Az érezésnek
Szentelem én ezt.
Buczi.
Dryads! smile sweetly on the tree I planted;
Call forth its blossoms—shelter it from tempests;
I have that tree to Sympathy devoted;
Smile on the tribute.
Smile, ye good angels ! Fling your deeds of virtue
On the uncovered bosom of misfortune;
Fling your soft arms of charity around it;
To your breast press it.