150 Slate of Ireland. [Auo. 



to be found, and the ministers likewise, to ruminate upon these results 

 of their mis-called liberality. If both the church and state be in a most 

 tottering condition in Ireland if, as the Protestant journals assert, and 

 the Roman Catholic organs confirm, there be at present scarcely a frag- 

 ment of " a government party" in that distracted land if the influence 

 of the Roman Catholic priests among the military be so great as to render 

 it problematical which side many of our soldiery would take in the event of 

 popular contention it is high time for our legislators to review that 

 system of policy which has brought us to such a crisis. There 

 is no time to be lost ; the Protestants are rapidly withdrawing from the 

 scene, despairing of either encouragement or protection. Faithful to 

 their engagements, they will not indeed promise as high rents for tene- 

 ments as the Rockite Roman Catholics unhesitatingly offer, but without 

 the slightest intention of performing their contract. Protestants have 

 not a Captain Rock to protect their cattle or produce from seizure, or 

 their farms from process of ejectment : they, besides, are often exposed 

 to the effects of a combination against them, which often compels them 

 to dispose of their stock at a lower price than Roman Catholics obtain 

 the butchers and victuallers in Ireland being chiefly Papists, and 

 giving a decided preference to those farmers who are of their own per- 

 suasion. This, we have the best authority for stating, is a positive 

 fact. 



THE SPIRITS OF THE WINDS. 

 A VISION. 



HARK ! to the Thunder-Peal ! The air 

 Is flaming with the Lightning's Glare ! 

 Down bursts the gale the surges sweep, 

 Like gathering hosts, against the steep, 

 Sh jeting with clouds of snowy spray, 

 Its granite forehead, old and grey. 

 With sudden shriek and cowering wing, 

 To the wild cliff the sea-birds spring ; 

 Careering o'er the darkened heaven, 

 The clouds in warring heaps are driven ; 

 And crested high with tawny foam, 

 Rushes the mighty billow home. 



These arc for earthly gaze ; but who 

 Might pierce yon Lightning-blaze of blue ; 

 Might mount yon cloudy throne of fear, 

 To see the tempest-rulers there ? 



The Thunder rolls ! Through deepening gloom 

 Are seen a crown, a fiery plume ! 

 What visions on the whirlwind ride ! 

 Sons of the Morn ! four shapes of pride ! 

 Four shapes of beauty ! yet the gale 

 Has blanched their glorious beauty pale ; 

 Like cloud-wreaths tost along the air, 

 Floats wild their hyacinthine hair ; 

 And faintly, through the vapours dim, 

 Shine starry brow and splendid limb ; 



