ERE yet dim twilight brightened into day,
Or waned the silver morning star away,
Shedding its last, lone, melancholy smile,
Above the mountain-tops of far Argyll;
Ere yet the solan’s wing had brushed the sea,        5
Or issued from its cell the mountain bee;
As dawn beyond the orient Cumbraes shone,
Thy northern slope, Byrone,
From Ascog’s rocks, o’erflung with woodland bowers,
With scarlet fuchsias, and faint myrtle flowers,        10
My steps essayed; brushing the diamond dew
From the soft moss, lithe grass, and harebell blue.
Up from the heath aslant the linnet flew
Startled, and rose the lark on twinkling wing,
And soared away, to sing        15
A farewell to the severing shades of night,
A welcome to the morning’s earliest light.

Extract from Bute, the Isle, Lines Written in the Isle of Bute
David Macbeth Moir (1798–1851)