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Young Goodman Brown
Young
Goodman Brown
By
Nathaniel
Hawthorne
Young
Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at
"Dearest
heart," whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were close
to his ear, "prithee[1]
put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to-night. A lone
woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts that she's afeard of
herself sometimes. Pray tarry[2]
with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year."
"My
love and my Faith," replied young Goodman Brown, "of all nights in
the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must
needs be done 'twixt[3]
now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost
thou doubt me already, and we but three months married?"
"Then
God bless you!" said Faith, with the pink ribbons; "and may you find
all well when you come back."
"Amen!"
cried Goodman Brown. "Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk,
and no harm will come to thee."
So
they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the
corner by the meeting-house, he looked back and saw the head of Faith still
peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons.
"Poor
little Faith!" thought he, for his heart smote him. "What a wretch am
I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dreams,
too. Methought[4]
as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. Well, she's a blessed angel
on earth; and after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to
heaven."
With
this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in
making more haste[5]
on his present evil purpose. He had taken a dreary road, darkened by all the
gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path
creep through, and closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be;
and there is this peculiarity in such a solitude[6],
that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by
the innumerable trunks and the thick boughs[7]
overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be passing through an unseen
multitude[8].
"There
may be a devilish Indian behind every tree," said Goodman Brown to
himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as he added, "What if the
devil himself should be at my very elbow!"
His
head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking forward
again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire, seated at the
foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach and walked onward
side by side with him.
"You
are late, Goodman Brown," said he. "The clock of the Old South was
striking as I came through
"Faith
kept me back a while," replied the young man, with a tremor in his voice,
caused by the sudden appearance of his companion, though not wholly unexpected.
It
was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that
part of it where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discerned,
the second traveler was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of
life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though
perhaps more in expression than features. Still they might have been taken for
father and son. And yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the
younger, and as simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air of one who
knew the world, and who would not have felt abashed[9]
at the governor's dinner table or in King William's court, were it possible
that his affairs should call him thither[10].
But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his
staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought[11]
that it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent.
This, of course, must have been an ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain
light.
"Come,
Goodman Brown," cried his fellow-traveller,
"this is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you
are so soon weary."
"Friend,"
said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full stop, "having kept covenant[12]
by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to return whence I came. I have scruples[13]
touching the matter thou wot'st[14]
of."
"Sayest thou so?" replied he of the serpent, smiling
apart. "Let us walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I
convince thee not thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest
yet."
"Too far! too far!" exclaimed the goodman,
unconsciously resuming his walk. "My father never went into the woods on
such an errand, nor his father before him. We have
been a race of honest men and good Christians since the days of the martyrs;
and shall I be the first of the name of Brown that ever took this path and
kept"
"Such
company, thou wouldst say," observed the elder person, interpreting his
pause. "Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well acquainted with your
family as with ever a one among the Puritans; and that's no trifle to say. I
helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker woman so
smartly through the streets of
"If
it be as thou sayest," replied Goodman Brown,
"I marvel they never spoke of these matters; or, verily[16],
I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them
from
"Wickedness
or not," said the traveller with the twisted
staff, "I have a very general acquaintance here in
"Can
this be so?" cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amazement at his
undisturbed companion. "Howbeit[19],
I have nothing to do with the governor and council; they have their own ways,
and are no rule for a simple husbandman like me. But, were I to go on with
thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister, at
Thus
far the elder traveler had listened with due gravity; but now burst into a fit
of irrepressible mirth[20],
shaking himself so violently that his snake-like staff actually seemed to
wriggle in sympathy.
"Ha!
ha! ha!" shouted he
again and again; then composing himself, "Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go
on; but, prithee, don't kill me with laughing."
"Well,
then, to end the matter at once," said Goodman Brown, considerably nettled[21],
"there is my wife, Faith. It would break her dear little heart; and I'd
rather break my own."
"Nay,
if that be the case," answered the other, "e'en
go thy ways[22],
Goodman Brown. I would not for twenty old women like the one hobbling before us
that Faith should come to any harm."
As he
spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, in whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious[23]
and exemplary dame, who had taught him his catechism[24]
in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the
minister and Deacon Gookin.
"A
marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in
the wilderness at nightfall," said he. "But with your leave, friend,
I shall take a cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman
behind. Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither[25]
I was going."
"Be
it so," said his fellow-traveller. "Betake
you to the woods, and let me keep the path."
Accordingly
the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, who advanced
softly along the road until he had come within a staff's length of the old
dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with singular speed for
so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct words--a prayer, doubtless--as
she went. The traveller put forth his staff and
touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail.
"The
devil!" screamed the pious old lady.
"Then Goody Cloyse knows her
old friend?" observed the traveller, confronting
her and leaning on his writhing stick.
"Ah,
forsooth[26], and is
it your worship indeed?" cried the good dame. "Yea, truly is it, and
in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the silly
fellow that now is. But--would your worship believe it?--my broomstick hath
strangely disappeared, stolen, as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody
Cory, and that, too, when I was all anointed with the juice of smallage, and cinquefoil, and wolf's bane[27]"
"Mingled
with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe," said the shape of old
Goodman Brown.
"Ah,
your worship knows the recipe," cried the old lady, cackling aloud.
"So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no horse to
ride on, I made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there is a nice young
man to be taken into communion to-night. But now your good worship will lend me
your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling."
"That
can hardly be," answered her friend. "I may not spare you my arm,
Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you
will."
So
saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assumed life, being
one of the rods which its owner had formerly lent to the Egyptian magi[28].
Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance[29].
He had cast up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld
neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but
his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for him as
calmly as if nothing had happened.
"That
old woman taught me my catechism," said the young man; and there was a
world of meaning in this simple comment.
They
continued to walk onward, while the elder traveler exhorted[30]
his companion to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing[31]
so aptly[32] that
his arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom[33]
of his auditor than to be suggested by himself. As they went, he plucked a
branch of maple to serve for a walking stick, and began to strip it of the
twigs and little boughs, which were wet with evening dew. The moment his
fingers touched them they became strangely withered and dried up as with a
week's sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded, at a good free pace, until suddenly,
in a gloomy hollow of the road, Goodman Brown sat himself
down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther.
"Friend,"
said he, stubbornly, "my mind is made up. Not another step will I budge on
this errand. What if a wretched old woman do choose to
go to the devil when I thought she was going to heaven: is that any reason why
I should quit my dear Faith and go after her?"
"You
will think better of this by and by," said his acquaintance, composedly.
"Sit here and rest yourself a while; and when you feel like moving again,
there is my staff to help you along."
Without
more words, he threw his companion the maple stick, and was as speedily out of
sight as if he had vanished into the deepening gloom. The young man sat a few
moments by the roadside, applauding himself greatly, and thinking with how
clear a conscience he should meet the minister in his morning walk, nor shrink
from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. And what calm
sleep would be his that very night, which was to have been spent so wickedly,
but so purely and sweetly now, in the arms of Faith! Amidst these pleasant and
praiseworthy meditations, Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the
road, and deemed it advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the
forest, conscious of the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though
now so happily turned from it.
On
came the hoof tramps and the voices of the riders, two grave old voices,
conversing soberly as they drew near. These mingled sounds appeared to pass
along the road, within a few yards of the young man's hiding-place; but, owing
doubtless to the depth of the gloom at that particular spot, neither the travelers
nor their steeds[34]
were visible. Though their figures brushed the small boughs by the wayside, it
could not be seen that they intercepted, even for a moment, the faint gleam
from the strip of bright sky athwart[35]
which they must have passed. Goodman Brown alternately crouched and stood on
tiptoe, pulling aside the branches and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst[36]
without discerning so much as a shadow. It vexed[37]
him the more, because he could have sworn, were such a thing possible, that he
recognized the voices of the minister and Deacon Gookin,
jogging along quietly, as they were wont to do, when bound to some ordination[38]
or ecclesiastical[39]
council. While yet within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch.
"Of
the two, reverend sir," said the voice like the deacon's, "I had
rather miss an ordination dinner than to-night's meeting. They tell me that
some of our community are to be here from
"Mighty
well, Deacon Gookin!" replied the solemn old
tones of the minister. "Spur up, or we shall be late. Nothing can be done,
you know, until I get on the ground."
The
hoofs clattered again; and the voices, talking so strangely in the empty air,
passed on through the forest, where no church had ever been gathered or
solitary Christian prayed. Whither, then, could these holy
men be journeying so deep into the heathen[41]
wilderness? Young Goodman Brown caught hold of a tree for support, being
ready to sink down on the ground, faint and overburdened with the heavy sickness
of his heart. He looked up to the sky, doubting whether there really was a
heaven above him. Yet there was the blue arch, and the stars brightening in it.
"With
heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the devil!"
cried Goodman Brown.
While
he still gazed upward into the deep arch of the firmament[42]
and had lifted his hands to pray, a cloud, though no wind was stirring, hurried
across the zenith[43]
and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still visible, except directly
overhead, where this black mass of cloud was sweeping swiftly northward. Aloft
in the air, as if from the depths of the cloud, came a confused and doubtful
sound of voices. Once the listener fancied[44]
that he could distinguish the accents of towns-people of his own, men and
women, both pious and ungodly, many of whom he had met at the communion table,
and had seen others rioting at the tavern. The next moment, so indistinct were
the sounds, he doubted whether he had heard aught[45]
but the murmur of the old forest, whispering without a wind. Then came a
stronger swell of those familiar tones, heard daily in the sunshine at Salem
village, but never until now from a cloud of night There was one voice of a
young woman, uttering lamentations[46],
yet with an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor, which, perhaps, it
would grieve her to obtain; and all the unseen multitude, both saints and
sinners, seemed to encourage her onward.
"Faith!"
shouted Goodman Brown, in a voice of agony and desperation; and the echoes of
the forest mocked him, crying, "Faith! Faith!" as if bewildered
wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness.
The
cry of grief, rage, and terror was yet piercing the night, when the unhappy
husband held his breath for a response. There was a scream, drowned immediately
in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off laughter, as the dark cloud
swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Goodman Brown. But something
fluttered lightly down through the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The
young man seized it, and beheld a pink ribbon.
"My
Faith is gone!" cried he, after one stupefied moment. "There is no
good on earth; and sin is but a name. Come, devil; for to thee is this world
given."
And,
maddened with despair, so that he laughed loud and long, did Goodman Brown
grasp his staff and set forth again, at such a rate that he seemed to fly along
the forest path rather than to walk or run. The road grew wilder and drearier
and more faintly traced, and vanished at length, leaving him in the heart of
the dark wilderness, still rushing onward with the instinct that guides mortal
man to evil. The whole forest was peopled with frightful sounds--the creaking
of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while
sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a
broad roar around the traveler, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn.
But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other
horrors.
"Ha!
ha! ha!" roared Goodman
Brown when the wind laughed at him.
"Let
us hear which will laugh loudest. Think not to frighten me with your deviltry.
Come witch, come wizard, come Indian powwow, come devil himself, and here comes
Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he fear
you."
In
truth, all through the haunted forest there could be nothing more frightful
than the figure of Goodman Brown. On he flew among the black pines, brandishing[47]
his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to an inspiration of horrid blasphemy[48],
and now shouting forth such laughter as set all the echoes of the forest
laughing like demons around him. The fiend in his own shape is less hideous
than when he rages in the breast of man. Thus sped the demoniac[49]
on his course, until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him,
as when the felled trunks and branches of a clearing have been set on fire, and
throw up their lurid blaze against the sky, at the hour of midnight. He paused,
in a lull of the tempest[50]
that had driven him onward, and heard the swell of what seemed a hymn[51],
rolling solemnly from a distance with the weight of many voices. He knew the
tune; it was a familiar one in the choir of the village meeting-house. The
verse died heavily away, and was lengthened by a chorus, not of human voices,
but of all the sounds of the benighted[52]
wilderness pealing[53]
in awful harmony together. Goodman Brown cried out, and his cry was lost to his
own ear by its unison with the cry of the desert.
In
the interval of silence he stole forward until the light glared full upon his
eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark wall of the
forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance either to an alter
or a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops aflame, their
stems untouched, like candles at an evening meeting. The mass of foliage[54]
that had overgrown the summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into
the night and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and
leafy festoon[55]
was in a blaze. As the red light arose and fell, a numerous
congregation alternately shone forth, then disappeared in shadow, and
again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary
woods at once.
"A grave and dark-clad company," quoth Goodman Brown.
In
truth they were such. Among them, quivering to and fro between gloom and
splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of
the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath,
looked devoutly heavenward, and benignantly[56]
over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm that
the lady of the governor was there. At least there were high dames well known
to her, and wives of honored husbands, and widows, a great multitude, and
ancient maidens, all of excellent repute[57],
and fair young girls, who trembled lest their mothers should espy[58]
them. Either the sudden gleams of light flashing over the obscure field
bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he recognized a score of the church members of
"But
where is Faith?" thought Goodman Brown; and, as hope came into his heart,
he trembled.
Another
verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain, such as the pious love,
but joined to words which expressed all that our nature can conceive of sin,
and darkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to mere mortals is the lore of
fiends. Verse after verse was sung; and still the chorus of the desert swelled
between like the deepest tone of a mighty organ; and with the final peal of
that dreadful anthem there came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the rushing
streams, the howling beasts, and every other voice of the unconcerted[62]
wilderness were mingling and according with the voice of guilty man in homage
to the prince of all. The four blazing pines threw up a loftier flame, and
obscurely discovered shapes and visages[63]
of horror on the smoke wreaths above the impious assembly. At the same moment
the fire on the rock shot redly forth and formed a glowing arch above its base,
where now appeared a figure. With reverence be it spoken, the figure bore no
slight similitude[64],
both in garb and manner, to some grave divine of the New England churches.
"Bring
forth the converts!" cried a voice that echoed through the field and
rolled into the forest.
At
the word, Goodman Brown stepped forth from the shadow of the trees and
approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful
brotherhood by the sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He could have
well-nigh sworn that the shape of his own dead father beckoned him to advance,
looking downward from a smoke wreath, while a woman, with dim features of
despair, threw out her hand to warn him back. Was it his mother? But he had no
power to retreat one step, nor to resist, even in
thought, when the minister and good old Deacon Gookin
seized his arms and led him to the blazing rock. Thither came also the slender
form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloyse,
that pious teacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had received the
devil's promise to be queen of hell. A rampant hag was she. And there stood the
proselytes[65]
beneath the canopy of fire.
"Welcome,
my children," said the dark figure, "to the communion of your race.
Ye have found thus young your nature and your destiny. My children, look behind
you!"
They
turned; and flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame, the fiend
worshippers were seen; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage.
"There,"
resumed the sable[66]
form, "are all whom ye have reverenced from youth. Ye deemed them holier
than yourselves, and shrank from your own sin, contrasting it with their lives
of righteousness and prayerful aspirations heavenward. Yet here are they all in
my worshipping assembly. This night it shall be granted you to know their
secret deeds: how hoary[67]-bearded
elders of the church have whispered wanton words to the young maids of their
households; how many a woman, eager for widows' weeds, has given her husband a
drink at bedtime and let him sleep his last sleep in her bosom; how beardless
youths have made haste to inherit their fathers' wealth; and how fair
damsels--blush not, sweet ones--have dug little graves in the garden, and
bidden me, the sole guest to an infant's funeral. By the sympathy of your human
hearts for sin ye shall scent out all the places--whether in church,
bedchamber, street, field, or forest--where crime has been committed, and shall
exult[68] to
behold the whole earth one stain of guilt, one mighty blood spot. Far more than this. It shall be yours to penetrate, in every
bosom, the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, and which
inexhaustibly supplies more evil impulses than human power--than my power at
its utmost--can make manifest in deeds. And now, my children, look upon each
other."
They
did so; and, by the blaze of the hell-kindled torches, the wretched man beheld
his Faith, and the wife her husband, trembling before
that unhallowed[69]
altar.
"Lo,
there ye stand, my children," said the figure, in a deep and solemn tone,
almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could
yet mourn for our miserable race. "Depending upon one another's hearts, ye
had still hoped that virtue were not all a dream. Now are ye undeceived.
Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome again,
my children, to the communion of your race."
"Welcome,"
repeated the fiend worshippers, in one cry of despair and triumph.
And
there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who
were yet hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basin was
hollowed, naturally, in the rock. Did it contain water, reddened by the lurid
light? or was it blood? or,
perchance, a liquid flame? Herein did the shape of evil dip his hand and
prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that they might be
partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others,
both in deed and thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast
one look at his pale wife, and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the
next glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they disclosed
and what they saw!
"Faith!
Faith!" cried the husband, "look up to heaven, and resist the wicked
one."
Whether
Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he found himself amid calm
night and solitude, listening to a roar of the wind which died heavily away
through the forest. He staggered against the rock, and felt it chill and damp;
while a hanging twig, that had been all on fire,
besprinkled his cheek with the coldest dew.
The
next morning young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of
Had
Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest and only dreamed a wild dream of a
witch-meeting?
Be it
so if you will; but, alas! it was a dream of evil omen
for young Goodman Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if
not a desperate man did he become from the night of that fearful dream. On the
Sabbath day, when the congregation were singing a holy
psalm, he could not listen because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear
and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the pulpit
with power and fervid eloquence[71],
and, with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and
of saint-like lives and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery
unutterable, then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should
thunder down upon the gray blasphemer[72]
and his hearers. Often, waking suddenly at
Copyright thiesmeyer.net 2014
[1] Prithee. Exc. Please; “I pray thee”
[2]
Tarry. V. Stay longer than intended
[3] ‘Twixt. Prep. Short for betwixt; between
[4] Methought.
Arch. “I thought”
[5] Haste. N. Excessive speed; urgency
[6] Solitude. N. A state of being alone; lonely or uninhabited
[7] Boughs. N. Pl. Tree branch, especially a large or main
branch
[8] Multitude. N. Many people
[9] Abashed. Adj. Embarrassed; ashamed; disconcerted
[10] Thither. Adv. Arch. To or toward that place
[11] Wrought. V. Beaten out or shaped by hammering
[12]
Covenant. N. An agreement; promise
[13] Scruples. N. Pl. A feeling of doubt; hesitation
[14] Wot’st. V. Arch. Know
[15] Pitch-pine knot. N. A carved piece of pine (in this case
used as a torch)
[16] Verily. Adv. Truly; certainly
[17] Deacon. N. An ordained minister of a rank lass than priest
[18] Communion. N. Eucharist (the wine and bread offered as body
and blood of Christ); also, the exchange of intimate thoughts or feelings;
also, a promise
[19] Howbeit. Adv. Nevertheless; however
[20] Mirth. N. Happiness (in this case along with laughter)
[21] Nettled. V. Irritated; annoyed
[22] “E’en go thy ways” – Just (righteous) be thy ways You act/behave righteously
[23] Pious. Adj. Holy; righteous
[24] Catechism. N. Teaching of the Christian Religion/faith;
Bible School
[25]
Whither. Adv. To what place; where
[26] Forsooth. Adv. Indeed; truly
[27] “smallage, and cinquefoil, and wolf's bane” – ingredients to
a witches potion
[28] Magi. N. Wiseman; magician
[29] Cognizance. N. Knowledge
[30] Exhorted. V. Strongly encourage or urge
[31] Discoursing. V. Speaking; conversing
[32] Aptly. Adv. Confidently; with skill
[33] Bosom. N. Chest
[34] Steeds. N. Pl. Horses
[35] Athwart. Prep. Across
[36] Durst. V. Past participle of the verb Dare
[37] Vexed. V. Annoyed; frustrated; confused
[38] Ordination. N. The act of ordaining (conferring) holy orders
on someone
[39] Ecclesiastical. Adj. Of the Church
or of Church business
[40] Powwows N. Pl. Derog.
Native American Wise/Medicine Man
[41] Heathen. Adj. Unholy
[42] Firmament. N. The heavens; the sky
[43] Zenith. N. The highest point in the sky
[44] Fancied. V. Imagined
[45] Aught. Pro. Anything
[46] Lamentations. N. Pl. Mournful (extremely sad) speak; to
grieve or regret
[47] Brandishing. V. To waive or flourish something (esp. a
weapon)
[48] Blasphemy. N. The act or offense of speaking sacrilege
against God or sacred writ
[49] Demoniac. N. (usually as adj.) Characteristic
of a demon
[50] Tempest. N. A powerful/violent (windy) storm
[51] Hymn. N. (pronounced him) A religious song or poem
[52] Benighted. Adj. Overtaken (overwhelmed) by darkness
[53] Pealing. V. To ring loudly (as in a bell)
[54] Foliage. N. The leaves and greenery of a tree or bush
[55]
Festoon. N. A chain or garland of flowers, leave, and/or ribbon
[56] Benignantly. Adv. In a kind or
gentle manner
[57] Repute. N. Reputation
[58]
Espy. V. To catch sight of
[59] Dissolute. Adj. Lax in morals; licentious; sinful
[60]
Vice. N. Immoral or wicked behavior
[61] Abashed. Adj. Embarrassed; ashamed
[62] Unconcerted.
Adj. without concert (i.e. music/hymns)*
[63] Visages. N. Pl. Faces
[64] Similitude. N. Similar; resemblance
[65] Proselytes. N. Pl. A person who has converted from one religion/belief
to another
[66] Sable. Adj. Black (usually associated with mourning)
[67] Hoary. Adj. Gray/white hair; aged
[68]
Exult. V. To rejoice greatly; to be jubilant or triumphant
[69] Unhallowed. Adj. Unholy
[70] Anathema. N. An excommunicated person; one to be hated
[71] Eloquence. N. Fluent and persuasive speaking or writing
[72] Blasphemer. N. A heretic; person who speaks disrespectfully
of sacred things