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.
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