Repeating, as homeward he flew to his rest,
Tshee-ree-lee--Tshee-ree-lee--Tshee-ree-lee!

EVENING CHANT OF INDIAN CHILDREN TO THE WATASEE, THE FIRE-FLY.

Fire-fly, fire-fly! bright little thing,
Light me to bed, and my song I will sing.
Give me your light, as you fly o'er my head,
That I may merrily go to my bed.
Give me your light o'er the grass as you creep,
That I may joyfully go to my sleep.
Come, little fire-fly--come, little beast--
Come! and I'll make you to-morrow a feast.
Come, little candle that flies as I sing,
Bright little fairy-bug--night's little king;
Come, and I'll dance as you guide me along,
Come, and I'll pay you, my bug, with a song.

SONG OF A FAIRY CHIEF.

Addressed to the winds on transferring his sister to a position as
one of the planets in the morning sky.

Blow, winds, blow, my sister lingers
From her dwelling in the sky,
Where the moon with rosy fingers
Shall her cheeks with vermil dye.

There my earliest views directed,
Shall from her their brilliance take
And her smiles through clouds reflected,
Guide me on, by wood and lake.

While I range the highest mountains,
Sport in valleys, green and low,
Or beside our Indian fountains,
Raise my tiny hip hallo.

SONG OF A CAPTIVE CREEK GIRL,

Who was an exile in a distant northern tribe, confined on an island
in Lake Superior.

To sunny vales, to balmy skies,
My thoughts, a flowery arrow, flies;
I see the wood, the bank, the glade,
Where first, a wild wood girl, I played.
I think on scenes and faces dear;
They are not here--they are not here.

In this cold sky, in this lone isle,
I meet no friends, no mother's smile.
I list the wind, I list the wave;
They seem like requiems, round the grave,
And all my heart's young joys are gone;
It is alone--it is alone.

FEMALE SONG.

My love is a hunter--he hunts the fleet deer,
With fusil or arrow, one-half of the year;
He hunts the fleet deer over mountain and lea,
But his heart is still hunting for love and for me.

My love is a warrior; when warriors go,
With fusil or arrow, to strike the bold foe,
He treads the bright war-path with step bold and free,
But still his thoughts wander to love and to me.

But hunter or warrior, where'er he may go,
To track the swift deer, or to follow the foe,
His heart's warm desire, field and forest still flee,
To go hunting his love, and make captive of me.

MALE SONG.

My love, she gave to me