TUESDAY, JANUARY 3, 1872. In vain, were beauty, wit & grace They're shrouded a' in ceaseless gloom In vain were love or friendship's tears They drop but on her closing tomb - Fair blooms the flower at early morn Ere noon how oft the blossoms fa'! In sweetest friendship yet we'll meet Where Death nae mair can part us a' - G. - The Days That are gone - Written on Revisiting Amherst Island 1849 - Again Spring reviving her winter seared blossoms Now basks her green mantle in Phoebus' bright ray The wild forest songsters their notes are a pouring The wild flowers a blooming their beauties display- And I (like the Swallow from the land of her exile) Again have returned but to wander alone - Through scenes that still fling their sad memories round me Ah scenes! that were dear in "the days that are gone"- Again I have roamed through the grove & green meadow, By the rough winding shore where in years gone I strayed, I have lain 'neath the "Tree" that I well may remember, As it waved its green branches a sweet summer shade.