Robert Burns Poem Epitaph On A Lap-Dog

Robden of Solway Firth Epitaph On A Lap-Dog Poetry

Named Echo

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng,
Your heavy loss deplore;
Now, half extinct your powers of song,
Sweet Echo is no more.

Ye jarring, screeching things around,
Scream your discordant joys;
Now, half your din of tuneless sound
With Echo silent lies.