Oh, fair ones! so sad is this tale
That my song in my sorrow I steep
And where I intended to rail,
I must lay down any harp,& and xx
But virtue indignantly seized
The harp as it fell from my hand;
Serene was her look, though displeased,
As she uttered her awful command
Thy tears and thy xx employ
For the thoughtless, the giddy, & vain
But those whomy xx enjoy
Thy tears and thy pity disclaim.
For Beauty alone n'er bestow'd
Such a charm as Religion has lent;
And the cheek of a belle never glow'd
With a smile like the smile of content.
xx xx, & the pestilence xx
No hue no complexion can brave;
For Beauty must yield to old age,
But I will not yield to the grave.
Susan Catharine [Livingston]
Feby 7th 1827