INEDITED LINES BY ROBERT BURNS.
The following lines by Robert Burns have never appeared in any collection of his works. They were given to me some time ago at Chatham Barracks by Lieut. Colonel Fergusson, R.M., formerly of Dumfriesshire, by whom they were copied from the tumbler upon which they were originally written.
Shortly before the death of Alan Cunningham I sent these verses to him, as well as two Epigrams of Burns, "On Howlet Face," and "On the Mayor of Carlisle's impounding his Horse," which were not included in his edition of Burns' works. In a letter which I received from Alan Cunningham, and which now lies before me, he says:—
"The pieces you were so good as to send me are by Burns, and the Epigrams are old acquaintances of mine. I know not how I came to omit them. I shall print them in the next edition, and say it was you who reminded me of them."
I believe that one or both of the Epigrams were printed in the 8vo. edition of the works in one volume, but my name is not mentioned as the contributor, which I regret; for, as an enthusiastic admirer of Burns, and a collector for many years of his fugitive pieces, it would have been gratifying to me to have been thus noticed. Perhaps Cunningham did not superintend that edition.
The verses I now send you, and which may, perhaps, be worth preserving in your valuable miscellany, originated thus:—On occasion of a social meeting at Brownhill inn, in the parish of Closeburn, near Dumfries, which was, according to Alan Cunningham, "a favourite resting-place of Burns," the poet, who was one of the party, was not a little delighted by the unexpected appearance of his friend William Stewart. He seized a tumbler, and in the fulness of his heart, wrote the following lines on it with a diamond. The tumbler is carefully preserved, and was shown some years since by a relative of Mr. Stewart, at his cottage at Closeburn, to Colonel Fergusson, who transcribed the lines, and gave them to me with the assurance that they had never been printed.
The first verse is an adaptation of a well known Jacobite lyric.
"You're welcome Willie Stewart!
You're welcome Willie Stewart!
There's no a flower that blooms in May
That's half so welcome as thou art!
Come bumper high, express your joy!
The bowl—ye maun renew it—
The tappit-hen—gae fetch her ben,
To welcome Willie Stewart!
May faes be strong—may friends be slack—
May he ilk action rue it—
May woman on him turn her back
Wad wrang thee Willie Stewart!"
J. Reynell Wreford.