Noel Paton

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!