The old rhyme has it that three of the finest rivers in Scotland set
out to run a race, with varying fortunes:--
'The Tweed, the Annan and the Clyde,
A' took their rise out o' ae hill side,
Tweed ran, Annan wan,
Clyde fell and brak its neck o'er Corra Linn.'
As an actual fact those three rivers find their head waters within a
very narrow space. Annan, with the shortest course, falls into the
Solway Firth; Tweed, getting many famous waters to strengthen its
current, the Gala, the Yarrow, the Ettrick and the Teviot, rolls its
noble course to the Border city of Berwick, and runs into the German
Ocean. The Clyde, after surviving its leap over Corra Linn and other
falls, becomes the great highway for ships at Glasgow, and has the
most useful, as well as the most romantic career of the three.
Before it breaks its neck o'er Corra Linn, the Clyde has already met
with an accident at Bonnington Linn, and rushes over rocks and gullies
of the most hazardous kind, so that it reaches the greater fall in a
condition of turmoil and agitation far removed from the gentle
character of its earlier course. Above Bonnington,
'Smooth to the shelving brink, a copious flood
Rolls fair and placid,'
but when it approaches Corra Linn, the water is alive and tumultuous,
and plunges over really as if it would break its neck in its mad
career.
To reach this fall, the visitor leaves the burgh of Lanark at its
lower end, proceeds to Kirkfieldbank, and there obtains a card of
admission to the grounds of Corehouse. The river is crossed at
Kirkfieldbank, but long ere reaching this the water has quieted down,
and flows gently along. The roar of Corra Linn may however be heard,
especially if the Clyde be in flood. The walk after entering the
grounds is not long, when, following the course indicated by cards
(though the sound of the water indicates the way pretty well,) we
reach the ruins of Corra Castle, just overhanging the fall. A little
roadway,--quite safe, for it is on the solid rock--leads down to a
projecting cliff from which, seated on the benches placed there for
the purpose, the splendid sight can be viewed at leisure.
'Dashed in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft
A living mist and forms a ceaseless shower.'
In the sun, tiny rainbows form, as different points of view are taken.
The deafening roar of this grand cataract rises and falls in a
singular way, as if every slight inequality in the volume of the river
could be detected. The note is low and grand, so that the sound of the
human voice, shrilly set above its deep diapason, is easily heard, and
conversation can be quietly carried on. As in all great waterfalls,
the impression is deepened and strengthened by familiarity. For one
minute the feeling may arise 'is that all'--the next, the grandeur of
the scene has won its way to the mind and taken captive the
imagination. Sit for an hour and the feeling will grow, while to
revisit it day after day for a week will intensify wonder and
admiration at the marvellous scene. Does it plunge and roar thus, year
in, year out, day and night, continuously? Is there no pause, no rest,
for the tost and troubled water--no quietness for those reverberating
rocks that stand around in awe of the ceaseless and giant power that
has so eaten its way into their hearts?
Everyone who visits Corra Linn walks through the ground to Bonnington
Linn, which from the Corehouse side is seen in face, the water
plunging over in two streams divided by an island. If these falls are
approached on the Bonnington side, the visitor sees Corra Linn in
face, can descend (by a steep descent) to the bed right under the
fall, visits the Wallace Cave where the river roars through a gulley
only a few feet wide, and may cross by an iron bridge to the island in
the middle of Bonnington Linn.