Castle Campbell,Dollar Closer by Patrick MacRitchie Via Flickr: Lowland stronghold for a Highland chief Everyone is awestruck by Castle Campbell. The imposing ruin stands in solemn isolation upon a narrow ridge, overlooked by a crescent of the Ochil Hills. Two precipitous ravines hem it on either side, through which thunder the Burn of Care and the Burn of Sorrow. The setting couldn’t be more dramatic. The oldest part of the stone castle was built in the early 15th century. At that time it was called ‘Castle Glume’. Around 1465 it passed through marriage to Colin Campbell, 1st Earl of Argyll. This powerful Highland chief needed a secure but impressive Lowland seat at the heart of the realm, within easy reach of the main centres of the royal court. Castle Glume fitted the bill perfectly. In 1489, the earl changed the name to Castle Campbell. And there the Campbells stayed for the next 200 years, until they tired of all those steps and relocated to Argyll’s Lodging, a fine townhouse beside Stirling Castle.
The castle fell into ruin after it was burned by the Marquis of Montrose. The castle is situated on a promontory of the Ochil hills, near the village of Dollar, in Clackmannanshire, and has long been in the ruinous condition described in the verse by Carolina Oliphant, Lady Nairne. The castle is well worth a visit.
Oh, Castell Gloom! Thy strength is gone, The green grass o’er thee growin’; On hill of Care thou art alone, The Sorrow round thee flowin’. Oh, Castell gloom! On thy fair wa’s Nae banners now are streamin’, The houlet flits amang thy ha’s, And wild birds there are screamin’. Oh! Mourn the woe, oh! Mourn the crime, Frae civil war that flows; Oh! Mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line, And mourn the great Montrose. Here ladies bright were aften seen, Here valiant warriors trod; And here great Knox has aften been, Wha fear’d nought but his God! But a’ are gane! The gude, the great, And naething now remains, But ruin sittin’ on thy wa’s And crumblin’ down the stanes. Thy lofty Ochils bright did glow, Though sleepin’ was the sun’ But mornin’s light did sadly show, What ragin’ flames had done. Oh, mirk, mirk was the misty cloud, That hung o’er thy wild wood! Thou wert like beauty in a shroud, And all was solitude. Oh! Mourn the woe, oh! morn the crime, Frae civil war that flows; Oh! Mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line, And mourn the great Montrose.
