As might be expected in the work of a man enmeshed in the ceaseless activities of public life, to whom poetry was of necessity an embroidery to other activities, his compositions are uneven. They are always spontaneous, but frequently show a roughness that a painstaking workmanship would have removed. Yet there are bursts of genuine lyric quality that will receive the commendation of even the critical. Of a simple beauty are the lines imitated from the Irish and named _A Contrast_: I. Bebinn is straight as a poplar, Queenly and comely to see, But she seems so fit for a sceptre, She never could give it to me. Aine is lithe as a willow, And her eye, whether tearful or gay, So true to her thought, that in Aine I find a new charm every day. II. Bebinn calmly and silently sails Down life's stream like a snow-breasted swan; She's so lonesomely grand, that she seems To shrink from the presence of man. Aine basks in the glad summer sun, Like a young dove let loose in the air; Sings, dances, and laughs--but for me Her joy does not make her less fair. III. Oh! give me the nature that shows Its emotions of mirth or of pain, As the water that glides, and the corn that grows, Show shadow and sunlight again. Oh! give me the brow that can bend, Oh! give me the eyes that can weep, And give me a heart like Lough Neagh, As full of emotions and deep. To Gavan Duffy, the warmest of his friends among the Young Ireland group, he wrote lines that expressed a yearning for an old companionship amid old scenes: Oh! for one week amid the emerald fields, Where the Avoca sings the song of Moore; Oh! for the odor the brown heather yields, To glad the pilgrim's heart on Glenmalur! Yet is there still what meeting could not give, A joy most suited of all joys to last; For, ever in fair memory there must live The bright, unclouded picture of the past. Old friend! the years wear on, and many cares And many sorrows both of us have known; Time for us both a quiet couch prepares-- A couch like Jacob's, pillow'd with a stone. And oh! when thus we sleep may we behold The angelic ladder of the Patriarch's dream; And may my feet upon its rungs of gold Yours follow, as of old, by hill and stream! Of his Canadian ballads one of the best known is _The Arctic Indian's Faith_: I. We worship the spirit that walks unseen Through our land of ice and snow: We know not His face, we know not His place, But His presence and power we know. II. Does the Buffalo need the Pale-face word To find his pathway far? What guide has he to the hidden ford, Or where the green pastures are? Who teacheth the Moose that the hunter's gun Is peering out of the shade-- Who teacheth the doe and the fawn to run In the track the Moose has made? III.