Red with the life-blood of Dundee,
When coats were turning, crowns were falling,
Wandered along his valley still,
And heard their mystic voices calling
From fairy knowe and haunted hill.
Lake of Menteith
Not less interesting than the west side is the country lying east of Aberfoyle, where, at about an equal distance, is the lake of Menteith. As significant of the wildness of the place in bygone days, we may note that one Earl of Menteith declared war against “all but the kinge and those of the name of Grahame.” Menteith was from earliest times one of the five great districts into which Scotland was divided. The Earls of Menteith (Grahams) were ever at feud with the warlike Macgregors, and, as often happens, the feuds raged worst just on the borders of the Highlands, where men might attack and retreat in safety, knowing every track which led into their wild fastnesses.
The lake of Menteith is about two miles by one, and it is curious to note this is the only lake in Scotland. On it is an island, where the Earls had their residence. Another island, called Inchmahone, is, however, more interesting still. The word means “Isle of Rest,” and such it was found by the monks who lived here in ages long gone past. Ruins are left, a moulded doorway, a fine monument, to tell of their occupation, but “gone are the Augustinian monks who built the stately island church. Out of the ruined chancel grows a plane-tree, which is almost ripe. In the branches rooks have built their nests, and make as cheerful matins as perhaps the monks themselves. The giant chestnuts, grown, as tradition says, from chestnuts brought from Rome, are all stag-headed. Ospreys used to build in them in the memory of those still living. Gone are the 'Riders of Menteith’ (if they ever existed); the ruggers and the reivers are at one with those they harried. The Grahams and Macgregors, the spearmen and the jackmen, the hunters and the hawkers, the livers by their spurs, the luckless Earls of Menteith and their retainers, are buried and forgotten, and the tourist cracks his biscuit and his jest over their tombs” (Cunninghame Graham).
The “Riders of Menteith” are spoken of in history, but whether, as Mr. Graham asks, they were mortal riders or a sort of Walküren, sacred to the Valhalla of the district, history does not enlighten us.
The Four Maries