Charles Harpur was an Australian poet.
Harpur was born at Windsor, New South Wales, the third child of Joseph Harpur — originally from Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland, parish clerk and master of the Windsor district school — and Sarah, née Chidley (from Somerset; both had been transported.) Harpur received his elementary education in Windsor. This was probably largely supplemented by private study; he was an eager reader of William Shakespeare. Harpur followed various avocations in the bush and for some years in his twenties held a clerical position at the post office in Sydney.
In Sydney, he met Henry Parkes, Daniel Deniehy, ... more »
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Charles Harpur Poems
A Midsummer Noon in the Australian Fores...
A MIDSUMMER NOON IN THE AUSTRALIAN FOREST Not a bird disturbs the air! There is quiet everywhere;
A Storm in the Mountains
A lonely boy, far venturing from home Out on the half-wild herd’s faint tracks I roam; Mid rock-browned mountains, which with stony frown Glare into haggard chasms deep adown;
An Aboriginal Mothers's Lament
An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament Charles Harpur
Of Cora, once so dearly ours, Would mournful memory sing; Of how she came when came the flowers, To leave us with the spring.
Trust in God
Deep trust in God—for that I still have sought Through all the grim doubts that bemock the soul, When in the amazement of far-reaching throught, We list the labourings that for ever roll
A Poet to...
Long ere I knew thee—years of loveless days, A shape would gather from my dreams, and pour The soul-sweet influence of its gentle gaze Into my heart, to thrill it to the core:
Australia's First Great Poet
HIS lot how glorious whom the must shall name Her first high-priest in this bright southern clime! Aglow with light from her aspiring flame, Catching the raptures of her Grecian prime,
Mark yon runnel, how ’tis flowing, Like a sylvan spirit dreaming Of the spring-blooms near it blowing, And the sunlight o’er it beaming—
A Basket of Summer Fruit
First see those ample melons-brindled o'er With mingled green and brown is all the rind; For they are ripe, and mealy at the core,
Change and Death
We build but for change and for death, To whom a like homage pay glory and shame; For something must pass to give being to both. All things are rounded by change, and are perishing—
The Temperance Movement
A POWER is stirring—a broad light has shone Amid the nation’s—in the wilderness Of the world’s social horror and distress, Heralding temperance as the Baptist John
A Flight of Wild Ducks
Far up the River-hark! 'tls the loud shock Deadened by distance, of some Fowler's gun: And as into the stillness of the scene
Flowers in their freshness are flushing the earth, And the voice-peopled forest is loud in its mirth, And streams in their fulness are laughing at dearth— Yet my bosom is aching.
MY OWN WILD BURNS! these rude-wrought rhymes of thine In golden worth are like the unshapely coin Of some new realm, yet pure as from the mine—
Comments about Charles Harpur
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
A Midsummer Noon in the Australian Forest
A MIDSUMMER NOON IN THE AUSTRALIAN FOREST
Not a bird disturbs the air!
There is quiet everywhere;
Over plains and over woods
What a mighty stillness broods.
Even the grasshoppers keep
[All the birds and insects keep]
Where the coolest shadows sleep;
Even the busy ants are found
Resting in their pebbled mound;
Even the locust clingeth now
In silence to the barky bough:
And over hills and over plains
Quiet, vast and slumbrous, reigns.
Only there's a drowsy humming
From yon warm lagoon slow coming:
'Tis the dragon-hornet ...