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The gentle swan with graceful pride Her glossy? plumage loves And sailing down the silver tide Divides the whispering waves; The silver tide that wand’ring flows Sweet to the bird must be; But not as sweet blithe cupid knows As Emma is to me A parent bird in plaintive mood on yonder fruit tree sing But this the unclear nest she viewed? Which hold her callow young Tho dear to her maternal heart The genial? brood may be Yet not as dear the thousandth have? As Emma is to