There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore.
A soul,--a spark of the never-dying flame that separates man from all the other beings of earth.
Chingachgook grasped the hand that, in the warmth of feeling, the scout had stretched across the fresh earth, and in that attitude of friendship these intrepid woodsmen bowed their heads together, while scalding tears fell to their feet, watering the grave of Uncas like drops of falling rain.
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