Of that great Order of the Table Round,
Had married Enid, Yniol’s only child,
And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven.
And as the light of Heaven varies, now
At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night
With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint
To make her beauty vary day by day,
And Enid, but to please her husband’s eye,
Who first had found and loved her in a state
Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him
In some fresh splendour; and the Queen herself,
Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done,
Loved her, and often with her own white hands
Arrayed and decked her, as the loveliest,
Next after her own self, in all the court.
And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart
Adored her, as the stateliest and the best
And loveliest of all women upon earth.
And seeing them so tender and so close,
Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint.
Though yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard
The world’s loud whisper breaking into storm,
Not less Geraint believed it; and there fell
A horror on him, lest his gentle wife,
Through that great tenderness for Guinevere,
In nature: wherefore going to the King,
Close on the borders of a territory,
Assassins, and all flyers from the hand
And therefore, till the King himself should please
And there defend his marches; and the King
Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode,
And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores
Of Severn, and they past to their own land;
Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wife
True to her lord, mine shall be so to me,
He compassed her with sweet observances
And worship, never leaving her, and grew
Forgetful of his promise to the King,
Forgetful of his glory and his name,
Forgetful of his princedom and its cares.
And this forgetfulness was hateful to her.
And by and by the people, when they met
In twos and threes, or fuller companies,
As of a prince whose manhood was all gone,
And this she gathered from the people’s eyes:
Told Enid, and they saddened her the more:
And day by day she thought to tell Geraint,
While he that watched her sadden, was the more
Suspicious that her nature had a taint.
At last, it chanced that on a summer morn
(They sleeping each by either) the new sun
Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside,
And bared the knotted column of his throat,
The massive square of his heroic breast,
Running too vehemently35 to break upon it.
And Enid woke and sat beside the couch,
Admiring him, and thought within herself,
Was ever man so grandly made as he?
Then, like a shadow, past the people’s talk
And accusation36 of uxoriousness
Across her mind, and bowing over him,
Low to her own heart piteously she said:
“O noble breast and all-puissant arms,
Am I the cause, I the poor cause that men
Reproach you, saying all your force is gone?
I am the cause, because I dare not speak
And tell him what I think and what they say.
And yet I hate that he should linger here;
I cannot love my lord and not his name.
Far liefer had I gird his harness on him,
And ride with him to battle and stand by,
And watch his mightful hand striking great blows
At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world.
Far better were I laid in the dark earth,
Not hearing any more his noble voice,
Not to be folded more in these dear arms,
And darkened from the high light in his eyes,
Than that my lord through me should suffer shame.
Am I so bold, and could I so stand by,
And maybe pierced to death before mine eyes,
And yet not dare to tell him what I think,
Is melted into mere effeminacy?
O me, I fear that I am no true wife.”
And the strong passion in her made her weep
True tears upon his broad and naked breast,
And these awoke him, and by great mischance
He heard but fragments of her later words,
And that she feared she was not a true wife.
And then he thought, “In spite of all my care,
For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains,
She is not faithful to me, and I see her
Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur’s hall.”
Then though he loved and reverenced40 her too much
That makes a man, in the sweet face of her
“My charger and her palfrey;” then to her,
For though it seems my spurs are yet to win,
I have not fallen so low as some would wish.
And thou, put on thy worst and meanest dress
And ride with me.” And Enid asked, amazed,
But he, “I charge thee, ask not, but obey.”
Then she bethought her of a faded silk,
Wherein she kept them folded reverently53
With sprigs of summer laid between the folds,
She took them, and arrayed herself therein,
Remembering when first he came on her
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
And all her foolish fears about the dress,
And all his journey to her, as himself
Had told her, and their coming to the court.
For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before
Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk.
There on a day, he sitting high in hall,
Before him came a forester of Dean,
Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart
Taller than all his fellows, milky-white,
First seen that day: these things he told the King.
Then the good King gave order to let blow
His horns for hunting on the morrow morn.
And when the King petitioned for his leave
To see the hunt, allowed it easily.
So with the morning all the court were gone.
But Guinevere lay late into the morn,
Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love
For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt;
Took horse, and forded Usk, and gained the wood;
Waiting to hear the hounds; but heard instead
Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress
Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand,
A purple scarf, at either end whereof
There swung an apple of the purest gold,
Swayed round about him, as he galloped up
To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly
In summer suit and silks of holiday.
Low bowed the tributary Prince, and she,
Sweet and statelily, and with all grace
Of womanhood and queenhood, answered him:
“Late, late, Sir Prince,” she said, “later than we!”
“Yea, noble Queen,” he answered, “and so late
That I but come like you to see the hunt,
Not join it.” “Therefore wait with me,” she said;
“For on this little knoll, if anywhere,
There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds:
And while they listened for the distant hunt,
And chiefly for the baying of Cavall,
King Arthur’s hound of deepest mouth, there rode
Whereof the dwarf lagged latest, and the knight
Had vizor up, and showed a youthful face,
Imperious, and of haughtiest63 lineaments.
And Guinevere, not mindful of his face
In the King’s hall, desired his name, and sent
Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf;
Made answer sharply that she should not know.
“Then will I ask it of himself,” she said.
“Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not,” cried the dwarf;
And when she put her horse toward the knight,
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned
Indignant to the Queen; whereat Geraint
Exclaiming, “Surely I will learn the name,”
Made sharply to the dwarf, and asked it of him,
Who answered as before; and when the Prince
Had put his horse in motion toward the knight,
Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek.
The Prince’s blood spirted upon the scarf,
Dyeing it; and his quick, instinctive66 hand
Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him:
But he, from his exceeding manfulness
And pure nobility of temperament67,
Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrained
From even a word, and so returning said:
Done in your maiden’s person to yourself:
And I will track this vermin to their earths:
For though I ride unarmed, I do not doubt
To find, at some place I shall come at, arms
On loan, or else for pledge; and, being found,
Then will I fight him, and will break his pride,
And on the third day will again be here,
So that I be not fallen in fight. Farewell.”
“Farewell, fair Prince,” answered the stately Queen.
“Be prosperous in this journey, as in all;
And may you light on all things that you love,
But ere you wed with any, bring your bride,
And I, were she the daughter of a king,
Yea, though she were a beggar from the hedge,
Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun.”
And Prince Geraint, now thinking that he heard
The noble hart at bay, now the far horn,
A little vext at losing of the hunt,
And valley, with fixt eye following the three.
At last they issued from the world of wood,
And showed themselves against the sky, and sank.
In a long valley, on one side whereof,
And on one side a castle in decay,
Beyond a bridge that spanned a dry ravine:
And out of town and valley came a noise
At distance, ere they settle for the night.
And entered, and were lost behind the walls.
“So,” thought Geraint, “I have tracked him to his earth.”
And down the long street riding wearily,
Went sweating underneath a sack of corn,
Who answered gruffly, “Ugh! the sparrow-hawk.”
Then riding further past an armourer’s,
Who, with back turned, and bowed above his work,
Not turning round, nor looking at him, said:
“Friend, he that labours for the sparrow-hawk
Has little time for idle questioners.”
Whereat Geraint flashed into sudden spleen:
“A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk!
O wretched set of sparrows, one and all,
Who pipe of nothing but of sparrow-hawks!
Speak, if ye be not like the rest, hawk-mad,
Where can I get me harbourage for the night?
And arms, arms, arms to fight my enemy? Speak!”
Whereat the armourer turning all amazed
And seeing one so gay in purple silks,
Came forward with the helmet yet in hand
And answered, “Pardon me, O stranger knight;
We hold a tourney here tomorrow morn,
Arms? truth! I know not: all are wanted here.
Harbourage? truth, good truth, I know not, save,
It may be, at Earl Yniol’s, o’er the bridge
Yonder.” He spoke and fell to work again.
Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet,
Across the bridge that spanned the dry ravine.
Once fit for feasts of ceremony) and said:
“Whither, fair son?” to whom Geraint replied,
“O friend, I seek a harbourage for the night.”
Then Yniol, “Enter therefore and partake
The slender entertainment of a house
Once rich, now poor, but ever open-doored.”
“Thanks, venerable friend,” replied Geraint;
“So that ye do not serve me sparrow-hawks
For supper, I will enter, I will eat
With all the passion of a twelve hours’ fast.”
Then sighed and smiled the hoary-headed Earl,
And answered, “Graver cause than yours is mine
To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparrow-hawk:
But in, go in; for save yourself desire it,
We will not touch upon him even in jest.”
Then rode Geraint into the castle court,
He looked and saw that all was ruinous.
And here had fallen a great part of a tower,
Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers:
Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound
Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms,
And sucked the joining of the stones, and looked
And while he waited in the castle court,
The voice of Enid, Yniol’s daughter, rang
Clear through the open casement of the hall,
Singing; and as the sweet voice of a bird,
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is
That sings so delicately clear, and make
Conjecture110 of the plumage and the form;
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint;
And made him like a man abroad at morn
When first the liquid note beloved of men
Comes flying over many a windy wave
To Britain, and in April suddenly
Or it may be the labour of his hands,
To think or say, “There is the nightingale;”
So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said,
“Here, by God’s grace, is the one voice for me.”
It chanced the song that Enid sang was one
Of Fortune and her wheel, and Enid sang:
“Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud;
Turn thy wild wheel through sunshine, storm, and cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
“Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;
With that wild wheel we go not up or down;
“Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;
For man is man and master of his fate.
“Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.”
“Hark, by the bird’s song ye may learn the nest,”
Said Yniol; “enter quickly.” Entering then,
Right o’er a mount of newly-fallen stones,
The dusky-raftered many-cobwebbed hall,
And near her, like a blossom vermeil-white,
That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath,
Moved the fair Enid, all in faded silk,
Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint,
“Here by God’s rood is the one maid for me.”
But none spake word except the hoary Earl:
“Enid, the good knight’s horse stands in the court;
Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then
Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine;
And we will make us merry as we may.
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.”
He spake: the Prince, as Enid past him, fain
To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught
His purple scarf, and held, and said, “Forbear!
Rest! the good house, though ruined, O my son,
Endures not that her guest should serve himself.”
And reverencing115 the custom of the house
Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore.
So Enid took his charger to the stall;
And after went her way across the bridge,
And reached the town, and while the Prince and Earl
Yet spoke together, came again with one,
A youth, that following with a costrel bore
The means of goodly welcome, flesh and wine.
And Enid brought sweet cakes to make them cheer,
And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread.
And then, because their hall must also serve
For kitchen, boiled the flesh, and spread the board,
And stood behind, and waited on the three.
And seeing her so sweet and serviceable,
To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb,
That crost the trencher as she laid it down:
But after all had eaten, then Geraint,
Let his eye rove in following, or rest
On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work,
Now here, now there, about the dusky hall;
Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl:
“Fair Host and Earl, I pray your courtesy;
This sparrow-hawk, what is he? tell me of him.
His name? but no, good faith, I will not have it:
For if he be the knight whom late I saw
Ride into that new fortress by your town,
White from the mason’s hand, then have I sworn
From his own lips to have it—I am Geraint
Of Devon—for this morning when the Queen
Sent her own maiden to demand the name,
His dwarf, a vicious under-shapen thing,
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned
Indignant to the Queen; and then I swore
That I would track this caitiff to his hold,
And fight and break his pride, and have it of him.
And all unarmed I rode, and thought to find
Arms in your town, where all the men are mad;
They take the rustic murmur of their bourg
For the great wave that echoes round the world;
They would not hear me speak: but if ye know
Where I can light on arms, or if yourself
Should have them, tell me, seeing I have sworn
That I will break his pride and learn his name,
Then cried Earl Yniol, “Art thou he indeed,
Geraint, a name far-sounded among men
For noble deeds? and truly I, when first
I saw you moving by me on the bridge,
Felt ye were somewhat, yea, and by your state
And presence might have guessed you one of those
That eat in Arthur’s hall in Camelot.
Nor speak I now from foolish flattery;
For this dear child hath often heard me praise
Hath asked again, and ever loved to hear;
So grateful is the noise of noble deeds
To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong:
O never yet had woman such a pair
Of suitors as this maiden: first Limours,
Drunk even when he wooed; and be he dead
I know not, but he past to the wild land.
My curse, my nephew—I will not let his name
Slip from my lips if I can help it—he,
When that I knew him fierce and turbulent
Refused her to him, then his pride awoke;
And since the proud man often is the mean,
Affirming that his father left him gold,
And in my charge, which was not rendered to him;
About my person, the more easily
Because my means were somewhat broken into
Through open doors and hospitality;
Raised my own town against me in the night
Before my Enid’s birthday, sacked my house;
Built that new fort to overawe my friends,
For truly there are those who love me yet;
And keeps me in this ruinous castle here,
Where doubtless he would put me soon to death,
But that his pride too much despises me:
And I myself sometimes despise myself;
For I have let men be, and have their way;
Am much too gentle, have not used my power:
Nor know I whether I be very base
Or very manful, whether very wise
Or very foolish; only this I know,
That whatsoever126 evil happen to me,
I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb,
But can endure it all most patiently.”
“Well said, true heart,” replied Geraint, “but arms,
That if the sparrow-hawk, this nephew, fight
In next day’s tourney I may break his pride.”
And Yniol answered, “Arms, indeed, but old
Are mine, and therefore at thy asking, thine.
But in this tournament can no man tilt,
Except the lady he loves best be there.
Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground,
And over these is placed a silver wand,
And over that a golden sparrow-hawk,
The prize of beauty for the fairest there.
And this, what knight soever be in field
Lays claim to for the lady at his side,
Who being apt at arms and big of bone
Has ever won it for the lady with him,
And toppling over all antagonism129
Has earned himself the name of sparrow-hawk.”
But thou, that hast no lady, canst not fight.”
To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied,
Leaning a little toward him, “Thy leave!
Let me lay lance in rest, O noble host,
For this dear child, because I never saw,
Though having seen all beauties of our time,
Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair.
And if I fall her name will yet remain
Untarnished as before; but if I live,
So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost,
As I will make her truly my true wife.”
Then, howsoever patient, Yniol’s heart
And looking round he saw not Enid there,
(Who hearing her own name had stolen away)
But that old dame, to whom full tenderly
And folding all her hand in his he said,
“Mother, a maiden is a tender thing,
And best by her that bore her understood.
Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest
Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince.”
With frequent smile and nod departing found,
Half disarrayed132 as to her rest, the girl;
Whom first she kissed on either cheek, and then
On either shining shoulder laid a hand,
And kept her off and gazed upon her face,
And told them all their converse in the hall,
Proving her heart: but never light and shade
Coursed one another more on open ground
Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale
Across the face of Enid hearing her;
While slowly falling as a scale that falls,
When weight is added only grain by grain,
Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast;
Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word,
Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it;
So moving without answer to her rest
She found no rest, and ever failed to draw
The quiet night into her blood, but lay
Contemplating133 her own unworthiness;
And when the pale and bloodless east began
To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised
Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved
And waited there for Yniol and Geraint.
And thither came the twain, and when Geraint
Beheld her first in field, awaiting him,
He felt, were she the prize of bodily force,
Himself beyond the rest pushing could move
Were on his princely person, but through these
Princelike his bearing shone; and errant knights
And ladies came, and by and by the town
Flowed in, and settling circled all the lists.
And there they fixt the forks into the ground,
And over these they placed the silver wand,
And over that the golden sparrow-hawk.
Spake to the lady with him and proclaimed,
“Advance and take, as fairest of the fair,
What I these two years past have won for thee,
The prize of beauty.” Loudly spake the Prince,
“Forbear: there is a worthier,” and the knight
Turned, and beheld the four, and all his face
Glowed like the heart of a great fire at Yule,
So burnt he was with passion, crying out,
“Do battle for it then,” no more; and thrice
They clashed together, and thrice they brake their spears.
So often and with such blows, that all the crowd
Wondered, and now and then from distant walls
So twice they fought, and twice they breathed, and still
The dew of their great labour, and the blood
Of their strong bodies, flowing, drained their force.
But either’s force was matched till Yniol’s cry,
“Remember that great insult done the Queen,”
Increased Geraint’s, who heaved his blade aloft,
And cracked the helmet through, and bit the bone,
And felled him, and set foot upon his breast,
And said, “Thy name?” To whom the fallen man
Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee.
My pride is broken: men have seen my fall.”
“Then, Edyrn, son of Nudd,” replied Geraint,
“These two things shalt thou do, or else thou diest.
First, thou thyself, with damsel and with dwarf,
Shalt ride to Arthur’s court, and coming there,
These two things shalt thou do, or thou shalt die.”
And Edyrn answered, “These things will I do,
For I have never yet been overthrown142,
And thou hast overthrown me, and my pride
Is broken down, for Enid sees my fall!”
And rising up, he rode to Arthur’s court,
And there the Queen forgave him easily.
Bright from his old dark life, and fell at last
In the great battle fighting for the King.
But when the third day from the hunting-morn
Made a low splendour in the world, and wings
Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay
With her fair head in the dim-yellow light,
Among the dancing shadows of the birds,
Woke and bethought her of her promise given
No later than last eve to Prince Geraint—
He would not leave her, till her promise given—
To ride with him this morning to the court,
And there be made known to the stately Queen,
At this she cast her eyes upon her dress,
And thought it never yet had looked so mean.
For as a leaf in mid-November is
To what it is in mid-October, seemed
The dress that now she looked on to the dress
She looked on ere the coming of Geraint.
And still she looked, and still the terror grew
Of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court,
All staring at her in her faded silk:
And softly to her own sweet heart she said:
“This noble prince who won our earldom back,
Would he could tarry with us here awhile,
But being so beholden to the Prince,
It were but little grace in any of us,
Bent as he seemed on going this third day,
To seek a second favour at his hands.
Yet if he could but tarry a day or two,
Far liefer than so much discredit him.”
And Enid fell in longing for a dress
Of her good mother, given her on the night
Before her birthday, three sad years ago,
That night of fire, when Edyrn sacked their house,
For while the mother showed it, and the two
Were turning and admiring it, the work
To both appeared so costly, rose a cry
That Edyrn’s men were on them, and they fled
With little save the jewels they had on,
Which being sold and sold had bought them bread:
And Edyrn’s men had caught them in their flight,
And placed them in this ruin; and she wished
The Prince had found her in her ancient home;
Then let her fancy flit across the past,
And roam the goodly places that she knew;
And last bethought her how she used to watch,
Near that old home, a pool of golden carp;
And half asleep she made comparison
Of that and these to her own faded self
And the gay court, and fell asleep again;
And dreamt herself was such a faded form
Among her burnished sisters of the pool;
But this was in the garden of a king;
And though she lay dark in the pool, she knew
That all was bright; that all about were birds
That all the turf was rich in plots that looked
Each like a garnet or a turkis in it;
And lords and ladies of the high court went
In silver tissue talking things of state;
And children of the King in cloth of gold
Glanced at the doors or gamboled down the walks;
And while she thought “They will not see me,” came
A stately queen whose name was Guinevere,
And all the children in their cloth of gold
Ran to her, crying, “If we have fish at all
Let them be gold; and charge the gardeners now
To pick the faded creature from the pool,
And cast it on the mixen that it die.”
And therewithal one came and seized on her,
And Enid started waking, with her heart
All overshadowed by the foolish dream,
And lo! it was her mother grasping her
To get her well awake; and in her hand
A suit of bright apparel, which she laid
Flat on the couch, and spoke exultingly154:
“See here, my child, how fresh the colours look,
How fast they hold like colours of a shell
That keeps the wear and polish of the wave.
Why not? It never yet was worn, I trow:
Look on it, child, and tell me if ye know it.”
And Enid looked, but all confused at first,
Could scarce divide it from her foolish dream:
Then suddenly she knew it and rejoiced,
And answered, “Yea, I know it; your good gift,
So sadly lost on that unhappy night;
Your own good gift!” “Yea, surely,” said the dame,
“And gladly given again this happy morn.
For when the jousts were ended yesterday,
Went Yniol through the town, and everywhere
All scattered through the houses of the town;
And gave command that all which once was ours
Should now be ours again: and yester-eve,
While ye were talking sweetly with your Prince,
Came one with this and laid it in my hand,
For love or fear, or seeking favour of us,
Because we have our earldom back again.
And yester-eve I would not tell you of it,
But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn.
Yea, truly is it not a sweet surprise?
For I myself unwillingly156 have worn
My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours,
And howsoever patient, Yniol his.
Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house,
And page, and maid, and squire, and seneschal,
And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all
That appertains to noble maintenance.
Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house;
And all through that young traitor, cruel need
Constrained159 us, but a better time has come;
So clothe yourself in this, that better fits
Our mended fortunes and a Prince’s bride:
For though ye won the prize of fairest fair,
And though I heard him call you fairest fair,
Let never maiden think, however fair,
She is not fairer in new clothes than old.
And should some great court-lady say, the Prince
Hath picked a ragged-robin from the hedge,
And like a madman brought her to the court,
Then were ye shamed, and, worse, might shame the Prince
To whom we are beholden; but I know,
That when my dear child is set forth at her best,
That neither court nor country, though they sought
Through all the provinces like those of old
That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match.”
Here ceased the kindly mother out of breath;
And Enid listened brightening as she lay;
Then, as the white and glittering star of morn
Parts from a bank of snow, and by and by
Slips into golden cloud, the maiden rose,
And left her maiden couch, and robed herself,
Helped by the mother’s careful hand and eye,
Without a mirror, in the gorgeous gown;
Who, after, turned her daughter round, and said,
She never yet had seen her half so fair;
And called her like that maiden in the tale,
And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaun,
Flur, for whose love the Roman Caesar first
Invaded Britain, “But we beat him back,
As this great Prince invaded us, and we,
Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy
And I can scarcely ride with you to court,
For old am I, and rough the ways and wild;
But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream
I see my princess as I see her now,
Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay.”
But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint
Woke where he slept in the high hall, and called
For Enid, and when Yniol made report
Of that good mother making Enid gay
In such apparel as might well beseem
His princess, or indeed the stately Queen,
That she ride with me in her faded silk.”
Yniol with that hard message went; it fell
Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn:
Dared not to glance at her good mother’s face,
Laid from her limbs the costly-broidered gift,
And robed them in her ancient suit again,
More than Geraint to greet her thus attired;
And glancing all at once as keenly at her
But rested with her sweet face satisfied;
Then seeing cloud upon the mother’s brow,
Her by both hands she caught, and sweetly said,
“O my new mother, be not wroth or grieved
At thy new son, for my petition to her.
When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen,
In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet,
Made promise, that whatever bride I brought,
Herself would clothe her like the sun in Heaven.
Thereafter, when I reached this ruined hall,
No hand but hers, should make your Enid burst
Sunlike from cloud—and likewise thought perhaps,
The two together; fain I would the two
Should love each other: how can Enid find
A nobler friend? Another thought was mine;
I came among you here so suddenly,
That though her gentle presence at the lists
Might well have served for proof that I was loved,
I doubted whether daughter’s tenderness,
Or easy nature, might not let itself
Be moulded by your wishes for her weal;
Or whether some false sense in her own self
Of my contrasting brightness, overbore
Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall;
And such a sense might make her long for court
That could I someway prove such force in her
Linked with such love for me, that at a word
(No reason given her) she could cast aside
A splendour dear to women, new to her,
And therefore dearer; or if not so new,
Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power
Of intermitted usage; then I felt
Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest,
A prophet certain of my prophecy,
That never shadow of mistrust can cross
Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts:
And for my strange petition I will make
When your fair child shall wear your costly gift
Who knows? another gift of the high God,
Which, maybe, shall have learned to lisp you thanks.”
He spoke: the mother smiled, but half in tears,
Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it,
And claspt and kissed her, and they rode away.
Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climbed
Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,
And white sails flying on the yellow sea;
But not to goodly hill or yellow sea
Looked the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk,
By the flat meadow, till she saw them come;
And then descending178 met them at the gates,
Embraced her with all welcome as a friend,
And did her honour as the Prince’s bride,
And clothed her for her bridals like the sun;
And all that week was old Caerleon gay,
For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint,
They twain were wedded with all ceremony.
And this was on the last year’s Whitsuntide.
But Enid ever kept the faded silk,
Remembering how first he came on her,
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
And all her foolish fears about the dress,
And all his journey toward her, as himself
Had told her, and their coming to the court.
And now this morning when he said to her,
“Put on your worst and meanest dress,” she found
And took it, and arrayed herself therein.
点击收听单词发音
1 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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2 tributary | |
n.支流;纳贡国;adj.附庸的;辅助的;支流的 | |
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3 crimsons | |
变为深红色(crimson的第三人称单数形式) | |
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4 gems | |
growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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5 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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6 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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7 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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8 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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9 taint | |
n.污点;感染;腐坏;v.使感染;污染 | |
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10 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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11 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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12 loathes | |
v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的第三人称单数 );极不喜欢 | |
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13 loathe | |
v.厌恶,嫌恶 | |
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14 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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15 sewer | |
n.排水沟,下水道 | |
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16 craved | |
渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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17 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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18 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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19 falcon | |
n.隼,猎鹰 | |
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20 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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21 scoff | |
n.嘲笑,笑柄,愚弄;v.嘲笑,嘲弄,愚弄,狼吞虎咽 | |
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22 jeer | |
vi.嘲弄,揶揄;vt.奚落;n.嘲笑,讥评 | |
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23 babble | |
v.含糊不清地说,胡言乱语地说,儿语 | |
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24 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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25 uxoriousness | |
n.疼爱妻子 | |
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26 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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28 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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29 boundless | |
adj.无限的;无边无际的;巨大的 | |
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30 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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31 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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32 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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33 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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34 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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35 vehemently | |
adv. 热烈地 | |
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36 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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37 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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38 slur | |
v.含糊地说;诋毁;连唱;n.诋毁;含糊的发音 | |
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39 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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40 reverenced | |
v.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 );敬礼 | |
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41 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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42 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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43 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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44 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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45 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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46 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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47 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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48 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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49 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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50 errs | |
犯错误,做错事( err的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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52 cedarn | |
杉的,杉木制的 | |
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53 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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54 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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55 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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56 Ford | |
n.浅滩,水浅可涉处;v.涉水,涉过 | |
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57 knoll | |
n.小山,小丘 | |
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58 hoof | |
n.(马,牛等的)蹄 | |
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59 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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61 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
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62 dwarf | |
n.矮子,侏儒,矮小的动植物;vt.使…矮小 | |
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63 haughtiest | |
haughty(傲慢的,骄傲的)的最高级形式 | |
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64 irritable | |
adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
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65 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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66 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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67 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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68 avenge | |
v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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69 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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70 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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71 glade | |
n.林间空地,一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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72 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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73 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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74 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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75 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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76 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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77 shingly | |
adj.小石子多的 | |
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78 brawling | |
n.争吵,喧嚷 | |
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79 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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80 hostel | |
n.(学生)宿舍,招待所 | |
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81 hiss | |
v.发出嘶嘶声;发嘘声表示不满 | |
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82 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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83 scoured | |
走遍(某地)搜寻(人或物)( scour的过去式和过去分词 ); (用力)刷; 擦净; 擦亮 | |
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84 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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85 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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86 scouring | |
擦[洗]净,冲刷,洗涤 | |
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87 hawk | |
n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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88 churl | |
n.吝啬之人;粗鄙之人 | |
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89 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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90 hubbub | |
n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
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91 riveting | |
adj.动听的,令人着迷的,完全吸引某人注意力的;n.铆接(法) | |
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92 query | |
n.疑问,问号,质问;vt.询问,表示怀疑 | |
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93 lashed | |
adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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94 wrens | |
n.鹪鹩( wren的名词复数 ) | |
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95 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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96 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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97 scantly | |
缺乏地,仅仅 | |
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98 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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99 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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100 frayed | |
adj.磨损的v.(使布、绳等)磨损,磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101 trampling | |
踩( trample的现在分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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102 sprouted | |
v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 );抽芽;出现;(使)涌现出 | |
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103 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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104 plumed | |
饰有羽毛的 | |
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105 turret | |
n.塔楼,角塔 | |
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106 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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107 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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108 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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109 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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110 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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111 gemmed | |
点缀(gem的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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112 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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113 hoard | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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114 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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115 reverencing | |
v.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的现在分词 );敬礼 | |
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116 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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117 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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118 avenging | |
adj.报仇的,复仇的v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 );为…报复 | |
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119 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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120 brawls | |
吵架,打架( brawl的名词复数 ) | |
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121 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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122 slander | |
n./v.诽谤,污蔑 | |
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123 bribed | |
v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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124 foully | |
ad.卑鄙地 | |
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125 ousted | |
驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 ); 革职; 罢黜; 剥夺 | |
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126 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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127 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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128 tilts | |
(意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的)企图,尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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129 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
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130 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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131 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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132 disarrayed | |
vt.使混乱(disarray的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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133 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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134 jousts | |
(骑士)骑着马用长矛打斗( joust的名词复数 ); 格斗,竞争 | |
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135 rusted | |
v.(使)生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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137 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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138 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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139 groaning | |
adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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140 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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141 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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142 overthrown | |
adj. 打翻的,推倒的,倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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143 traitor | |
n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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144 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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145 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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147 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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148 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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149 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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150 blurred | |
v.(使)变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 );(使)难以区分;模模糊糊;迷离 | |
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151 lustreless | |
adj.无光泽的,无光彩的,平淡乏味的 | |
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152 burnished | |
adj.抛光的,光亮的v.擦亮(金属等),磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 );被擦亮,磨光 | |
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153 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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154 exultingly | |
兴高采烈地,得意地 | |
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155 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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156 unwillingly | |
adv.不情愿地 | |
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157 sumptuous | |
adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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158 swerved | |
v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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160 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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161 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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162 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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163 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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165 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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166 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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167 robins | |
n.知更鸟,鸫( robin的名词复数 );(签名者不分先后,以避免受责的)圆形签名抗议书(或请愿书) | |
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168 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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169 eyelid | |
n.眼睑,眼皮 | |
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170 beholding | |
v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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171 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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172 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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173 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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174 ebbs | |
退潮( ebb的名词复数 ); 落潮; 衰退 | |
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175 amends | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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176 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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177 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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178 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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