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.

September 26, 1846

October 12, 1918

English

Mary Hannay Foott

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At the Fords of Jordan

The parting of King David and Barzillai the Gileadite after the revolt of Absolam.

A little way farther to guide thee I go
Where the footing is firm and the waters are low;
Then we part, O my King, thou once more to thy throne,
I to dwell, in the house of my fathers, alone.

Yet think not, O David, one pang of regret
Would tempt the recall of the youth I have set
In thy presence; the strong-armed, the true-hearted one,
Last gift of my loyalty, even my son.

Ere my hand to the husbandmans toil had been trained,
Or my foot to the slow-moving flocks had been chained,
I, too, would have marched in the long line of spears,
With the youthful, the courtly, the brave for my peers.

The days when I dreamt but of battle! The lamp
Which all night I kep...

Mary Hannay Foott

Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutant

The coup detat is blotted out
With fresher blood, with blacker crime,
As midnight horrors put to rout
The vaguer ghosts of twilight-time.

Greeting from those who are to die!
Hail Caesar! Draw the curtains round.
In vain! That mournful mocking cry
Pierces the purple with its sound.

And they who raise it enter too,
With spectral looks and noiseless tread,
Unbidden, hold their dread review,
Beside the Emperors very bed.

They sought in his deserted tent;
They found him in the German camp.
They tarry till the oil be spent
That feeds his lifes poor flickering lamp.

The hope of France, the gilded youth,
So answering the trumpets peal
As if revealing how, in sooth,
The gilding oft oerlies the steel.

Soldiers A...

Mary Hannay Foott

Davids Lament for Jonathan

Thou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing
From me; and thou wast wounded very sore,
And beaten down, O son of Israels king,
Like wheat on threshing-flour.

Thou, that from courtly and from wise for friend
Didst choose me, and in spite of ban and sneer,
Rebuke and ridicule, until the end
Didst ever hold me dear!

All night thy body on the mountain lay:
At morn the heathen nailed thee to their wall.
Surely their deaf gods hear the songs to-day
Oer the slain House of Saul!

Oh! if that witch were here thy father sought,
Methinks I een could call thee from thy place,
To shift thy mangled image from my thought,
Seeing thy souls calm face.

I sorrowed for the words the prophet spoke,
That set me rival to thy fathers line;

Mary Hannay Foott

For Charles Dickens

Above our dear Romancers dust
Grief takes the place of praise,
Because of sudden cypress thrust
Amid the old-earned bays.

Ah! when shall such another friend
By Englands fireside sit,
To tell her of her faults, yet blend
Sage words with kindly wit?

He brings no pageants of the past
To wile our hearts away;
But wins our love for those who cast
Their lot with ours to-day.

He gives us laughter glad and long;
He gives us tears as pure;
He shames us with the published wrong
We meted to the poor.

Through webs and dust and weather-stains,
His sunlike genius paints,
On lifes transfigured chancel-panes,
The angels and the saints.

He bade us to a lordly feast,
And gave us of his best;
And vanished, while the ...

Mary Hannay Foott

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

In Memoriam C. G. Gordon

Devotion! When thy name is named,
What matchless visions rise!
The Hebrew, leaving Pharoahs house,
To Israels rescue flies;
The Moabitess, gleans, content,
Beneath the burning skies.

The flower of Christendom is given
To gain the Holy Grave;
Oer Acre and oer Askelon
The blessed banners wave;
By Edwards bed I see thee kneel,
O Queen beloved and brave!

Who art thou, girl, in warrior garb,
St. Catherines sword in hand?
Tis La Pucelle, and France is free;
O shame that thou must stand
Bound, helpless, at the cruel stake,
To wait the headmans brand!

And now upon the wild North Sea
From Lindisfarnes bleak shore,
To save the lives of shipwrecked men
A maiden plies the oar;
Seamen and landsmen honour thee,
G...

Mary Hannay Foott

In Time of Drought

The river of God is full of water.
- Psalm.

The rushes are black by the river bed,
And the sheep and the cattle stand
Wistful-eyed, where the waters were,
In a waste of gravel and sand;
Or pass oer their dying and dead to slake
Their thirst at the slimy pool.
Shall they pine and perish in pangs of drought
While Thy river, O God, is full.

The fields are furrowed, the seed is sown,
But no dews from the heavens are shed;
And where shall the grain for the harvest be?
And how shall the poor be fed?
In waterless gullies they winnow the earth,
New-turned by the miners tool;
And the way-farer faints neath his lightened load,¹
Yet the river of God is full.

For us, O Father, from tropic seas,
Let the clouds be fill...

Mary Hannay Foott

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

In the South Pacific

A vision of a savage land,
A glimpse of cloud-ringed seas;
A moonlit deck, a murderous hand;
No more, no more of these!

No more! how heals the tender flesh,
Once torn by savage beast?
The wound, re-opening, bleeds afresh,
Each season at the least!

O day, for dawn of thee how prayed
The spirit, sore distressed;
Thy latest beams, upslanting, made
A pathway for the blest.

And robes, new-donned, of the redeemed,
Gleamed white past griefs dark pall:
So this, a day of death which seemed,
A birthday let us call.

Remembering, such day as this,
A soul from flesh was shriven,
By death, Gods messenger of bliss;
A spirit entered Heaven.

Thy dying head no loving breast
Upheld, O early slain;
But soon, mid welcom...

Mary Hannay Foott

Napoleon III

His silent spirit from the place
Slid forth unseen; amid the throng
Of those whose love outlived disgrace,
Whose fealty to the last was strong.
Midst homage, neath Fates adverse reign,
Paid to the star shorn of its rays,
How passed the Exile? Lingering fain,
As never once in prouder days?

The Mother and the Child were there,
Discrowned and disinherited!
No hand henceforth to right the heir;
New griefs to bow the golden head.
How passed Napoleon? Prizing more,
Old fame in camp and council won
Or fearless Englands aegis, oer
The future of her allys son?

Gate of that World we know not yet,
What thou beheldst who may proclaim!
Were spirit-ranks, in order set,
Haunting thy portals, as he came,
With voices murmuring, Our life ...

Mary Hannay Foott

Nearing Port

A blue line to the westward that surely is not cloud;
A green tinge in the waters; a clamorous bird-crowd;
Then far-off foamy edges, and hill-tops timber fringed;
And, perched aloft, a light-house, oer grey cliffs golden-tinged.

O watchers leaning landward, know ye of nothing more?
And hear ye but the sea-birds? and see ye but the shore?
Nay, look awhile, and listen who bids you welcome there;
The great seas kiss her sandals, the high stars gem her hair!
Behold her in the gateway! high-held in either hand
A blazing beacon, lighted to lead you to the land.

Now welcome, kindly welcome, who come to me for cheer!
My forts may frown on others, but ye have nought to fear.
The cannons flash and thunder are all for joy to-day,
No murmurs meet your coming, none wish to...

Mary Hannay Foott

New Country

Condè had come with us all the way,
Eight hundred miles, but the fortnights rest
Made him fresh as a youngster, the sturdy bay!
And Lurline was looking her very best.

Weary and footsore, the cattle strayed
Mid the silvery saltbush well content;
Where the creeks lay cool neath the gidyas¹ shade
The stock-horses clustered, travel-spent.

In the bright spring morning we left them all
Camp, and cattle, and white, and black
And rode for the Ranges westward fall,
Where the dingos trail was the only track.

Slow through the clay-pans,² wet to the knee,
With the cane-grass rustling overhead;
Swift oer the plains with never a tree;
Up the cliffs by a torrents bed.

Bridle on arm for a mile or more
We toiled, ere w...

Mary Hannay Foott

No Message

She heard the story of the end,
Each message, too, she heard;
And there was one for every friend;
For her alone, no word.

And shall she bear a heavier heart,
And deem his love was fled;
Because his soul from earth could part
Leaving her name unsaid?

No, No! Though neither sign nor sound
A parting thought expressed,
Not heedless passed the Homeward-Bound
Of her he loved the best.

Of voyage-perils, bravely borne,
He would not tell the tale;
Of shattered planks and canvas torn,
And war with wind and gale.

He waited, till the light-house star
Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
The forest scents blow by.

He hoped to tell, assurance sweet!
That pain and grief were oer,
What bl...

Mary Hannay Foott

Sonnets - I - Christmas Day

O happy day, with seven-fold blessings set
Amid thy hallowed hours, the memories dear
Of childhoods holidays, and household cheer,
When friends and kin in loving circle met,
And youths glad gatherings, where the sands were wet
By waves that hurt not, whilst the great cliffs near,
With storms erewhile acquaint, gave echo clear
Of voices gay and laughter gayer yet.
And graver thoughts and holier arise
Of how, twixt that first eve and dawn of thine,
The Star ascended which hath lit our skies
More than the sun himself; and mid the kine
The Child was born whom shepherds, and the wise;
Who came from far, and angels, called Divine.

Mary Hannay Foott

Sonnets - II - The New Year

With supple boughs and new-born leaflets crowned,
Rejoicing in fresh verdure stands the tree,
Though weather-scarred and scooped by fire may be
Its ancient trunk. So may our lives be found
(God leaving still our roots within His ground.)
Where gaps of loss and waste show brokenly
May each new year that comes to greet us see
Branches, and foliage, and flowers abound.
Where Fortune, spoiling wayfarer, hath left
Unsightly rents, may garlands spring apace.
And if, perchance, some pitiless wind hath reft
Away what newer green shall neer replace,
May heaven-light come the closer for the cleft
Oer which no tender fronds shall interlace.

Mary Hannay Foott

The Aurora Australis

A radiance in the midnight sky
No white moon gave, nor yellow star;
We thought its red glow mounted high
Where fire and forest fought afar,

Half questioning if the township blazed,
Perchance, beyond the boundary hill;
Then, finding what it was, we gazed
And wondered till we shivered chill.

And Fancy showed the sister-glow
Of our Aurora, sending lines
Of lustre forth to tint the snow
That lodges in Norwegian pines.

And South and North alternate swept
In vision past us, to and fro;
While stealthy winds of midnight crept
About us, whispering fast and low.

The North, whose star burns steadily,
High set in heaven long ago:
The South, new-risen on the sea,
A tremulous horizon-glow.

We mused, Shall there be gallant g...

Mary Hannay Foott

The Australiad - (A poem for children.)

Twas brave De Quiros bent the knee before the King of Spain,
And sire, he said, I bring thy ships in safety home again
From seas unsailed of mariner in all the days of yore,
Where reefs and islets, insect-built, arise from oceans floor.
And, sire, the land we sought is found, its coasts lay full in view
When homeward bound, perforce, I sailed, at the bidding of my crew.
Terra Australis¹ called I it; and linked therewith the name
Of Him who guideth, as of old, in cloud and starry flame.
And grant me ships again, he said, and southward let me go,
A new Peru may wait thee there, another Mexico.

A threadbare suitor, year by year, There is a land, said he;
While King and Court grew weary of this old man of the sea;
For there were heretics to burn, and Hollan...

Mary Hannay Foott

The Belated Swallow

And the birds of the air have nests.

Belated swallow, whither flying?
The day is dead, the light is dying,
The night draws near:
Where is thy nest, slow put together,
Soft-lined with moss and downy feather,
For shelter-place in stress of weather
And darkness drear?

Past, past, above the lighted city,
Unknowing of my wondering pity,
Seaward she flies.
Alas, poor bird! what rude awaking
Has driven thee forth, when storms are breaking,
And frightened gulls the waves forsaking
With warning cries?

Alas, my soul! while leaves are greenest
Thy heedless head thou fondly screenest
Beneath thy wing.
How bravely thou thy plumage wearest,
How lightly thou lifes burthen bearest,
How happily thy home preparest,
In careles...

Mary Hannay Foott

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