Happy Days

A fringe of rushes, one green line
Upon a faded plain;
A silver streak of water-shine,
Above, tree-watchers twain.
It was our resting-place awhile,
And still, with backward gaze,
We say: Tis many a weary mile,
But there were happy days.

And shall no ripple break the sand
Upon our farther way?
Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand?
Or leafy tree-tops sway?
The gold of dawn is surely met
In sunsets lavish blaze;
And, in horizons hidden yet,
There shall be happy days.

Mary Hannay Foott

Mary Hannay Foott was an Australian poet known for her works that capture the spirit and landscape of colonial Australia. Her most famous poem, 'Where the Pelican Builds', reflects the challenges and beauty of the pioneering experience. She was notable for being one of the first Australian poets to gain recognition, with her works regularly published in Australian newspapers and magazines of the time. Her poetry often explored themes of nature, human perseverance, and the Australian identity.

Mary Hannay Foott

The Melbourne International Exhibition

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

To Henry the Fifth

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

In Time of Drought

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

The Australiad - (A poem for children.)

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

English

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Golden Days.

There are days of summer sunshine,
    Of warm and sunny weather,
When the hedge is full of hawthorn
    And hills are glad with heather.

There are days of silent sadness,
    Of frost, and snow, and rain,
When we fear that summer's gladness
    Will never come again.

And now our songs are minor key,
    And now in merry tune;
The windward side will change to lee,
    And January to June.

Day and night the sun is shining,
    Though he may hide his head;
Each cloud has a silver lining,
    The flowers are asleep not dead.

Every day may have its playtime
    Made bright by cheerful lays;
And life be one long Maytime,
    A year of golden days.

Lizzie Lawson

In the Land of Dreams

A bridle-path in the tangled mallee,
With blossoms unnamed and unknown bespread,
And two who ride through its leafy alley,
But never the sound of a horses tread.

And one by one whilst the foremost rider
Puts back the boughs which have grown apace,
And side by side where the track is wider,
Together they come to the olden place.

To the leaf-dyed pool whence the mallards flattered,
Or ever the horses had paused to drink;
Where the word was said and the vow was uttered
That brighten for ever its weedy brink.

And Memory closes her sad recital,
In Fates cold eyes there are kindly gleams,
While for one brief moment of blest requital,
The parted have met, in the Land of Dreams.


13th June, 1882

Mary Hannay Foott

A Gleam Of Sunshine

This is the place.    Stand still, my steed,
    Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy Past
    The forms that once have been.

The Past and Present here unite
    Beneath Time's flowing tide,
Like footprints hidden by a brook,
    But seen on either side.

Here runs the highway to the town;
    There the green lane descends,
Through which I walked to church with thee,
    O gentlest of my friends!

The shadow of the linden-trees
    Lay moving on the grass;
Between them and the moving boughs,
    A shadow, thou didst pass.

Thy dress was like the lilies,
    And thy heart as pure as they:
One of God's holy messengers
    Did walk with me that day.

I saw the branches of the trees
    Bend down t...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

July 9th, 1872

Between two pillared clouds of gold
The beautiful gates of evening swung --
And far and wide from flashing fold
The half-furled banners of light, that hung
O'er green of wood and gray of wold
And over the blue where the river rolled,
The fading gleams of their glory flung.

The sky wore not a frown all day
To mar the smile of the morning tide;
The soft-voiced winds sang joyous lay --
You never would think they had ever sighed;
The stream went on its sunlit way
In ripples of laughter; happy they
As the hearts that met at Riverside.

No cloudlet in the sky serene!
Not a silver speck in the golden hue!
But where the woods waved low and green,
And seldom would let the sunlight through,
Sweet shadows fell, and in their screen,
The faces of ...

Abram Joseph Ryan

Far West Emigrant.

I.

Mine eye is weary of the plains
    Of verdure vast and wide
That stretch around me - lovely, calm,
    From morn till even-tide;
And I recall with aching heart
    My childhood's village home;
Its cottage roofs and garden plots,
    Its brooks of silver foam.


II.

True glowing verdure smiles around,
    And this rich virgin soil
Gives stores of wealth in quick return
    For hours of careless toil;
But oh! the reaper's joyous song
    Ne'er mounts to Heaven's dome,
For unknown is the mirth and joy
    Of the merry "Harvest Home."


III.

The solemn trackless woods are fair,
    And bright their summer dress;
But their still hush - their whisprings vague,
    My heart seem to oppress;
...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Sunrise On The Hills

    I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

    ...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow