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Whether the thing was green or blue.
"Sirs," cries the umpire," cease your pother
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And viewed it o'er by candlelight :
I marked it well-'twas black as jet-
You stare-but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it."- Pray, sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."
"And I'll be sworn, that, when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."

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"Well, then, at once to ease the doubt," Replies the man, I'll turn him out: "And when before your eyes I've set him,

If

you don't find him black, I'll eat him."

He said; then full before their sight

Produced the beast, and lo!-'twas white.

Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise

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'My children," the Chameleon cries,

(Then first the creature found a tongue,)
"You all are right, and all are wrong:

When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you:
Nor wonder, if you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own!

MERRICK.

ELISHA IN DOTHAN.

"TIS eve; and the tempest
Is rushing through heaven;
The oaks on the hills

By the lightnings are riven;
The rain in the valleys

Falls heavy and chill,

And the cataract bursts

In the bed of the rill. Wild hour for the Syrian

On Hermon's white brow; While the gust bears along The scoff and the song From Israel's proud tents

In the forest below.

'Tis midnight, deep midnight!
Now vengeance is near!
Hark! the tramp of the warrior,
The clash of the spear;
For the Syrian is marching

Through whirlwind and snow,

On the revel of Judah

To strike the death blow.

His march is but lit

By the tempest's red glare:

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"Now, now, for the slaughter!"

The trumpet is blown;
Now woe to the temple,

And woe to the throne !
But no trumpet has answer'd,
No arrow has sprung,
No torch has been lighted,
No lance has been flung.
They pour o'er the ramparts,
The tents stand alone;

Through the gust and the haze

The watch-fires still blaze;

But the warriors of Israel

Like shadows are gone!

Then spake the king's sorcerer: "King, wouldest thou hear, How those Israelite wolves

Have escaped from thy spear;

Know, their prophet Elisha

Has spells to unbind The words on thy lip,

Nay, the thoughts in thy mind. Though thy secret were deep

As the grave, 'twould be known;

The serpent has stings

And the Vulture has wings; But he's serpent and vulture

To thee and thy throne."

"Sound the trumpet!" They rush Over mountain and plain.

'Tis noon, but no chieftain
Has slacken'd the rein.
'Tis eve; and the valleys
Are dropping with wine;
But no chieftain has tasted
The fruit of the vine.
To Dothan the horseman
And mail'd charioteer
Are speeding like fire:
Their banquet is ire,
For the scorner of Syria,
Elisha, is there.

On the ramparts of Dothan,
At morning, was woe;

There fell the fierce hail

Of the lance and the bow.

And men rent their garments,
And women their hair.

But Elisha came forth

From his chamber of prayer ;—

Like thunder his voice

O'er the multitude roll'd :

"Jehovah, arise;

Pour thy light on our eyes: Shew this people the shepherds Who watch o'er thy fold."

The mountain horizon

Was burning with light;
On its brow stood the Syrian
In glory and might.

Proud toss'd to the sunbeam
The banner's rich fold,
Proud blazed the gemm'd turbans
And corslets of gold.

And loud rose the taunt

Of the infidel's tongue :

"Ho! Israelite slaves!

This night sees your graves;

And first from your walls
Shall Elisha be flung."

At the word rush'd a cloud
From the crown of the sky;

In its splendours the sun

Seem'd to sicken and die. From its depths pour'd a host Upon mountain and plain. There was seen the starr'd helm, And the sky-tinctured vane;

And the armour of fire,

And the seraph's broad wing;

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