[82] all those joys are over, those battles fought, those council-fires extinguished, and those hopes prostrate in the dust; and, instead thereof, he sees the white man, who has wrought all these desolations, rushing towards him. For a moment he forgets himself. The avenging ire of the Indian rises within him, the blood crimsons his manly cheek, and he seizes with convulsive grasp his tomahawk and bow; but the next instant tells him it is too late. All is lost. He drops his tomahawk on the ground, shoots his last arrow towards the east, lifts his right hand in adoration of the Great Spirit, and then, all unconquered, leaps from the precipice into the stormy sea, and closes the history of his race.
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[82] all those joys are over, those battles fought, those council-fires extinguished, and those hopes prostrate in the dust; and, instead thereof, he sees the white man, who has wrought all these desolations, rushing towards him. For a moment he forgets himself. The avenging ire of the Indian rises within him, the blood crimsons his manly cheek, and he seizes with convulsive grasp his tomahawk and bow; but the next instant tells him it is too late. All is lost. He drops his tomahawk on the ground, shoots his last arrow towards the east, lifts his right hand in adoration of the Great Spirit, and then, all unconquered, leaps from the precipice into the stormy sea, and closes the history of his race.
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