“Our tracts14 of wood and water,” he says, “are almost diminutive15 in comparison (with Switzerland); therefore, as far as sublimity16 is dependent upon absolute bulk and height, and atmospherical17 influences in connexion with these, it is obvious that there can be no rivalship. But a short residence among the British mountains will furnish abundant proof, that, after a certain point of elevation6, viz., that which allows of compact and fleecy clouds settling upon, or sweeping18 over, the summits, the sense of sublimity depends more upon form and relation of objects to each other than upon their actual magnitude; and that an elevation of 3000 feet is sufficient to call forth19 in a most impressive degree the creative, and magnifying, and softening20 powers of the atmosphere.”
And again, as to climate; “The rain,” he says, “here comes down heartily21, and is frequently succeeded by clear bright weather, when every brook22 is vocal23, and every torrent24 sonorous25; brooks26 and torrents27 which are never muddy even in the heaviest floods. Days of unsettled weather, with partial showers, are very frequent; but the showers, darkening or brightening as they fly from hill to hill, are not less grateful to the eye than finely interwoven passages of gay and sad music are touching28 to the ear. Vapours exhaling29 from the lakes and meadows after sunrise in a hot season, or in moist weather brooding upon the heights, or descending31 towards the valleys with inaudible motion, give a visionary character to everything around them; and are in themselves so beautiful as to dispose us to enter into the feelings of those simple nations (such as the Laplanders of this day) by whom they are taken for guardian33 deities34 of the mountains; or to sympathize with others who have fancied these delicate apparitions35 to be the spirits of their departed ancestors. Akin36 to these are fleecy clouds resting upon the hill-tops; they are not easily managed in picture, with their accompaniments of blue sky, but how glorious are they in nature! How pregnant with imagination for the poet! And the height of the Cumbrian mountains is sufficient to exhibit daily and hourly instances of those mysterious attachments37. Such clouds, cleaving39 to their stations, or lifting up suddenly their glittering heads from behind rocky barriers, or hurrying out of sight with speed of the sharpest edge, will often tempt40 an inhabitant to congratulate himself on belonging to a country of mists and clouds and storms, and make him think of the blank sky of Egypt, and of the cerulean vacancy41 of Italy, as an unanimated and even a sad spectacle.”
The consciousness of a preceding turmoil42 brings home to us best the sense of perfect peace; and a climate accustomed to storm-cloud and tempest can melt sometimes into “a day as still as heaven” with a benignant tranquillity44 which calmer regions can scarcely know. Such a day Wordsworth has described in language of such delicate truth and beauty as only a long and intimate love can inspire:
“It has been said that in human life there are moments worth ages. In a more subdued46 tone of sympathy may we affirm, that in the climate of England there are, for the lover of Nature, days which are worth whole months, I might say, even years. One of these favoured days sometimes occurs in springtime, when that soft air is breathing over the blossoms and new-born verdure which inspired Buchanan with his beautiful Ode to the First of May; the air which, in the luxuriance of his fancy, he likens to that of the golden age,— to that which gives motion to the funereal47 cypresses48 on the banks of Lethe; to the air which is to salute49 beatified spirits when expiatory50 fires shall have consumed the earth with all her habitations. But it is in autumn that days of such affecting influence most frequently intervene. The atmosphere seems refined, and the sky rendered more crystalline, as the vivifying heat of the year abates51; the lights and shadows are more delicate; the colouring is richer and more finely harmonized; and, in this season of stillness, the ear being unoccupied, or only gently excited, the sense of vision becomes more susceptible52 of its appropriate enjoyments53. A resident in a country like this which we are treating of will agree with me that the presence of a lake is indispensable to exhibit in perfection the beauty of one of these days; and he must have experienced, while looking on the unruffled waters, that the imagination by their aid is carried into recesses54 of feeling otherwise impenetrable. The reason of this is, that the heavens are not only brought down into the bosom55 of the earth, but that the earth is mainly looked at, and thought of, through the medium of a purer element. The happiest time is when the equinoctial gales56 are departed; but their fury may probably be called to mind by the sight of a few shattered boughs57, whose leaves do not differ in colour from the faded foliage58 of the stately oaks from which these relics59 of the storm depend: all else speaks of tranquillity; not a breath of air, no restlessness of insects, and not a moving object perceptible— except the clouds gliding60 in the depths of the lake, or the traveller passing along, an inverted61 image, whose motion seems governed by the quiet of a time to which its archetype, the living person, is perhaps insensible; or it may happen that the figure of one of the larger birds, a raven62 or a heron, is crossing silently among the reflected clouds, while the voice of the real bird, from the element aloft, gently awakens63 in the spectator the recollection of appetites and instincts, pursuits and occupations, that deform64 and agitate65 the world, yet have no power to prevent nature from putting on an aspect capable of satisfying the most intense cravings for the tranquil45, the lovely, and the perfect, to which man, the noblest of her creatures, is subject.”
The scene described here is one as exquisite66 in detail as majestic67 in general effect. And it is characteristic of the region to which Wordsworth’s love was given that there is no corner of it without a meaning and a charm; that the open record of its immemorial past tells us at every turn that all agencies have conspired68 for loveliness and ruin itself has been benign43. A passage of Wordsworth’s describing the character of the lake-shores illustrates70 this fact with loving minuteness.
“Sublimity is the result of nature’s first great dealings with
the superficies of the Earth; but the general tendency of her
subsequent operations is towards the production of beauty, by
a multiplicity of symmetrical parts uniting in a consistent
whole. This is everywhere exemplified along the margins71 of
these lakes. Masses of rock, that have been precipitated73 from
the heights into the area of waters, lie in some places like
stranded74 ships, or have acquired the compact structure of jutting75
piers76, or project in little peninsulas crested77 with native wood.
The smallest rivulet78, one whose silent influx79 is scarcely
noticeable in a season of dry weather, so faint is the dimple made
by it on the surface of the smooth lake, will be found to have
been not useless in shaping, by its deposits of gravel80 and soil
in time of flood, a curve that would not otherwise have existed.
But the more powerful brooks, encroaching upon the level of the
lake, have, in course of time, given birth to ample promontories81
of sweeping outline, that contrast boldly with the longitudinal
base of the steeps on the opposite shore; while their flat or
gently-sloping surfaces never fail to introduce, into the midst of
desolation and barrenness, the elements of fertility, even where
the habitations of men may not have been raised.”
With this we may contrast, as a companion picture, the poet’s description of the tarns83, or lonely bodies of water, which lie here and there among the hills:
“They are difficult of access and naked; yet some of them
are, in their permanent forms, very grand, and there are accidents
of things which would make the meanest of them interesting.
At all events, one of these pools is an acceptable sight to
the mountain wanderer, not merely as an incident that diversifies85
the prospect2, but as forming in his mind a centre or conspicuous86
point to which objects, otherwise disconnected or insubordinated,
may be referred. Some few have a varied87 outline,
with bold heath-clad promontories; and as they mostly lie at the
foot of a steep precipice88, the water, where the sun is not shining
upon it, appears black and sullen89, and round the margin72 huge
stones and masses of rock are scattered90, some defying conjecture91
as to the means by which they came thither92, and others
obviously fallen from on high, the contribution of ages! A not
unpleasing sadness is induced by this perplexity, and these
images of decay; while the prospect of a body of pure water,
unattended with groves94 and other cheerful rural images by
which fresh water is usually accompanied, and unable to give
furtherance to the meagre vegetation around it, excites a sense
of some repulsive95 power strongly put forth, and thus deepens
the melancholy96 natural to such scenes.”
To those who love to deduce the character of a population from the character of their race and surroundings the peasantry of Cumberland and Westmoreland form an attractive theme. Drawn97 in great part from the strong Scandinavian stock, they dwell in a land solemn and beautiful as Norway itself, but without Norway’s rigour and penury98, and with still lakes and happy rivers instead of Norway’s inarming melancholy sea. They are a mountain folk; but their mountains are no precipices99 of insuperable snow, such as keep the dwellers100 in some Swiss hamlet shut in ignorance and stagnating101 into idiocy102. These barriers divide only to concentrate, and environ only to endear; their guardianship103 is but enough to give an added unity104 to each group of kindred homes. And thus it is that the Cumbrian dalesmen have afforded perhaps as near a realization105 as human fates have yet allowed of the rural society which statesmen desire for their country’s greatness. They have given an example of substantial comfort strenuously107 won; of home affections intensified108 by independent strength; of isolation109 without ignorance, and of a shrewd simplicity110; of an hereditary111 virtue112 which needs no support from fanaticism113, and to which honour is more than law.
The school of political economists114, moreover, who urge the advantage of a peasant proprietary—of small independent holdings,—as at once drawing from the land the fullest produce and rearing upon it the most vigorous and provident115 population,—this school, as is well known, finds in the statesmen of Cumberland one of its favourite examples. In the days of border-wars, when the first object was to secure the existence of as many armed men as possible, in readiness to repel116 the Scot, the abbeys and great proprietors118 in the north readily granted small estates on military tenure119, which tenure, when personal service in the field was no longer needed, became in most cases an absolute ownership. The attachment38 of these statesmen to their hereditary estates, the heroic efforts which they would make to avoid parting with them, formed an impressive phenomenon in the little world—a world at once of equality and of conservatism—which was the scene of Wordsworth’s childish years, and which remained his manhood’s ideal.
The growth of large fortunes in England, and the increased competition for land, has swallowed up many of these small independent holdings in the extensive properties of wealthy men. And at the same time the spread of education, and the improved poor-laws and other legislation, by raising the condition of other parts of England, have tended to obliterate120 the contrast which was so marked in Wordsworth’s day. How marked that contrast was, a comparison of Crabbe’s poems with Wordsworth’s will sufficiently121 indicate. Both are true painters; but while in the one we see poverty as something gross and degrading, and the Tales of the Village stand out from a background of pauperism122 and crime; in the other picture poverty means nothing worse than privation, and the poet in the presence of the most tragic123 outcast of fortune could still
Have laughed himself to scorn, to find
In that decrepit124 man so firm a mind.3
3 The previous page ends midsentence, within an ordinary paragraph, sentence finished by this verse (probably an excerpt125 from a poem).]
Nay126, even when a state far below the Leech–Gatherer’s has been reached, and mind and body alike are in their last decay, the life of the Old Cumberland Beggar, at one remove from nothingness, has yet a dignity and a usefulness of its own. His fading days are passed in no sad asylum127 of vicious or gloomy age, but amid neighbourly kindnesses, and in the sanity128 of the open air; and a life that is reduced to its barest elements has yet a hold on the liberality of nature and the affections of human hearts.
So long as the inhabitants of a region thus solitary129 and beautiful have neither many arts nor many wishes, save such as the Nature which they know has suggested, and their own handiwork can satisfy, so long are their presence and habitations likely to be in harmony with the scenes around them. Nay, man’s presence is almost always needed to draw out the full meaning of Nature, to illustrate69 her bounty130 by his glad well-being131 and to hint by his contrivances of precaution at her might and terror. Wordsworth’s description of the cottages of Cumberland depicts132 this unconscious adaptation of man’s abode133 to his surroundings, with an eye which may be called at pleasure that of painter or of poet.
“The dwelling-houses, and contiguous outhouses, are in many
instances of the colour of the native rock out of which they have
been built; but frequently the dwelling—or Fire-house, as it is
ordinarily called—has been distinguished134 from the barn or byre
by roughcast and whitewash135, which, as the inhabitants are not
hasty in renewing it, in a few years acquires by the influence of
weather a tint136 at once sober and variegated137. As these houses
have been, from father to son, inhabited by persons engaged in
the same occupations, yet necessarily with changes in their
circumstances, they have received without incongruity138 additions
and accommodations adapted to the needs of each successive
occupant, who, being for the most part proprietor117,
was at liberty to follow his own fancy, so that these humble139
dwellings140 remind the contemplative spectator of a production of
Nature, and may (using a strong expression) rather be said to
have grown than to have been erected—to have risen, by an
instinct of their own, out of the native rock—so little is there
in them of formality, such is their wildness and beauty.”
“These dwellings, mostly built, as has been said, of rough unhewn
stone, are roofed with slates141, which were rudely taken
from the quarry142 before the present art of splitting them was
understood, and are therefore rough and uneven143 in their surface,
so that both the coverings and sides of the houses have furnished
places of rest for the seeds of lichens144, mosses145, ferns and flowers.
Hence buildings, which in their very form call to mind the
processes of Nature, do thus, clothed in part with a vegetable garb147,
appear to be received into the bosom of the living principle of
things, as it acts and exists among the woods and fields, and
by their colour and their shape affectingly direct the thoughts
to that tranquil course of nature and simplicity along which the
humble-minded inhabitants have through so many generations
been led. Add the little garden with its shed for bee-hives, its
small bed of potherbs, and its borders and patches of flowers for
Sunday posies, with sometimes a choice few too much prized to
be plucked; an orchard148 of proportioned size; a cheesepress, often
supported by some tree near the door; a cluster of embowering
sycamores for summer shade, with a tall fir through which the
winds sing when other trees are leafless; the little rill or
household spout149 murmuring in all seasons,—combine these
incidents and images together, and you have the representative
idea of a mountain cottage in this country—so beautifully
formed in itself, and so richly adorned151 by the hand of Nature.”
These brief descriptions may suffice to indicate the general character of a district which in Wordsworth’s early days had a distinctive152 unity which he was the first fully150 to appreciate, which was at its best during his long lifetime, and which has already begun to disappear. The mountains had waited long for a full adoration153, an intelligent worship. At last “they were enough beloved.” And if now the changes wrought154 around them recall too often the poet’s warning, how
All that now delights thee, from the day
On which it should be touched, shall melt, and melt away,—
yet they have gained something which cannot be taken from them. Not mines, nor railways, nor monster excursions, nor reservoirs, nor Manchester herself, “toute entière à sa proie attachée,” can deprive lake and hill of Wordsworth’s memory, and the love which once they knew.
Wordsworth’s life was from the very first so ordered as to give him the most complete and intimate knowledge both of district and people. There was scarcely a mile of ground in the Lake country over which he had not wandered; scarcely a prospect which was not linked with his life by some tie of memory. Born at Cockermouth, on the outskirts155 of the district, his mind was gradually led on to its beauty; and his first recollections were of Derwent’s grassy156 holms and rocky falls, with Skiddaw, “bronzed with deepest radiance,” towering in the eastern sky. Sent to school at Hawkshead at eight years old, Wordsworth’s scene was transferred to the other extremity157 of the lake district. It was in this quaint158 old town, on the banks of Esthwaite Water, that the “fair seed-time of his soul” was passed; it was here that his boyish delight in exercise and adventure grew, and melted in its turn into a more impersonal159 yearning160, a deeper absorption into the beauty and the wonder of the world. And even the records of his boyish amusements come to us each on a background of Nature’s majesty161 and calm. Setting springs for woodcock on the grassy moors162 at night, at nine years old, he feels himself “a trouble to the peace” that dwells among the moon and stars overhead; and when he has appropriated a woodcock caught by somebody else, “sounds of undistinguishable motion” embody164 the viewless pursuit of Nemesis165 among the solitary hills. In the perilous166 search for the raven’s nest, as he hangs on the face of the naked crags of Yewdale, he feels for the first time that sense of detachment from external things which a position of strange unreality will often force on the mind.
Oh, at that time
When on the perilous ridge167 I hung alone,
With what strange utterance168 did the loud dry wind
Blow through my ear! The sky seemed not a sky
Of earth—and with what motion moved the clouds!
The innocent rapine of nutting taught him to feel that there is a spirit in the woods—a presence which too rude a touch of ours will desecrate169 and destroy.
The neighbouring lakes of Coniston, Esthwaite, Windermere, have left similar traces of the gradual upbuilding of his spirit. It was on a promontory170 on Coniston that the sun’s last rays, gilding171 the eastern hills above which he had first appeared, suggested the boy’s first impulse of spontaneous poetry, in the resolve that, wherever life should lead him, his last thoughts should fall on the scenes where his childhood was passing now. It was on Esthwaite that the “huge peak” of Wetherlam, following him (as it seemed) as he rowed across the starlit water, suggested the dim conception of “unknown modes of being,” and a life that is not ours. It was round Esthwaite that the boy used to wander with a friend at early dawn, rejoicing in the charm of words in tuneful order, and repeating together their favourite verses, till “sounds of exultation172 echoed through the groves.” It was on Esthwaite that the band of skaters “hissed along the polished ice in games confederate,” from which Wordsworth would sometimes withdraw himself and pause suddenly in full career, to feel in that dizzy silence the mystery of a rolling world.
A passage, less frequently quoted, in describing a boating excursion on Windermere illustrates the effect of some small point of human interest in concentrating and realising the diffused173 emotion which radiates from a scene of beauty:
But, ere nightfall,
When in our pinnace we returned at leisure
Over the shadowy lake, and to the beach
Of some small island steered174 our course with one,
The minstrel of the troop, and left him there,
And rowed off gently, while he blew his flute175
Alone upon the rock—oh, then the calm
And dead still water lay upon my mind
Even with a weight of pleasure, and the sky,
Never before so beautiful, sank down
Into my heart, and held me like a dream!
The passage which describes the schoolboy’s call to the owls—the lines of which Coleridge said that he should have exclaimed “Wordsworth!” if he had met them running wild in the deserts of Arabia,—paint a somewhat similar rush of feeling with a still deeper charm. The “gentle shock of mild surprise” which in the pauses of the birds’ jocund176 din30 carries far into his heart the sound of mountain torrents—the very mingling177 of the grotesque178 and the majestic—brings home the contrast between our transitory energies and the mystery around us which returns ever the same to the moments when we pause and are at peace.
It is round the two small lakes of Grasmere and Rydal that the memories of Wordsworth are most thickly clustered. On one or other of these lakes he lived for fifty years,—the first half of the present century; and there is not in all that region a hillside walk or winding179 valley which has not heard him murmuring out his verses as they slowly rose from his heart. The cottage at Townend, Grasmere, where he first settled, is now surrounded by the out-buildings of a busy hotel; and the noisy stream of traffic, and the sight of the many villas180 which spot the valley, give a new pathos181 to the sonnet182 in which Wordsworth deplores183 the alteration184 which even his own residence might make in the simplicity of the lonely scene.
Well may’st thou halt, and gaze with brightening eye!
The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook
Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook,
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!
But covet185 not the Abode: forbear to sigh,
As many do, repining while they look;
Intruders—who would tear from Nature’s book
This precious leaf with harsh impiety186.
Think what the home must be if it were thine,
Even thine, though few thy wants! Roof, window, door,
The very flowers are sacred to the Poor,
The roses to the porch which they entwine:
Yea, all that now enchants187 thee, from the day
On which it should be touched, would melt, and melt away.
The Poems on the Naming of Places belong for the most part to this neighbourhood. Emma’s Dell on Easdale Beck, Point Rash–Judgment on the eastern shore of Grasmere, Mary’s Pool in Rydal Park, William’s Peak on Stone Arthur, Joanna’s Rock on the banks of Rotha, and John’s Grove93 near White Moss146 Common, have been identified by the loving search of those to whom every memorial of that simple-hearted family group has still a charm.
It is on Greenhead Ghyll—“upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale”— that the poet has laid the scene of Michael, the poem which paints with such detailed188 fidelity189 both the inner and the outward life of a typical Westmoreland “statesman.” And the upper road from Grasmere to Rydal, superseded190 now by the road along the lake side, and left as a winding footpath191 among rock and fern, was one of his most habitual haunts. Of another such haunt his friend Lady Richardson says, “The Prelude192 was chiefly composed in a green mountain terrace, on the Easdale side of Helm Crag, known by the name of Under Lancrigg, a place which he used to say he knew by heart. The ladies sat at their work on the hill-side, while he walked to and fro on the smooth green mountain turf, humming out his verses to himself, and then repeating them to his sympathising and ready scribes, to be noted193 down on the spot, and transcribed194 at home.”
The neighbourhood of the poet’s later home at Rydal Mount is equally full of associations. Two of the Evening Voluntaries were composed by the side of Rydal Mere84. The Wild Duck’s Nest was on one of the Rydal islands. It was on the fells of Loughrigg that the poet’s fancy loved to plant an imperial castle. And Wansfell’s green slope still answers with many a change of glow and shadow to the radiance of the sinking sun.
Hawkshead and Rydal, then, may be considered as the poet’s principal centres, and the scenery in their neighbourhood has received his most frequent attention. The Duddon, a seldom-visited stream on the south-west border of the Lake-district, has been traced by him from source to outfall in a series of sonnets195. Langdale, and Little Langdale with Blea Tarn82 lying in it, form the principal scene of the discourses196 in the Excursion. The more distant lakes and mountains were often visited and are often alluded197 to. The scene of The Brothers, for example, is laid in Ennerdale; and the index of the minor198 poems will supply other instances. But it is chiefly round two lines of road leading from Grasmere that Wordsworth’s associations cluster,—the route over Dunmailraise, which led him to Keswick, to Coleridge and Southey at Greta Hall, and to other friends in that neighbourhood; and the route over Kirkstone, which led him to Ullswater, and the friendly houses of Patterdale, Hallsteads, and Lowther Castle. The first of these two routes was that over which the Waggoner plied199; it skirts the lovely shore of Thirlmere,—a lonely sheet of water, of exquisite irregularity of outline, and fringed with delicate verdure, which the Corporation of Manchester has lately bought to embank it into a reservoir. Dedecorum pretiosus emptor! This lake was a favourite haunt of Wordsworth’s; and upon a rock on its margin, where he and Coleridge, coming from Keswick and Grasmere, would often meet, the two poets, with the other members of Wordsworth’s loving household group, inscribed200 the initial letters of their names. To the “monumental power” of this Rock of Names Wordsworth appeals, in lines written when the happy company who engraved201 them had already been severed202 by distance and death;
O thought of pain,
That would impair203 it or profane204!
And fail not Thou, loved Rock, to keep
Thy charge when we are laid asleep.
The rock may still be seen, but is to be submerged in the new reservoir. In the vale of Keswick itself, Applethwaite, Skiddaw, St. Herbert’s Island, Lodore, are commemorated205 in sonnets or inscriptions206. And the Borrowdale yew-trees have inspired some of the poet’s noblest lines,—lines breathing all the strange forlornness of Glaramara’s solitude207, and the withering208 vault209 of shade.
The route from Rydal to Ullswater is still more thickly studded with poetic210 allusions211. The Pass of Kirkstone is the theme of a characteristic ode; Grisdale Tarn and Helvellyn recur212 again and again; and Aira Force was one of the spots which the poet best loved to describe, as well as to visit. It was on the shores of Further Gowbarrow that the Daffodils danced beneath the trees. These references might be much further multiplied; and the loving diligence of disciples213 has set before us “the Lake-district as interpreted by Wordsworth” through a multitude of details. But enough has been said to show how completely the poet had absorbed the influences of his dwelling-place; how unique a representative he had become of the lovely district of his birth; how he had made it subject to him by comprehending it, and his own by love.
He visited other countries and described other scenes. Scotland, Wales, Switzerland, France, Germany, Italy, have all a place in his works. His familiarity with other scenery helped him, doubtless, to a better appreciation214 of the lake country than he could have gained had he never left it. And, on the other hand, like Caesar in Gaul, or Wellington in the Peninsula, it was because he had so complete a grasp of this chosen base of operations that he was able to come, to see, and to make his own, so swiftly and unfailingly elsewhere. Happy are those whose deep-rooted memories cling like his about some stable home! Whose notion of the world around them has expanded from some prospect of happy tranquillity, instead of being drawn at random215 from the confusing city’s roar! Happier still if that early picture be of one of those rare scenes which have inspired poets and prophets with the retrospective day-dream of a patriarchal, or a golden, age; of some plot of ground like the Ithaca of Odysseus, τραεχσι αλλ αγαθαε κουροτροφο?, “rough, but a nurse of men;” of some life like that which a poet of kindred spirit to Wordsworth’s saw half in vision, half in reality, among the husbandmen of the Italian hills:—
Peace, peace is theirs, and life no fraud that knows,
Wealth as they will, and when they will, repose216;
On many a hill the happy homesteads stand,
The living lakes through many a vale expand:
Cool glens are there, and shadowy caves divine,
Deep sleep, and far-off voices of the kine;—
From moor163 to moor the exulting217 wild deer stray;—
The strenuous106 youth are strong and sound as they;
One reverence218 still the untainted race inspires,
God their first thought, and after God their sires;—
These last discerned Astraea’s flying hem32,
And Virtue’s latest footsteps walked with them.
点击收听单词发音
1 sustenance | |
n.食物,粮食;生活资料;生计 | |
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2 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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3 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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4 stimulant | |
n.刺激物,兴奋剂 | |
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5 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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6 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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7 elevations | |
(水平或数量)提高( elevation的名词复数 ); 高地; 海拔; 提升 | |
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8 preoccupy | |
vt.使全神贯注,使入神 | |
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9 lustrous | |
adj.有光泽的;光辉的 | |
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10 languor | |
n.无精力,倦怠 | |
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11 lull | |
v.使安静,使入睡,缓和,哄骗;n.暂停,间歇 | |
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12 preeminence | |
n.卓越,杰出 | |
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13 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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14 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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15 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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16 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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17 atmospherical | |
adj.空气的,气压的 | |
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18 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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19 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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20 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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21 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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22 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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23 vocal | |
adj.直言不讳的;嗓音的;n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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24 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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25 sonorous | |
adj.响亮的,回响的;adv.圆润低沉地;感人地;n.感人,堂皇 | |
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26 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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27 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
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28 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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29 exhaling | |
v.呼出,发散出( exhale的现在分词 );吐出(肺中的空气、烟等),呼气 | |
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30 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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31 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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32 hem | |
n.贴边,镶边;vt.缝贴边;(in)包围,限制 | |
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33 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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34 deities | |
n.神,女神( deity的名词复数 );神祗;神灵;神明 | |
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35 apparitions | |
n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 );幽灵;鬼;(特异景象等的)出现 | |
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36 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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37 attachments | |
n.(用电子邮件发送的)附件( attachment的名词复数 );附着;连接;附属物 | |
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38 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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39 cleaving | |
v.劈开,剁开,割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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40 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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41 vacancy | |
n.(旅馆的)空位,空房,(职务的)空缺 | |
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42 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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43 benign | |
adj.善良的,慈祥的;良性的,无危险的 | |
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44 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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45 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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46 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47 funereal | |
adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
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48 cypresses | |
n.柏属植物,柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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49 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 | |
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50 expiatory | |
adj.赎罪的,补偿的 | |
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51 abates | |
减少( abate的第三人称单数 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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52 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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53 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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54 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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55 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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56 gales | |
龙猫 | |
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57 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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58 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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59 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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60 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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61 inverted | |
adj.反向的,倒转的v.使倒置,使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62 raven | |
n.渡鸟,乌鸦;adj.乌亮的 | |
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63 awakens | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的第三人称单数 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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64 deform | |
vt.损坏…的形状;使变形,使变丑;vi.变形 | |
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65 agitate | |
vi.(for,against)煽动,鼓动;vt.搅动 | |
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66 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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67 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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68 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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69 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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70 illustrates | |
给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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71 margins | |
边( margin的名词复数 ); 利润; 页边空白; 差数 | |
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72 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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73 precipitated | |
v.(突如其来地)使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 );促成;猛然摔下;使沉淀 | |
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74 stranded | |
a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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75 jutting | |
v.(使)突出( jut的现在分词 );伸出;(从…)突出;高出 | |
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76 piers | |
n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 );(常设有娱乐场所的)突堤;柱子;墙墩 | |
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77 crested | |
adj.有顶饰的,有纹章的,有冠毛的v.到达山顶(或浪峰)( crest的过去式和过去分词 );到达洪峰,达到顶点 | |
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78 rivulet | |
n.小溪,小河 | |
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79 influx | |
n.流入,注入 | |
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80 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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81 promontories | |
n.岬,隆起,海角( promontory的名词复数 ) | |
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82 tarn | |
n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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83 tarns | |
n.冰斗湖,山中小湖( tarn的名词复数 ) | |
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84 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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85 diversifies | |
v.使多样化,多样化( diversify的第三人称单数 );进入新的商业领域 | |
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86 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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87 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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88 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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89 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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90 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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91 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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92 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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93 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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94 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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95 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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96 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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97 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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98 penury | |
n.贫穷,拮据 | |
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99 precipices | |
n.悬崖,峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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100 dwellers | |
n.居民,居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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101 stagnating | |
v.停滞,不流动,不发展( stagnate的现在分词 ) | |
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102 idiocy | |
n.愚蠢 | |
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103 guardianship | |
n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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104 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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105 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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106 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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107 strenuously | |
adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
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108 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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110 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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111 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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112 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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113 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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114 economists | |
n.经济学家,经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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115 provident | |
adj.为将来做准备的,有先见之明的 | |
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116 repel | |
v.击退,抵制,拒绝,排斥 | |
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117 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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118 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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119 tenure | |
n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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120 obliterate | |
v.擦去,涂抹,去掉...痕迹,消失,除去 | |
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121 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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122 pauperism | |
n.有被救济的资格,贫困 | |
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123 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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124 decrepit | |
adj.衰老的,破旧的 | |
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125 excerpt | |
n.摘录,选录,节录 | |
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126 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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127 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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128 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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129 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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130 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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131 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
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132 depicts | |
描绘,描画( depict的第三人称单数 ); 描述 | |
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133 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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134 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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135 whitewash | |
v.粉刷,掩饰;n.石灰水,粉刷,掩饰 | |
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136 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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137 variegated | |
adj.斑驳的,杂色的 | |
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138 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
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139 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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140 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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141 slates | |
(旧时学生用以写字的)石板( slate的名词复数 ); 板岩; 石板瓦; 石板色 | |
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142 quarry | |
n.采石场;v.采石;费力地找 | |
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143 uneven | |
adj.不平坦的,不规则的,不均匀的 | |
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144 lichens | |
n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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145 mosses | |
n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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146 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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147 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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148 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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149 spout | |
v.喷出,涌出;滔滔不绝地讲;n.喷管;水柱 | |
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150 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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151 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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152 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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153 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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154 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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155 outskirts | |
n.郊外,郊区 | |
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156 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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157 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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158 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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159 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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160 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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161 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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162 moors | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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163 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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164 embody | |
vt.具体表达,使具体化;包含,收录 | |
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165 nemesis | |
n.给以报应者,复仇者,难以对付的敌手 | |
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166 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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167 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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168 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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169 desecrate | |
v.供俗用,亵渎,污辱 | |
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170 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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171 gilding | |
n.贴金箔,镀金 | |
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172 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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173 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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174 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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175 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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176 jocund | |
adj.快乐的,高兴的 | |
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177 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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178 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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179 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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180 villas | |
别墅,公馆( villa的名词复数 ); (城郊)住宅 | |
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181 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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182 sonnet | |
n.十四行诗 | |
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183 deplores | |
v.悲叹,痛惜,强烈反对( deplore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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184 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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185 covet | |
vt.垂涎;贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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186 impiety | |
n.不敬;不孝 | |
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187 enchants | |
使欣喜,使心醉( enchant的第三人称单数 ); 用魔法迷惑 | |
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188 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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189 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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190 superseded | |
[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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191 footpath | |
n.小路,人行道 | |
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192 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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193 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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194 transcribed | |
(用不同的录音手段)转录( transcribe的过去式和过去分词 ); 改编(乐曲)(以适应他种乐器或声部); 抄写; 用音标标出(声音) | |
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195 sonnets | |
n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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196 discourses | |
论文( discourse的名词复数 ); 演说; 讲道; 话语 | |
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197 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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198 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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199 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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200 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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201 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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202 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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203 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
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204 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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205 commemorated | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206 inscriptions | |
(作者)题词( inscription的名词复数 ); 献词; 碑文; 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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207 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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208 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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209 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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210 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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211 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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212 recur | |
vi.复发,重现,再发生 | |
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213 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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214 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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215 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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216 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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217 exulting | |
vi. 欢欣鼓舞,狂喜 | |
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218 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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