BRIAN'S PROPHECY. BY SCOTT. RODERICK! it is a fearful strife, Yet, witness every quaking limb, Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE, THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE. MIDNIGHT IMAGININGS. BY JOANNA BAILLIE. Ir wears, methinks, upon the midnight hour. Is wrapp'd in sable clouds: the chill blast sounds Are there not wicked fiends and damned sprites, Whom yawning charnels, and th' unfathom'd depths Of secret darkness, at this fearful hour, |