Identifier: birdsofshakespea00geik (find matches)
Title: The birds of Shakespeare
Year: 1916 (1910s)
Authors: Geikie, Archibald, Sir, 1835-1924
Subjects: Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Birds in literature
Publisher: Glasgow, J. Maclehose and sons
Contributing Library: Smithsonian Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Smithsonian Libraries

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note full many a man doth mark And dares not answer nay.^ Lov^s Labour^s Lost^ v. ii. 315. ^Hamlet, 11. ii. 572.^ MUsummer-Nig/iis Dream, in. i. 114. 93 The ^irds of Shakespeare Of the birds recounted in this song,Shakespeares favourite, if we may judgefrom the frequency and appreciation withwhich he mentions it, was the lark. Hemakes this bird a rival to Chanticleerin the honour of setting the day agoing.He calls it the morning lark, theherald of the morn, specially associatedwith the brightness and glory of dawn. Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,From his moist cabinet mounts up on high.And wakes the morning, from whose silver breastThe sun ariseth in his majesty.^ Again The busy day.Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows. The blithe sound of the birds carol iscommemorated in the line The merry larks are ploughmens clocks. How joyfully does this feeling find ex-pression in the exquisite song in Cymbeline : 1 Venus and Adonis, 853. 2 Troths and Cressida, iv. 11. 8. 94
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The Turtle-Dove p. 91 The hark Hark, hark ! the lark at heavens gate sings, And Phoebus gins arise,His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ;And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes ;With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet arise :Arise, arise !^ The bird-melodies of night and morningwere never more deHcately commingled thanin the garden scene where Juliet, from herwindow above, would fain persuade her lin-gering lover that it was not yet near day: Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day :It was the nightingale, and not the lark,That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ;Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate-tree :Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaksDo lace the severing clouds in yonder east:Nights candles are burnt out, and jocund dayStands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops :I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Jul. Yond ligh

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