Mrs. Anna Letitia Barbauld

Cruel Remorse! where Youth and Pleasure sport,
And thoughtless Folly keeps her court,--
Crouching 'midst rosy bowers read more

Cruel Remorse! where Youth and Pleasure sport,
And thoughtless Folly keeps her court,--
Crouching 'midst rosy bowers thou lurk'st unseen
Slumbering the festal hours away,
While Youth disports in that enchanting scene;
Till on some fated day
Thou with a tiger-spring dost leap upon thy prey,
And tear his helpless breast, o'erwhelmed with wild dismay.

Is there not
A tongue in every star that talks with man,
And wooes him to be read more

Is there not
A tongue in every star that talks with man,
And wooes him to be wise? nor wooes in vain;
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.