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.