Dark, dismal day-the first of many such! br The wind is sighing through the plaintive trees, br In fitful gusts of a half-frenzied woe; br Affrighted clouds the hand might almost touch, br Their black wings bend so mournfully and low, br Sweep through the skies like night-winds o'er the seas. br There is no chirp of bird through all the grove, br Save that of the young fledgeling rudely flung br From its warm nest; and like the clouds above br My soul is dark, and restless as the breeze br That leaps and dances over Couchiching. br Soon will the last duett be sweetly sung; br But through the years to come our hearts will ring br With memories, as dear as time and love can bring.