| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
249
accosted
|
|
| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
mantles
|
|
| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
meandered
|
|
| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
limpid
|
|
| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
refreshing
|
|
| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
royalty
|
|
| n.皇家，皇族 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
259
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
260
burlesque
|
|
| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
261
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
262
wile
|
|
| v.诡计，引诱；n.欺骗，欺诈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
263
ascertain
|
|
| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
264
chivalrous
|
|
| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
265
disconsolate
|
|
| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
266
craved
|
|
| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
267
musingly
|
|
| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
268
eminence
|
|
| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
269
fragrant
|
|
| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
270
incense
|
|
| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
271
melodious
|
|
| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
272
trumpet
|
|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
273
archers
|
|
| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
274
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
275
attire
|
|
| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
276
picturesquely
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
277
abdicated
|
|
| 放弃（职责、权力等）( abdicate的过去式和过去分词 )； 退位，逊位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
278
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
279
benign
|
|
| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
280
salute
|
|
| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
281
resound
|
|
| v.回响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
282
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
283
repented
|
|
| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
284
entrusted
|
|
| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
285
shun
|
|
| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
286
adorn
|
|
| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
287
invoked
|
|
| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
288
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
289
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
290
diadem
|
|
| n.王冠，冕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |