ancient fortalice, built by the powerful family of the Lindsays of Edzel, as a
place of retreat, where they could defy those dangers which they could not cope
with in their Lowland domains, in the How of the Mearns. The loch, which
gives its name to the parish, is a very beautiful sheet of water, imbedded deep
among steep and craggy mountains. The Lee, the stream which feeds it, flows
through a very wild glen, and over a rocky channel, in several picturesque
water-falls. On one of the tall precipices that form its sides, an eagle has built
its nest, secure from molestation, in the inaccessible nature of the cliff.
The remains of Ross's house still exist, situated near the eastern extremity of
the loch, and only a few feet from the water's edge. Near at hand, surrounded by a few aged trees, is the little burying ground of the parish, the tombstones of which bear some epitaphs from Ross's pen, and there his own
ashes are deposited.[1] The poet's house is now occupied as a sheepfold; and
the garden, on which it is said he bestowed much of his time, can still be
traced by the rank luxuriance of the weeds and grass, and the fragments of a
rude wall. It is impossible to look on the ruins of this humble hut, without
interest: its dimensions are thirty feet in length, and twelve in breadth; and
this narrow space was all that was allotted to the school-room and the residence
of its master. The walls seem to have contained but two apartments, each
about twelve square feet in size, and the eastern was that occupied by Ross, from
whom one of the windows, now built up, is still named the poet's window.
He had trained to cluster around it honeysuckle and sweet briar; and here,
looking forth on the waters of the loch, is said to have been his favourite seat
when engaged in composition. So deep and confined is the glen at this spot,
that, for thirty days of the winter, the sun never shines on the poet's dwelling.
The emoluments of Ross's office were small, but perhaps more lucrative than
the majority of parochial schools in the same quarter, from his being entitled to
a sort of glebe, and some other small perquisites. One of his biographers has
quoted some lines of the introduction to Helenore, as a proof of Ross's poverty and want:—
"Pity anes mair, for I'm out-through as clung—
'Twas that grim gossip, chandler-chafted want,
Wi' thread-bare claething, and an ambry scant," &c.
It is consoling to be satisfied that these lines are not to be understood in a literal sense. We are assured by his grandson, that "no person in his station, or perhaps in any station, enjoyed a greater share of personal and domestic happiness. His living was, indeed, but small, not exceeding twenty pounds a-year, exclusive of the profits of his glebe; but he had no desire beyond what was necessary to support himself and family, in a way suitable to his station; and, considering the strict economy observed in his house, and the simple though neat mode of living to which he was accustomed, the emoluments of his office, as well as the profits arising from his publications, rendered him in some degree comfortable and independent." It was not until he had resided here for thirty six years, that, in the year 1768, when he was nearly seventy, Ross appeared before the public as an author. So early as his sixteenth year, he had commenced writing verse; a translation from the Latin of Buchanan, composed at that age, having been published by his grandson in the memoir we have just quoted. From that time, he seems to have cultivated his poetical talents with ceaseless assiduity: Dr Beattie, who appears to have advised
- ↑ The only fact which a search of the kirk session register of Lochlee furnished with regard to Ross, is one of no very poetical nature, viz., that for some years he rented the grass of this quiet cemetery, at the yearly rent of £1 sterling.
