- EAN13
- 9782381114002
- Éditeur
- LM Publishers
- Date de publication
- 11/05/2022
- Langue
- anglais
Livre numérique
-
Aide EAN13 : 9782381114002
- Fichier EPUB, libre d'utilisation
- Fichier Mobipocket, libre d'utilisation
- Lecture en ligne, lecture en ligne
Mise en Forme
- Aucune information
Fonctionnalités
- Balisage de la langue fourni
Normes et Réglementations
- Aucune information
3.99
Yosemite and its Legends.
“No one knew how old Ah-wi-yah was, no one knew when she first came to the
valley of Yosemite. There was none of all her people who could recall the time
when she was not already very, very old and wrinkled. The most venerable
sagamore of the tribe remembered that the old squaw was regarded as the only
living relic of an age of by-gone majesty, when he was yet scarcely more than
a small pappoose, boarded and strapped with thongs to his mother’s back. He
recalled that it was she who smiled upon him, and patted his head approvingly
on the glorious and never to be forgotten day when his little hands and feeble
arms first drew a slender, feathered arrow to its barbed head, and from a
child’s bow sent it hurtling on its deadly flight at a startled rabbit that
traversed his path. He remembered too, that the venerable Ah-wi-yah, standing
erect before her lodge with fiery, flashing eyes, led the wild, fierce shout
of triumph when he, grown to the stature of a brave, came home from the
warpath with his first scalp. And it was the old squaw who, with her own
wrinkled hands, hung the still bleeding trophy on his lodge pole, and foretold
that the ghastly, gory emblem of his valor would have many, many children”.
“No one knew how old Ah-wi-yah was, no one knew when she first came to the
valley of Yosemite. There was none of all her people who could recall the time
when she was not already very, very old and wrinkled. The most venerable
sagamore of the tribe remembered that the old squaw was regarded as the only
living relic of an age of by-gone majesty, when he was yet scarcely more than
a small pappoose, boarded and strapped with thongs to his mother’s back. He
recalled that it was she who smiled upon him, and patted his head approvingly
on the glorious and never to be forgotten day when his little hands and feeble
arms first drew a slender, feathered arrow to its barbed head, and from a
child’s bow sent it hurtling on its deadly flight at a startled rabbit that
traversed his path. He remembered too, that the venerable Ah-wi-yah, standing
erect before her lodge with fiery, flashing eyes, led the wild, fierce shout
of triumph when he, grown to the stature of a brave, came home from the
warpath with his first scalp. And it was the old squaw who, with her own
wrinkled hands, hung the still bleeding trophy on his lodge pole, and foretold
that the ghastly, gory emblem of his valor would have many, many children”.
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