From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty.[201]
Again
The busy day,
Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows.[202]
The blithe sound of the bird’s carol is commemorated in the line
The merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks.
How joyfully does this feeling find expression in the exquisite song in Cymbeline:
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,