Then Ráma and his brother stirred By pity mourned the royal bird, And, as their hands his limbs caressed, Affection for a sire expressed. And Ráma to his bosom strained The bird with mangled wings distained, With crimson blood-drops dyed.

In plain words: Rama and Lakshmana mourn the bird with pity and stroke his body as if he were their own father. Rama holds the blood-covered bird close to his chest.