Gerald Metcalfe
1798 text
Their souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe;
And every soul it pass’d me by,
Like the whiz of my Cross-bow.
1834 text
The souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!
