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Poems and Songs of Robert Burns
epitaph on 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.m.ＨＺｇｊJX.cOm