The first Roumanian book (a collection of psalms4, probably translated from the Greek) was printed at Kronstadt in 1577, and was succeeded by many other similar works, all printed in Cyrillian characters.
As historians and chroniclers, the names of Ureki, Miron Kostin, Dosithei, and of Prince Dimetrie Kantemir, all hold honorable positions between the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the eighteenth century. Political events then stemmed the current of progress for a time, and made of the rest of the eighteenth century a period of intellectual stagnation5 for all Roumanians, whether of Wallachia, Moldavia, or Transylvania. It was from the latter country that about the year 1820 was given the first impulse towards resurrection, connected with which we read the names of Lazar, Majorescu, Assaki, Mikul, Petru Major, Cipariu, Bolinteanu, Balcescu, Constantin Negruzzi, and Cogalnitscheanu.
It was only after the middle of the present century that Latin characters began to be adopted in place of Cyrillian ones, and indeed it is not easy to understand why the Cyrillian alphabet ever came to be used at all. On this subject Stanley, writing in 1856, speaks as follows:
“The Latinity of Rouman is, however, sadly disguised under the Cyrillic alphabet, in which it has hitherto been habited. This alphabet was adopted about 1400 A.D., after an attempt by one of the popes to unite the Roumans to the Catholic Church. The priests then burned the books in the Roman or European letters, and the Russians{159} have opposed all the attempts made latterly to cast off the Slavonic alphabet, by which the Rouman language is enchained and bound to the Slavonic dialects.... The difficulty of coming to an agreement among the men of letters, as to the system to be adopted for rendering6 the Cyrillic letters by Roman type, has retarded7 this movement as much, perhaps, as political opposition8.”
The first Roumanian political newspaper was issued by Georg Baritiu in 1838. At present several Roumanian newspapers appear in Transylvania, of which the Observatorul and the Telegraful Roman are the principal ones. There are in the country two Greek Catholic seminaries for priests, and one Greek Oriental one, a commercial school at Kronstadt, four upper gymnasiums, and numerous primary schools, all of which are self-supporting, and receive no assistance from the Hungarian Government.
Some portion of the rich store of folk songs which from time immemorial have been sung in the country by wandering minstrels, called cantari, has been rescued from oblivion by the efforts of Alexandri, and after him Torceanu, who, going about from village to village, have written down all they could learn from the lips of the peasants. One of the most beautiful and pathetic of the ballads10 thus collected by Alexandri is that of Curte d’Arghisch, an ancient and well-known Roumanian legend, the greater part of which I have here endeavored to reproduce in an English version. These ballads are, however, exceedingly difficult to translate at all characteristically, our language neither possessing that abundant choice of rhyme, so apt to drive a translator to envious11 despair, nor yet the harmonious12 current of sound which lends a peculiar13 charm to the loose and rambling14 metre in which these songs are mostly written.
CLOISTER15 ARGHISCH.
I.
By the Arghisch river,
By the bonny brim,
Goes the Voyvod Negru,[26]
Other ten with him.
{160}
Nine of these his comrades,
Master masons be,
And the tenth is Manoll,
Masters’ master he.
And the ten are questing,
Where along the tide
They shall build the minster,
And their fame beside.
Then as on they stray,
Meets them on the way
A shepherd lad, that ditty sad
Upon his pipe doth play.
“Shepherd lad, dear shepherd lad,
Mournful ditty playing,
Up the river has thy flock
And hast thou been straying?
Down have strayed both thou and they,
Down along the river?
In thy wanderings where hast been,
Say, hast thou a building seen
Standing17 by the river,
Built of moss-grown ancient stone,
All unfinished and alone,
Where the hazels, green and lank18,
Shoot amid the copsewood dank?”
“Ay, my master, that have I
Sighted as I wandered by;
Sooth, a wall doth on the strand19
Lonely and unfinished stand,
At whose sight my hounds in haste
Howling fled across the waste!”
When this word the prince had heard,
Joyful20 man was he:
“Haste away! come, no delay,
Haste thee instantly;
These, my master masons nine,
Lead unto yon wall,
And Manoll the tenth, that is
Master of them all.”
{161}
“See ye yonder wall of mine?
Know that here the spot I name
For the sacred cloister’s shrine21,
For my everlasting22 fame.
Now, ye mighty23 masters all,
Fellows of the builder’s craft,
Haste away! night and day
Raise ye, build ye, roof and wall.
Build a cloister worthy24 me,
Such as never men did see;
Fail to build it as I say,
I will build you instantly,
Build you living, every one,
’Neath the pile’s foundation-stone.”
II.
Hastily with line and rule
Work they out the cloister’s plan;
Hastily with eager tool
Delve25 foundations in the sod,
Where shall stand the house of God.
Never resting night or day,
Building, ever building, they
Hurry on the work alway.
But what in the day has grown,
In the night is overthrown26.
Next day, next, and next again,
What within the hours of light
They have reared with toil27 and pain,
Falls to ruin in the night,
And all labor28 is in vain;
For the pile will not remain,
Falling nightly down again.
Wondering and wrathful then
Doth the prince the builders call,
Raging, threatens once again
He will build them, build them all,
Build them in beneath the wall.
And the master builders nine,
Thus, their wretched lives at stake,
Quaking toil, and toiling29 quake,
All throughout the summer light,
Till the day gives way to night.
But Manoll upon a day
Puts the irksome task away,
Lays him down to sleep, and thus
Dream he dreameth marvellous,
{162}
Which, awak’ning from repose30,
Straightway doth he then disclose:
“Hear my story, masters mine,
Ye my fellow-craftsmen nine;
Hearken to me while I tell
Dream in sleep that me befell:
From the height of heaven clear
Was it borne upon my ear.
Ever we shall build in vain,
Crumbling31 still our work again,
Till together swear we all
To immure32 within the wall
Her who at the peep of day
Chances first to come this way
Hither, who is sent by fate,
Bearing food for swain or mate,
Wife or sweetheart though it be,
Maid or matron equally.
Therefore listen, comrades mine:
Would you build this holy shrine—
Would you to enduring fame
Evermore transmit your name—
Vow33 we all a solemn vow,
As we stand together now,
Whosoever it shall be
That his lovèd one shall see,
Chancing here her way to take
When the morrow’s light doth break,
Will as victim bid her fall,
Buried living in the wall!”
III.
Smiling doth the morning break;
With the dawn Manoll, awake,
Scaling the enclosure’s bound,
Mounts the scaffold; all around,
Hill and dale, with glance of fear,
Anxious searcheth far and near.
What is this that greets his eyes?
Who is it that hither hies?
’Tis his wife he doth behold34,
Sweetest blossom of the wold;
She it is that hasteth here,
Bringing for her husband dear
Meat and wine his heart to cheer.
Sure too awful is the sight!
Can his senses witness right?
{163}
Leaps his heart and reels his brain
In an agony of pain.
Then on bended knees he falls,
Desperate on Heaven calls:
“O Lord my God,
That rul’st on high,
Ope thou the flood-gates
Of the sky;
Down upon earth
Thy torrents35 pour,
Till brook36 and river
Rise and roar,
Till raging floods
My wife shall stay,
Shall turn her back
The homeward way!”
Lo! in pity God has hearkened—
That which he has asked is done;
Clouds the heaven’s face have darkened,
They have blotted37 out the sun;
Down the rains in torrents pour,
Brook and river rage and roar.
But nor storm nor flood can stay
Manoll’s wife upon her way;
Pressing onward38, halting never,
Plunging39 through the foaming40 river,
Knowing naught41 of doubt or fear,
Near she hasteth, and more near.
The poem goes on to say how Manoll a second time implores42 the Creator to send a hurricane which shall ravage43 the face of nature and impede44 her progress. Once more his prayer is granted, and a mighty wind, which,
Sighing loud and moaning,
Thundering and droning,
Down the plane-trees bending,
And the pines uprending,
rages over the land.
But no earthly force
Checks her steady course,
And all vainly passed
By the furious blast,
In the storm she quavers,
But yet never wavers,
And, oh, hapless lot!
Soon has reached the spot.
{164}
The fourth canto45 relates how the nine master masons are filled with joy at sight of this heaven-sent victim. Manoll alone is sad, as, kissing his wife, he takes her in his arms and carries her up the scaffolding. There he places her in a niche46, explaining that they are going to pretend to build her in merely as a joke; while the poor young wife, scenting47 no danger, claps her hands in childish pleasure at the idea.
But her spouse48, with gloomy face,
Speaks no word, and works apace;
Of his dream he thinks alone,
As they pile up stone on stone.
And the church walls upward shoot,
Cover soon her dainty foot,
Reaching then above the knee;
Where is vanished all her glee?
As, becoming deadly pale,
Thus the wife begins to wail49:
“Manolli, dear Manolli!
Master, master Manolli!
Prithee, now this joking cease,
And thy wife from here release;
See, the wall is closing fast,
In its grip am I compassed.
Manolli, dear Manolli!
Master, master Manolli!”
But Manoll makes no reply,
Works with restless energy.
Higher and yet higher
Grows the wall entire,
Grows with lightning haste,
Reaches soon her waist,
Reaches soon her breast;
She no more can jest,
Hardly can she speak,
With voice faint and weak:
“Manolli, dear Manolli!
Master, master Manolli!
Stop this joke and set me free—
Soon a mother shall I be;
See, the wall is crushing me,
These hard stones my babe will kill;
With salt tears my bosom50 fill.”
But Manoll makes no reply,
Works with restless energy.
{165}
Higher and yet higher
Grows the wall entire;
O’er her dainty foot
Fast the church walls shoot;
Fair Annika’s knee
Soon no more they see,
Building on in haste
To her lithesome waist;
Hidden is her breast,
By the stones compressed;
Hidden now her eye,
As the wall grows high;
Building on apace,
Hidden soon her face!
And the hapless woman, she
Laughs no longer now in glee,
But from out the cruel wall
Still the feeble voice doth call:
“Manolli, dear Manolli!
Master, master Manolli!
See the wall is closing quite,
Vanished the last ray of light.”
There is still a fifth canto to this ballad9, but of such decidedly inferior merit as to suggest the idea that it is a piece of patchwork51 added on at a later period. The prince, delighted at the success of the building, asks the master masons whether they could undertake to raise a second church of yet nobler, loftier proportions than the first. This question being answered in the affirmative, the tyrannical Voyvod, probably afraid of their embellishing52 some other country with the work of their genius, orders the ladders and scaffolding to be removed from the building, so that the ten illustrious architects are left standing on the roof, there to perish of starvation. Hoping to escape this doom53, each of the master masons constructs for himself a pair of artificial wings, or rather a sort of parachute, out of light wooden shingles54, and by means of which he hopes safely to reach the ground. But the parachutes are a miserable55 failure, and crashing down with violence, the nine master masons are turned into as many stones. Manoll, the last to descend56, and distracted at hearing the wailing57 voice of his dying wife calling upon him, falls likewise; but the tears welling up from his breast cause him to be transformed into a spring of crystal water flowing near the church, and to this day known by the name of Manolli’s well.
{166}
“Miora,” or “The Lamb,” is another popular ballad, which, sung and recited throughout Roumania and Transylvania, is gracefully58 illustrative of the idyllic59 bond by which shepherd and flock are united:
MIORA.
Where the mountains open, there
Runs a path-way passing fair,
And along this flowery way
Shepherds came one summer day.
Snowy flocks were three,
Led by shepherds three.
One from Magyarland had come,
Wrantscha was another’s home,
From Moldavia one had come;
But the one from Magyarland,
And from Wrantscha—hand in hand,
Council held they secretly,
And resolved deceitfully,
When behind the hill
Sank the sun, to kill
The Moldavian herd16, for he
Was the richest of the three.
Strongest were his rams61,
Fattest were his dams,
Whitest were his lambs,
And his dogs the fiercest,
And his horse the fleetest.
But a lambkin white,
With eyes soft and bright,
Since the break of day
Bleats62 so piteously,
Does not cease to bleat63,
No more grass will eat.
“Little lambkin white,
Thou my favorite,
Why since break of day
Bleat so piteously?
Never cease to bleat,
No more grass wiltst eat,
O my lambkin sweet,
Wherefore dost complain?
Say, dost suffer pain?”
“Gentle shepherd, master dear,
Prithee but my warning hear;
Lead away thy flock of sheep
Where the woodland shades are deep;
{167}
There in peace can we abide—
Forests dense64 there are to hide.
Shepherd, shepherd! list to me;
Call thy dog to follow thee;
Choose the fiercest one of all,
Ear most watchful65 to thy call,
For the other herds60 have sworn
Thou shalt die before the morn!”
“Little lamb, if true dost say,
Hast the gift to prophesy66,
And if it must come to pass
That I thus shall die, alas67!
Is it written that my life
Thus shall end a cruel knife,
Tell the shepherds where to lay
My cold body in the clay.
Near unto my sheep
Would I wish to sleep,
From the grave to hark
When the sheep-dogs bark.
On the mound68 I pray
Three new flutes69 to lay:
One of beech70-wood fine be made,
Sings of love that cannot fade;
One carved out of whitest bone,
For my broken heart makes moan;
One of elder-wood let be,
For its tones are proud and free.
When at evenfall
’Gin the winds to call,
List’ning to the sound,
Gather then around
All my faithful sheep,
Bloody71 tears to weep.
But that I am dead
Let no word be said:
Tell them that a queen
Passing fair was seen,
Took me for her mate;
That we sit in state
On a lofty throne;
That the sun and moon
Held the golden crown,
And a star fell down
Straight above my head.
Say, when I was wed72,
Oak-tree, beech, and pine,
All were guests of mine
{168}
At the wedding-feast;
And the holy priest
Was a mountain high.
Made sweet melody
Thousand birds from near and far,
Every torch a golden star.
But if thou shouldst meet,
Oh, if thou shouldst meet,
A poor haggard matron,
Torn her scarlet73 apron74,
Wet with tears her eyes,
Hoarse75 with choking sighs,
’Tis my mother old,
Running o’er the wold,
Asking every one,
‘Have you seen my son?
In the whole land none
Other was so fair,
With such raven76 hair,
Soft to feel as silk;
Like the purest milk,
None had skin so white;
None had eyes so bright,
As a pair of sloes.
And where’er he goes,
Shepherd none there be
Half so fair as he!’
Lamb, oh pity take,
Else her heart will break.
Tell her that a queen
Passing fair was seen,
Took me for her mate;
That we sit in state
On a lofty throne;
That the sun and moon
Held the golden crown,
And a star fell down
Straight above my head.
Say, when I was wed,
Oak-tree, beech, and pine,
All were guests of mine
At the wedding-feast;
And the holy priest
Was a mountain high.
Made sweet melody
Thousand birds from near and far,
Every torch a golden star.”[27]
{169}
The third and last of those folk songs which limited space permits me here to quote is one I have selected as being peculiarly characteristic of the tender and clinging affection these people bear to their progeny77. Devoid78 of poetical79 merit it may perhaps be, but surely the unsatisfied yearnings of a childless woman have seldom been more pathetically rendered.
THE ROUMANIAN’S DESIRE.
Would it but th’ Almighty81 please
This my yearning80 heart to ease,
But to send a little son,
Little cherub82 for mine own.
All the day and all the night
Would I rock my angel bright;
Gently shielded it should rest
Ever on my happy breast.
I would feed it, I would tend it,
From each peril83 I’d defend it;
Whisp’ring with the voice of love,
Suck, my chick, my lamb, my dove.
Did but Heaven hear my voice,
Evermore would I rejoice;
Golden gifts so bright and rare,
Little baby soft and fair.
Love that on him I’d bestow84,
Other child did never know;
Such his loveliness and worth,
Ne’er was like him child on earth.
Lips like coral, skin like snow,
Eyes like those of mountain roe85;
And the roses on his cheek
Elsewhere you in vain would seek.
Mouth so sweet, and eyes so bright,
Would I kiss from morn to night;
Kiss his cheek and kiss his hair,
Singing, “How my child is fair!”
Every holy prayer I know
Should secure my child from woe86;
Every magic herb I’d pluck,
For to bring him endless luck.[28]
{170}
Surely, then, he’d grow apace,
Strong of limb and fair of face,
And a hero such as he
Earth before did never see!
It is not easy to classify the cultivated Roumanian writers of the present day, still less so is it to select appropriate specimens87 from their works. Roumanian literature is in a transition state at present, and, despite much talent and energy on the part of its representatives, has not as yet regained88 any fixed89 national character. Perhaps, indeed, it would be more correct to say that precisely90 the talent and energy of some of the most gifted writers have harmed Roumanian literature more than they have assisted it, by dragging into fashion a dozen different modes utterly91 incongruous with one another, and with the mainsprings of Roumanian thought and feeling. No doubt the custom of sending their children to be educated outside the country is much to blame for this; and, naturally enough, French poets have been imported into the land along with Parisian fashions.
Béranger92 and Musset, along with Shakespeare, Goethe, Byron, and Heine, have all been abused in this manner by men who should have understood that the strength of any literature does not lie in the successful imitation of foreign models, however excellent, but rather in the intelligent exploitation of its own historical and artistic93 treasures. Even Basil Alexandri, the first and most national of Roumanian poets, sometimes falls unconsciously into this error, still more perceptible in the works of Rosetti, Negruzzi, and Cornea.
Odobescu, Gane, Alexi, and Dunca have acquired some fame as writers of fiction; and Joan Slavici in particular may here be cited for his charming sketches94 of rural life, which have something of the force and delicacy95 of Turguenief’s hand.
FET LOGOFET[29] (literally, YOUNG FOOLHARDY).
Thou radiant young knight96,
With glance full of light,
With golden-locked hair,
Oh, turn thy proud steed;
Of the forest take heed—
The dragon lies there.
Thou fairest of maids,
With silken-like braids,
So slender thy zone,
{171}
My good sword will pierce
The monster so fierce,
And fear I have none.
Thou wrestler97, thou ranger,
Thou seeker of danger,
With eyes flashing fire;
Thy fate will be dolesome;
The dragon is loathsome98,
And fearful his ire.
Thou coaxer99, thou pleader,
Thou sweet interceder100,
My star silver bright!
Both dragon and drake,
Before me they quake,
And fly at my sight.
Thou stealer of hearts,
With golden-tipped darts101,
Yet list to my cry!
Thou canst not escape,
His open jaws102 gape103,
Turn water to sky!
Thou angel-like child,
With blue eyes so mild,
Yet needst not to sigh;
For this my good steed
The wind can outspeed,
And rear heaven-high!
Oh, radiant young knight,
With eyes full of light,
That masterful shine;
Oh, hark to my prayer,
And do not go there—
My heart it is thine!
Yet needs I must ride
To win as my bride
Thou, maiden104 most sweet;
I must gain renown—
Either death or a crown—
To lay at thy feet.
THE FAULT IS NOT THINE.
Full oft hast thou sworn that on this side the grave
Thy love and thy heart should forever be mine;
{172}
But thou hast forgotten, and I—I forgave,
For such is the world, and the fault is not thine.
And again was thy cry, “Thou beloved of my heart,
In heaven itself, without thee I’d pine!”
On earth still we dwell—yet dwell we apart;
’Tis the fault of our age, and the fault is not thine.
My arms they embraced thee, I drank with delight
The dew from thy lips like a nectar divine;
But the dew turned to venom105, its freshness to blight106,
For such is thy sex, and the fault is not thine.
Thy love and thine honor, thy virtue107 and troth,
Given now to another, were yesterday mine;
Thou knowest not Love! then why should I be wroth?
’Tis the fault of thy race, and the fault is not thine.
Far stronger than Love were both riches and pride,
And swiftly and surely thy faith did decline;
Thy wounds they are healed, thy tears they are dried,
Thou couldst not remember—the fault is not thine.
Yet though thou art faithless, and falsely hast left me,
My eyes can see naught but an angel divine;
My heart flutters wildly whenever I see thee—
’Tis the fault of my love, and the fault is not mine!
I do not suppose that any one with the slightest knowledge of Roumania and Roumanians can fail to detect an alien note in both these compositions, despite the grace of the originals; nor can one help feeling that these authors should have been capable of far better things.
And surely far better and grander things will come ere long from this nation, at once so old and so young! when, having regained its lost self-confidence, it comes to understand that more evil than good is engendered108 by a blind conformity109 to foreign fashions.
Already a step in the right direction has been taken in the matter of national dress, which, thanks to the praiseworthy example of the Roumanian queen, has lately received much attention. And as in dress, so in literature, does Carmen Sylva take the lead, and endeavor to teach her people to value national productions above foreign importations.
When, therefore, Roumanian writers begin to see that their force lies not in the servile imitation of Western models, but in working out the rich vein110 of their own folk-lore, and in bridging over the space which takes them back to ancient pagan traditions, then, doubtless, a new era will set in for the literature of the country. Let Roumanian poets leave Béranger and Musset to moulder111 on their book-shelves, and consign112 to oblivion Heinrich Heine, whose exquisitely113 morbid114 sentimentality is far too fragile an article to bear importation; let them cease from wandering abroad, and assuredly they will discover in their own forests and mountains better and more vigorous material than Paris or Germany can offer: the old stones around them will begin to speak, and the old gods will let themselves be lured115 from out their hiding-places. Then will it be seen that Apollo’s lyre has not ceased to vibrate, and the lays of ancient Rome will arise and develop to new life.
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收听单词发音
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1
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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2
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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3
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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4
psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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5
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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7
retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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8
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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9
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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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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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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14
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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23
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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25
delve
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| v.深入探究，钻研 | |
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overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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27
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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28
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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29
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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30
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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31
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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32
immure
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| v.囚禁，幽禁 | |
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33
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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34
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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35
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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36
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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37
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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38
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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39
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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40
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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41
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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42
implores
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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43
ravage
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| vt.使...荒废，破坏...；n.破坏，掠夺，荒废 | |
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44
impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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45
canto
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| n.长篇诗的章 | |
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46
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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47
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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48
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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49
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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50
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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51
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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52
embellishing
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| v.美化( embellish的现在分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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53
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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54
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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56
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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57
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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58
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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59
idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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60
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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rams
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| n.公羊( ram的名词复数 )；(R-)白羊（星）座；夯；攻城槌v.夯实（土等）( ram的第三人称单数 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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62
bleats
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的第三人称单数 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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63
bleat
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| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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67
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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68
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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69
flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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70
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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71
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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72
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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73
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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74
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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75
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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76
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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77
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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78
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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79
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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81
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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82
cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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83
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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84
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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85
roe
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| n.鱼卵；獐鹿 | |
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86
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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87
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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88
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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92
ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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94
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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95
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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96
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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97
wrestler
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| n.摔角选手，扭 | |
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98
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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99
coaxer
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100
interceder
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| n.调解者，仲裁者 | |
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101
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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102
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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103
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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104
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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105
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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106
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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107
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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108
engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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110
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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111
moulder
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| v.腐朽，崩碎 | |
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112
consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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113
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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114
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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115
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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