His word, "was slain," straightway did move,
And Nature's inward life-strings twitch,
The sky immediately above,
Was dimmed with hideous clouds of pitch.
The wrastling winds, from out the ground
Filled all the air with rattling sound.
The bending trees expressed a groan,
And sighed the sorrow of his fall;
The forest beasts made ruthful moan;
The birds did tune their mourning call,