Coleridge.    

	O my prophetic soul!
	My uncle!

Shakespeare.    

Cicero.    

	The prophet’s mantle, ere his flight began,
	Dropt on the world—a sacred gift to man.

Campbell.    

	Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word;
	And in its hollow tones are heard
	The thanks of millions yet to be.

Fitz-Greene Halleck.    

	Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
	Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
	Is that portentous phrase, “I told you so.”

Byron.    

	There is a history in all men’s lives,
	Figuring the nature of the times deceas’d,
	The which observed, a man may prophesy
	With a near aim, of the main chance of things
	As yet not come to life, which in their seeds
	And weak beginnings lie intreasured.

Shakespeare.