And I shall sing; my song, When the green grass answers to my plaint, When in sighs respond to my moan, Then my voice shall be heard in his praise: Linger, lover, linger! Stay, spirit, stay! The spirit of my love will soon leave me. He goes to the land of joyful repose; He gees to prepare my bridal bower. Sorrowing, I must wait, Until he comes, to call my soul away. Hasten, lover, hasten! Come, spirit, come! Thus she daily repeated her plaintive song. It was not long before a small bird of beautiful plumage flew upon the tree, beneath which she usually sat, and, with its sweet and artless notes, seemed to respond to her voice. It was a bird of strange character, such as she had never seen before. It came every day and sang to her, remaining until it became dark. Her fond imagination soon led her to suppose that it was the spirit of her lover, and her visits to the favourite spot were repeated with greater frequency. She now gave herself up to singing and fasting. Thus she pined away, until that death which she had so fervently desired came to her relief. After her decease, the bird was never more seen. It became a popular opinion with her nation, that this mysterious bird had flown away with her soul to the land of bliss. But the bitter tears of remorse fell in the tent of Wanawosh, and he lived many years to regret his false pride and his harsh treatment of the unfortunate youth. LEGENDS OF THE HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS. I.--AKKEEWAISEE, THE AGED.