Lines Addressed to a Mother in Ireland. WILL she, whose kind maternal care Enlighten'd my untutor'd mind, Who all her joys with me did share, But to her breast each grief confin'd, Accept these tears that freely flow — Accept this tributary lay? 'Tis all that friendship can bestow, Or weeping gratitude repay. Whether constraint my footsteps lead Amid a hated world, or free I wander o'er the russet mead, My constant thoughts are fix'd on thee. On Lehena's enchanting scene, I muse, where we delighted stray'd; The sloping hill, the valley green, The lawn in brightest flowers array'd. Say, dost thou in those meadows rove, Where Taste with Nature is combin'd? Or dost thou haunt that silent grove, That charm'd so oft my pensive mind? O may those scenes a bliss bestow Which rural life alone can boast; And thou, dear friend, each comfort know, Which by thine absence I have lost. May sprightly Health, with rosy lip Breathe rich vermilion o'er thy cheek! Light round thy paths may Pleasure trip, And young Content with aspect meek! May Science gild each tedious hour, And spread her stores before thine eye: And Friendship with resistless power, Repress each sad intruding sigh! May Peace around thine honour'd head Her fairest olive wreath entwine; Soft Slumbers guard thy downy bed, And Hope, fond charmer, still be thine! May Truth and Innocence descend, Their purer blessings to impart; Blessings that on thyself depend, Unknown but to the virtuous heart! Yet, when thy circling friends appear, And greet thee on Ierne's shore, Devote one sympathetic tear To her who sees thee now no more!