Then, like old beasts for slaughter, lays them low:
Staining his fame with many a murder fresh;
He comes all bloody from that wood of woe,
Leaving such wreck that in a thousand years
To its primeval state it shall not grow.”
Like one whose visage alters when he hears
Ill hap foretold, as 'twere in dread which way
The blow may strike, I saw that other soul
Stand turned to hear, disturbed and in dismay,
Soon of those words as he had grasped the whole.