Poem by Robert Burns

Epigram on Elphinstone’s Translation of Martial’s Epigrams

O thou whom Poetry abhors,
Whom Prose has turned out of doors,
Heard’st thou yon groan?-proceed no further,
’Twas laurel’d Martial calling murther.

1. Their Groves O’ sweet Myrtle
2. The Bonnie Wee Thing
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. Gala Water
5. Stay My Charmer

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