Poem by Robert Burns

On the Death of a Lap-dog: 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.

1. The Flowery Banks of Cree
2. Farewell, Thou Stream
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. The Day Returns
5. Theniel Menzies’ Bonnie Mary

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