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Lay of Leithian

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The Lay of Leithian is an unfinished poem written by J. R. R. Tolkien during the 1930s. The poem is in rhyming couplets. The poem contains the story of Beren and Lúthien, a mortal man and an immortal elf maiden. It was published after Tolkien's death in The Lays of Beleriand, the 3rd volume of The History of Middle-earth.

1. OF THINGOL IN DORIATH

   A king there was in days of old:
   ere Men yet walked upon the mould
   his power was reared in caverns' shade,
   his hand was over glen and glade.
   Of leaves his crown, his mantle green,
   his silver lances long and keen;
   the starlight in his sheild was caught,
   ere moon was made or sun was wrought.
     In after-day when to the shore
   of Middle-earth from Valinor
   the Elven-hosts in might returned,
   and banners flew and beacons burned,
   when kings of Eldamar went by
   in strength of war, beneath the sky
   then still his silver trumpets blew
   when sun was young and moon was new.
   Afar then in Beleriand,
   in Doriath's beleaguered land,
   King Thingol sat on guarded throne
   in many-pillared halls of stone:
   there beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
   and metal wrought like fishes' mail,
   buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
   and gleaming spears were laid in hoard:
   all these he had and counted small,
   for dearer than all wealth in hall,
   and fairer than are born to Men,
   a daughter had he, Lúthien.
   
   
      OF LÚTHIEN THE BELOVED
   
   Such lissom limbs no more shall run
   on the green earth beneath the sun;
   so fair a maid no more shall be
   from dawn to dusk, from sun to sea.
   Her robe was blue as summer skies,
   but grey as evening was her eyes;
   her mantle sewn with lilies fair,
   but dark as shadow was her hair.
   Her feet were swift as bird on wing,
   her laughter merry as the spring;
   the slender willow, the bowing reed,
   the fragrance of a flowering mead,
   the light upon the leaves of trees,
   the voice of water, more than these
   her beauty was and blissfulness,
   her glory and her loveliness.
   
     She dwelt in the enchanted land
   while elven-might yet held in hand
   the woven woods of Doriath:
   none ever thither found the path
   unbidden, none the forest-eaves
   dared pass, or stir the listening leaves.
   To north there lay a land of dread,
   Dungorthin where all ways were dead
   in hills of shadow bleak and cold;
   beyond was Deadly Nightshade's hold
   in Taur-nu-Fuin's fastness grim,
   where sun was sick and moon was dim.
   To South the wide earth unexplored;
   to West the ancient Ocean roared,
   unsailed and shoreless, wide and wild;
   to East in peaks of blue were piled,
   in silence folded, mist-enfurled,
   the mountains of the outer world.
   
     Thus Thingol in his dolven hall
   amid the Thousand Caverns tall
   of Menegroth as king abode:
   to him there led no mortal road.
   Beside him sat his deathless queen,
   fair Melian, and wove unseen
   nets of enchantment round his throne,
   and spells were laid on tree and stone:
   sharp was his sword and high his helm,
   the king of beech and oak and elm.
   When grass was green and leaves were long,
   when finch and mavis sung their song,
   there under bough and under sun
   in shadow and in light would run
   fair Lúthien the elven-maid,
   dancing in dell and grassy glade.
   
   
      OF DAIRON MINISTREL OF THINGOL
   
   When sky was clear and stars were keen,
   then Dairon with his fingers lean,
   as daylight melted into eve,
   a trembling music sweet would weave
   on flutes of silver, thin and clear
   for Lúthien, the maiden dear.
   
     There mirth there was and voices bright;
   there eve was peace and morn was light;
   there jewel gleamed and silver wan
   and red gold on white fingers shone,
   and elanor and niphredil
   bloomed in the grass unfading still,
   while the endless years of Elven-land
   rolled over far Beleriand,
   until a day of doom befell,
   as still the elven-harpers tell.
   
   
   
                   *
   
   
   
   2.  OF MORGOTH & THE SNARLING OF GORLIM
   
   Far in the Northern hills of stone
   in caverns black there was a throne
   by flame encircled; there the smoke
   in coiling columns rose to choke
   the breath of life, and there in deep
   and gasping dungeons lost would creep
   to hopeless death all those who strayed
   by doom beneath that ghastly shade.
     A king there sat, most dark and fell
   of all that under heavens dwell.
   Than earth or sea, than moon or star
   more ancient was he, mightier far
   in mind abysmal than he thought
   of Eldar or of Men, and wrought
   of strength primeval; ere the stone
   was hewn to build the world, alone
   he walked in darkness, fierce and dire,
   burned, as he wielded it, by fire.
     He 'twas that laid in ruin black
   the Blessed Realms and then fled back
   to Middle-earth anew to build
   beneath the mountains mansions filled
   with misbegotten slaves of hate:
   death's shadow brooded at his gate.
   His hosts he armed with spears of steel
   and brands of flame, and at their heel
   the wolf walked and the serpent crept
   with lidless eyes. Now forth they leapt,
   his ruinous legions, kindling war
   in field and frith and woodland hoar.
   Where long the golden elanor
   had gleamed amid the grass they bore
   their banners black, where finch had sung
   and harpers silver harps had wrung
   now dark the ravens wheeled and cried
   amid the reek, and far and wide
   the swords of Morgoth dripped with red
   above the hewn and trampled dead.
   Slowly his shadow like a cloud
   rolled from North, and on the proud
   that would not yield his vengeance fell;
   to death and thraldom under hell
   all things he doomed: the Northern land
   lay cowed beneath his ghastly hand.
   
     But still there lived in hiding cold
   Bëor's son, Barahir the bold,
   of land bereaved and lordship shorn
   who once a prince of Men was born,
   and now an outlaw lurked and lay
   in the hard heath and woodland grey.
   
   
   OF THE SAVING OF KING INGLOR FELAGUND BY THE XII BËORINGS
   
   Twelve men beside him still there went,
   still faithful when all hope was spent.
   Their names are yet in elven-song
   remembered, though the years are long
   since doughty Dagnir and Ragnor,
   Radhruin, Dairuin, and Gildor,
   Gorlim Unhappy, and Urthel,
   and Arthad and Hathaldir fell;
   since the black shaft with venomed wound
   took Belegund and Baragund,
   the mighty sons of Bregolas;
   since he whose deeds and doom surpass
   all tales of Men was laid on bier,
   fair Beren son of Barahir.
   For these it was, the chosen men
   of Bëor's house, who in the fen
   of reedy Serech stood at bay
   about king Inglor in the day
   of his defeat, and with their swords
   thus saved of all the Elven-lords
   the fairest; and his love they earned.
   And he escaping south, returned
   to Nargothrond his mighty realm,
   where still he wore his crownëd helm;
   but they to their northern homelands rode,
   dauntless and few, and there abode
   unconquered still, defying fate,
   pursued by Morgoth's sleepless hate.
   
   
     OF TARN AELUIN THE BLESSED
   
     Such deeds of daring there they wrought
   that soon the hunters that them sought
   at rumour of their coming fled.
   Though price was set upon each head
   to match the weregild of a king,
   no soldier could to Morgoth bring
   news even of their hidden lair;
   for where the highland browse and bare
   above the darkling pines arose
   of steep Dorthonion to the snows
   and barren mountain-winds, there lay
   a tarn of water, blue by day,
   by night a mirror of dark glass
   for stars of Elbereth that pass
   above the world into the West.
   Once hallowed, still that place was blest:
   no shadow of Morgoth, and no evil thing
   yet thither came; a whispering ring
   of slender birches silver-grey
   stooped on its margin, round it lay
   a lonely moor, and the bare bones
   of ancient Earth like standing stones
   thrust through the heather and the whin;
   and there by houseless Aeluin
   the hunted lord and faithful men
   under the grey stones made their den.
   
   
      OF GORLIM THE UNHAPPY
   
   Gorlim Unhappy, Angrim's son,
   as the tale tells, of these was one
   most fierce and hopeless. He to wife,
   while fair the fortune of his life,
   took the white maiden Eilinel:
   dear love they had ere evil fell.
   To war he rode; from war returned
   to find his fields and homestead burned,
   his house forsaken roofless stood,
   empty amid the leafless wood;
   and Eilinel, white Eilinel,
   was taken whither none could tell,
   to death and thraldom far away.
   Black was the shadow of that day
   for ever on his heart, and doubt
   still gnawed him as he went about
   in wilderness wandring, or at night
   oft sleepless, thinking that she might
   ere evil came have timely fled
   into the woods: she was not dead,
   she lived, she would return again
   to seek him, and would deem him slain.
   Therefore at whiles he left the lair,
   and secretly, alone, would peril dare,
   and come to his old house at night,
   broken and cold, without fire or light,
   and naught grief renewed would gain,
   watching and waiting there in vain.
   
     In vain, or worse - for many spies
   had Morgoth, many lurking eyes
   well used to pierce the deepest dark;
   and Gorlim's coming they would mark
   and would report. There came a day
   when once more Gorlim crept that way,
   down the deserted weedy lane
   at dusk of autumn sad with rain
   and cold wind whining. Lo! a light
   at window fluttering in the night
   amazed he saw; and drawing near,
   between faint hope and sudden fear,
   he looked within. 'Twas Eilinel!
   Though changed she was, he knew her well.
   With grief and hunger she was worn,
   her tresses tangled, raiment torn;
   her gentle eyes with tears were dim,
   as soft she wept: `Gorlim, Gorlim!
   Thou canst not have forsaken me.
   Then slain, alas! thou slain must be!
   And I must linger cold, alone,
   and loveless as a barren stone!'
   
     One cry he gave - and then the light
   blew out, and in the wind of night
   wolves howled; and on his shoulder fell
   suddenly the griping hands of hell.
   There Morgoth's servants fast him caught
   and he was cruelly bound, and brought
   to Sauron, captain of the host,
   the lord of werewolf and of ghost,
   most foul and fell of all who knelt
   at Morgoth's throne. In might he dwelt
   on Gauroth Isle; but now had ridden
   with strength abroad, by Morgoth bidden
   to find the rebel Barahir.
   He sat in dark encampment near,
   and thither his butchers draggen their prey.
   There now in anguish Gorlim lay:
   with bond on neck, on hand and foot,
   to bitter torment he was put,
   to break his will and him constrain
   to buy with treason end of pain.
   But naught to them would he reveal
   of Barahir, nor break the seal
   of faith that on his tongue was laid;
   until at last a pause was made,
   and one came softly to his stake,
   a darkling form that stooped, and spake
   to him of Eilinel his wife.
     `Wouldst thou,' he said,`forsake thy life.
   who with a few words might win release 
   for her, and thee, and go in peace,
   and dwell together far from war,
   friends of the King? What wouldst thou more?'
   And Gorlim, now long worn with pain,
   yearning to see his wife again
   (whom well he weened was also caught
   in Sauron's net), allowed the thought
   to grow, and faltered in his troth.
   Then straight, half willing and half loath,
   they brought him to the seat of stone
   where Sauron sat. He stood alone
   befor that dark and dreadful face,
   and Sauron said: `Come, mortal base!
   What do I hear? That thou wouldst dare
   to barter with me? Well, speak fair!
   What is thy price?' And Gorlim low
   bowed down his head, and with great woe,
   word on slow word, at last implored
   that merciless and faithless lord
   that he might free depart, and might
   again find Eilinel the White,
   and dwell with her, and cease from war
   against the King. He crave no more.
   
     The Sauron smiled, and said: `Thou trall!
   The price thou askest is but small
   for treachery and shame so great!
   I grant it surely! Well, I wait:
   Come! Speak now swiftly and speak true!'
   Then Gorlim wavered, and he drew
   half back; but Sauron's daunting eye
   there held him, and he dared not lie:
   as he began, so must he wend
   from first false step to faithless end:
   he all must answer as he could,
   betray his lord and brotherhood,
   and cease, and fall upon his face.
   
     Then Sauron laughed aloud, `Thou base,
   thou cringing worm! Stand up,
   and hear me! And now drink the cup
   that I have sweetly blent for thee!
   Thou fool: a phantom thou didst see
   that I, I Sauron made to snare
   thy lovesick wits. Naught else was there.
   Cold 'tis with Sauron's wraiths to wed!
   Thy Eilinel! She is long since dead,
   dead, food of worms less low than thou.
   And yet thy boon I grant thee now:
   to Eilinel thou soon shalt go,
   and lie in her bed, no more to know
   of war - or manhood. Have thy pay!'
   
     And Gorlim then they dragged away,
   and cruelly slew him; and at last
   in the dank mould his body cast,
   where Eilinel long since had laid
   in the burned woods by butchers slain.
     Thus Gorlim died an evil death,
   and cursed himself with dying breath,
   and Barahir at last was caught
   in Morgoth's snare; for set at naught
   by treason was the ancient grace
   that guarded long that lonely place,
   Tarn Aeluin: now all laid bare
   were secret paths and hidden lair.
   
   
   
                *
   
   
   3. OF BEREN SON OF BARAHIR & HIS ESCAPE
   
   Dark from the North now blew the cloud;
   the winds of autumn cold and loud
   hissed in the heather; sad and grey
   Aeluin's mournful water lay.
   `Son Beren', then said Barahir,
   `Thou knowst the rumour that we hear
   of strength from the Gaurhoth that is sent
   against us; and our food nigh spent.
   On thee the lot falls by our law
   to go forth now alone to draw
   what help thou canst from the hidden few
   that feed us still, and what is new
   to learn. Good fortune go with thee!
   In speed return, for grudgingly
   we spare thee from our brotherhood,
   so small: and Gorlim in the wood
   is long astray or dead. Farewell!'
   As Beren went, still like a knell
   resounded in his heart that word,
   the last of his fater that he heard.
   
     Through moor and fen, by tree and briar
   he wandered far: he saw the fire
   of Sauron's camp, he heard the howl
   of hunting Orc and wolf a-prowl,
   and turning back, for long the way,
   benighted in the forest lay.
   In weariness he then must sleep,
   fain in a badger-hole to creep,
   and yet he heard (or dreamed it so)
   nearby a marching legion go
   with clink of mail and clash of shields
   up toward the stony mountain-fields.
   He slipped then into darkness down,
   until, as man that waters drown
   strives upwards gasping, it seemed to him
   he rose through slime beside the brim
   of sullen pool beneath dead trees.
   Their livid boughs in cold a breeze
   trembled, and all their black leaves stirred:
   each leaf a black and croaking bird,
   whose neb a gout of blood let fall,
   He shuddered, struggling thence to crawl
   through winding weeds, when far away
   he saw a shadow faint and grey
   gliding across the dreary lake.
   Slowly it came, and softly spake:
   `Gorlim I was, but now a wraith
   of will defeated, broken faith,
   traitor betrayed. Go! Stay not here!
   Awaken, son of Barahir,
   and haste! For Morgoth's fingers close
   upon thy father's throat; he knows
   your trysts, your paths, your secret lair'
     Then he revealed the devil's snare
   in which he fell, and failed; and last
   begging forgiveness, wept, and passed
   out into darkness. Beren woke,
   leaped up as one by sudden stroke
   with fire of anger filled. His bow
   and sword he seized, and like the roe
   hotfoot o'er rock and heath he sped
   before the dawn. ere day was dead
   to Aeluin at last he came,
   as the red sun westward sank in flame;
   but Aeluin was red with blood,
   red were the stones and trampled mud.
   Black in the birches sat a-row
   the raven and the carrion-crow;
   wet were their nebs, and dark the meat
   that dripped beneath their griping feet.
   One croaked: `Ha, ha, he comes too late!'
   `Ha, ha!' they answered, `ha! too late!'
     There Beren laid his father's bones
   in haste beneath a cairn of stones;
   no grave rune nor word he wrote
   o'er Barahir, but thrice he smote
   the topmost stone, and thrice aloud
   he cried his name. `Thy death' he vowed,
   `I will avenge. Yea, though my fate
   should lead at last to Angband's gate.'
   And then he turned, and did not weep:
   too dark his heart, the wound too deep.
   Ouy into night, as cold as stone,
   loveless, friendless, he strode alone.
   
     Of hunter's lore he had no need
   the trail to find. With little heed
   his ruthless foe, secure and proud,
   marched north away with blowing loud
   in brazen horns their lord to greet,
   trampling the earth with grinding feet.
   Behind them bold but wary went
   now Beren, swift as hound on scent,
   until beside a darkling well,
   where Rivil rises from the fell
   down into Serech's reeds to flow,
   he found the slayers, found his foe.
   From hiding on the hillside near
   he marked them all: though less than fear,
   too many for his sword and bow
   to slay alone. Then, crawling low
   as snake in heath, he nearer crept.
   There many weary with marching slept,
   but captains, sprawling on the grass,
   drank and from hand to hand let pass
   their booty, grudging each small thing
   raped from dead bodies. One a ring
   held up, and laughed: `Now, mates,' he cried
   `here's mine! And I'll not be denied,
   though few be like it in the land.
   For I 'twas wrenched it from the hand
   of that same Barahir I slew,
   the robber-knave. If tales be true,
   he had it of some elvish lord,
   for the rouge-service of his sword.
   No help it gave to him - he's dead.
   They're parlous, elvish rings, 'tis said;
   still for the gold I'll keep it, yea
   and so eke out ny niggard pay.
   Old Sauron bade me bring it back,
   and yet, methinks, he has no lack
   of weightier treasures in his hoard:
   the greater the greedier the lord!
   So mark ye, mates, ye all shall swear
   the hand of Barahir was bare!'
   And as he spoke an arrow sped
   from tree behind, and forward dead
   choking he fell with barb in throat;
   with leering face the earth he smote.
     Forth, then as wolfhound grim there leapt
   Beren among them. Two he swept
   aside with sword; caught up the ring;
   slew one who grasped him; with a spring
   back into shadow passed, and fled
   before their yells of wrath and dread
   of ambush in the valley rang.
   Then after him like wolves they sprang,
   howling and cursing, gnashing teeth,
   hewing and bursting through the heath,
   shooting wild arrows, sheaf on sheaf,
   at trembling shade or shaking leaf.
     In fatefull hour was Beren born:
   he laughed at dart and wailing horn;
   fleetest of foot of living men,
   tireless on fell and light on fen,
   elf-wise in wood, he passed away,
   defended by his hauberk grey
   of dwarfish craft in Nogrod made,
   where hammers rang in cavern's shade.
   
     As fearless Beren was renowned:
   when men most hardy upon ground
   were reckoned folk would speak his name,
   foretelling that his after-fame
   would even golden Hador pass
   or Barahir or Bregolas;
   but sorrow now his heart had wrought
   to fierce despair, no more he fought
   in hope of life or joy or praise,
   but seeking so to use his days
   only that Morgoth deep should feel
   the sting of his avenging steel,
   ere death he found and end of pain:
   his only fear was thraldom's chain.
   Danger he sought and death pursued,
   and thus escaped the doom he wooed,
   and deeds of breathless daring wrought
   alone, of which his rumour brought
   new hope to many a broken man.
   They whispered `Beren', and began
   in secret swords to whet, and soft
   by shrouded hearts at evening oft
   songs they would sing of Beren's bow,
   of Dagmor his sword: how he would go
   silent to camps and slay the chief,
   or trapped in his hiding past belief
   would slip away, and under night
   by mist or moon, or by the light
   of open day would come again.
   Of hunters hunted, slayers slain
   they sang, of Gorgol the Butcher hewn,
   of ambush in Ladros, fire in Drûn,
   of thirty in one battle dead,
   of wolves that yelped like curs and fled
   yea, Sauron himself with wound in hand.
   Thus one alone filled all that land
   with fear and death for Morgoth's folk;
   his comrades were the beech and oak
   who failed him not, and wary things
   with fur and fell and feathered wings
   that silent wander, or dwell alone
   in hill and wild and waste of stone
   watched o'er his ways, his faithful friends.
   
     Yet seldom well an outlaw ends;
   and Morgoth was a king more strong
   than all the world has since in song
   recorded: dark athwart the land
   reached out the shadow of his hand,
   at each recoil returned again;
   two more were sent for one foe slain.
   New hope was cowed, all rebels killed;
   quenched were the fires, the songs were stilled,
   tree felled, heath burned, and through the waste
   marched the black host of Orcs in haste.
     Almost they closed their ring of steel
   round Beren; hard upon his heel
   now trod their spies; within their hedge
   of all aid shorn, upon the edge
   of death at bay he stood aghast
   and knew that he must die at last,
   or flee the land of Barahir,
   his land beloved. Beside the mere
   beneath a heap of nameless stones
   must crumble those once mighty bones,
   forsaken by both son and kin,
   bewailed by reeds of Aeluin.
   
     In winter's night the houseless North
   he left behind, and stealing forth
   the leaguer of his watchful foe
   he passed - a shadow on the snow,
   a swirl of wind, and he was gone,
   the ruin of Dorthonion,
   Tarn Aeluin and its water wan,
   never again to look upon.
   No more shall hidden bowstring sing,
   no more shall shaven arrows wing,
   no more his hunted head shall lie
   upon the heath beneath the sky.
   The Northern stars, whos silver fire
   of old Men named the Burning Briar,
   were set behind his back, and shone
   o'er land forsaked: he was gone.
   
     Southward he turned, and south away
   his long and lonely journey lay,
   while ever loomed before his path
   the dreadful peaks of Gorgorath.
   Never had foot of man most bold
   yet trod those mountains steep and cold,
   nor climbed upon their sudden brink,
   whence, sickened, eyes must turn and shrink
   to see their southward cliffs fall sheer
   in rocky pinnacle and pier
   down into shadows that were laid
   before the sun and moon were made.
   In valleys woven with deceit
   and washed with waters bitter-sweet
   dark magic lurked in gulf and glen;
   but out away beyond the ken
   of mortal sight the eagle's eye
   from dizzy towers that pierced the sky
   might grey and gleaming see afar,
   as sheen on water under star,
   Beleriand, Beleriand,
   the borders of the Elven-land.
   
   
   
                 *
   
   
   
   4. OF THE COMING OF BEREN TO DORIATH; BUT FIRST IS TOLD OF
   THE MEETING OF MELIAN AND THINGOL
   
   There long ago in Elder-days
   ere voice was heard or trod were ways,
   the haunt of silent shadows stood
   in starlit dusk Nan Elmoth wood.
   In Elder-days that long are gone
   a light amid the shadows shone,
   a voice was in the silent heard:
   the sudden singing of a bird.
   There Melian came, the Lady grey,
   and dark and long her tresses lay
   beneath her silver girdle-seat
   and down unto her silver feet.
   The nightingales with her she brought,
   to whom their song herself she taught,
   who sweet upon her gleaming hands
   had sung in the immortal lands.
     Thence wayward wandering on a time
   from Lórien she dared to climb
   the ever-lasting mountain-wall
   of Valinor, at whose feet fall
   the surges of the Shadowy Sea.
   Out away she went then free,
   to gardens of the Gods no more
   returning, but on mortal shore,
   a glimmer ere the dawn she strayed,
   singing her spells from glade to glade.
     A bird in dim Nan Elmoth wood
   trilled, and to listen Thingol stood
   amazed; then far away he heard
   a voice more fair than fairest bird,
   a voice as crystal clear of note
   as thread of silver glass remote.
   
   Of folk and kin no more he thought;
   of errand that the Eldar brought
   from Cuivínen far away,
   of lands beyond the sea that lay
   no more he recked, forgetting all,
   drawn only by that distant call
   till deep in dim Nan Elmoth wood
   lost and beyond recall he stood.
   And there he saw her, fair and fay:
   Ar-Melian, the Lady grey,
   as silent as the windless trees,
   standing with mist about her knees,
   and in her face remote the light
   of Lórien glimmered in the night.
   No word she spoke; but pace by pace,
   a halting shadow, towards her face
   forth walked the silver-mantled king,
   tall Elu Thingol. In the ring
   of waiting trees he took her hand.
   One moment face to face they stand
   alone, beneath the weeling sky,
   while starlit years on earth go by
   and in Nan Elmoth wood the trees
   grow dark and tall. The murmuring seas
   rising and falling on the shore
   and Ulmo's horn he heeds no more.
   
     But long his people sought in vain
   their lord, till Ulmo called again,
   and then in grief they marched away,
   leaving the woods. To havens grey
   upon the western shore, the last
   long shore of mortal land, they passed,
   and thence were borne beyond the Sea
   in Aman, the Blessed Realm, to be
   by evergreen Ezellohar
   in Valinor, in Eldamar.
   
     Thus Thingol sailed not on the seas
   but dwelt amid the land of trees,
   and Melian he loved, divine,
   whose voice was potent as the wine
   the Valar drink i golden halls
   where flower blooms and fountain falls;
   but when she sang it was a spell,
   and no flower stirred nor fountain fell.
   A king and Queen thus lived they long,
   and Doriath was filled with song,
   and all the Elves that missed their way
   and never found the western bay,
   the gleaming walls of their long home
   by the grey seas and the white foam,
   who never trod the golden land
   where the towers of the Valar stand,
   all these were gathered in their realm
   beneath the beech and oak and elm.
   
   In later days when Morgoth fled
   from wrath and raised once more his head
   and Iron Crown, his mighty seat
   beneath the smoking mountain's feet
   founded and fortified anew,
   then slowly dread and darkess grew:
   the Shadow of the North that all
   the Folk of Earth would hold in thrall.
     The lords of Men to knee he brings,
   the kingdoms of the Exiled Kings
   assails with ever-mounting war:
   in their last havens by the shore
   they dwell, or strongholds walled with fear
   defend upon his borders drear,
   till each one falls. Yet reigns there still
   in Doriath beyond his will
   the Grey King and immortal Queen.
   No evil in their realm is seen;
   no power their might can yet surpass:
   there still is laughter and green grass,
   there leaves are lit by the white sun,
   and many marvels are begun.
   
     There went now in the Guarded Realm
   beneath the beech, beneath the elm,
   there lightfoot ran now on the green
   the daughter of the king and queen:
   of Arda's eldest children born
   in beauty of their elven-morn
   and only child ordained by birth
   to walk in raiment of the Earth
   from Those descended who began
   before the world of Elf and Man.
   
     Beyond the bounds of Arda far
   still shone the Legions, star on star,
   memorials of their labour long,
   achievement of Vision and of Song;
   and when beneath their ancient light
   on Earth below was cloudless night,
   music in Doriath awoke,
   and there beneath the branching oak,
   or seated in the beech-leaves brown,
   Dairon the dark with ferny crown
   played on his pipes with elvish art
   unbearable by mortal heart.
     No other player has there been,
   no other lips or fingers seen
   so skilled, 'tis said in elven-lore,
   save Maglor son of Fëanor,
   forgotten harper, singer doomed,
   who young when Laurelin yet bloomed
   to endless lamentation passed
   and in the tombless sea was cast.
     But Dairon in his heart's delight
   yet lived and played by starlit night,
   until one summer-eve befell,
   as still the elven harpers tell.
   Then merrily his piping thrilled;
   the grass was soft, the wind was stilled,
   the twilight lingered faint and cool
   in shadow-shapes upon the pool
   beneath the boughs of sleeping trees
   standing silent. About their knees
   a mist of hemlocks glimmered pale,
   and ghostly moths on lace-wings frail
   went to and fro. Beside the mere
   quickening, rippling, rising clear
   the piping called. Then forth she came,
   as sheer and sudden as a flame
   of peerless white the shadows cleaving,
   her maiden-bower on white feet leaving;
   and as when summer star arise
   radiant into darkened skies,
   her living light on all was cast
   in fleeting silver as she passed.
     There now she stepped with elven pace,
   bending and swaying in her grace,
   as half-reluctant; then began
   to dance, to dance: in mazes ran
   bewildering, and a mist of white
   was wreathed about her whirling flight.
   Wind-ripples on the water flashed,
   and trembling leaf and flower were plashed
   with diamond-dews, as ever fleet
   and fleeter went her wingéd feet.
   
     Her long hair as a cloud was streaming
   about her arms uplifted gleaming,
   as slow above the trees the Moon
   in glory of the plenilude
   arose, and on the open glade
   its light serene and clear was laid.
   Then suddenly her feet were stilled,
   and through the woven wood there thrilled,
   half wordless, half in elven-tounge,
   her voice upraised in blissful song
   that once of nightingales she learned
   and in her living joy had turned
   to heart-enthralling loveliness,
   unmarred, immortal, sorrowless.
   
   Ir Ithil ammen Eruchín
     menel-vîr síla díriel
   si loth a galadh lasto dîn!
     A Hîr Annûn gilthoniel,
   le linnon im Tinúviel!
   
   O elven-fairest Lúthien
   what wonder moved thy dances then?
   That night what doom of Elvenesse
   enchanted did thy voice possess?
   Such marvel shall there mo more be
   on Earth or west beyond the Sea,
   at dusk or dawn, by night or noon
   or neath the mirror of the moon!
   On Neldoreth was laid a spell;
   the piping into silence fell,
   for Dairon cast his flute away,
   unheeded on the grass it lay,
   in wonder bound as stone he stood
   heart-broken in the listening wood.
   And still she sang above the night,
   as light returning into light
   upsoaring from the world below
   when suddenly there came a slow
   dull tread of heavy feet on leaves,
   and from the darkness on the eaves
   of the bright glade a shape came out
   with hands agrope, as if in doubt
   or blind, and as it stumbling passed
   under the moon a shadow cast
   bended and darkling. Then from on high
   as lark falls headlong from the sky
   the song of Lúthien fell and ceased;
   but Dairon from the spell released
   awoke to fear, and cried in woe:
   `Flee Lúthien, ah Lúthien go!
   An evil walks in the wood! Away!'
   Then forth he fled in his dismay
   ever calling her to follow him,
   until far off his cry was dim
   `Ah flee, ah flee now, Lúthien'
   But silent stood she in the glen
   unmoved, who never fear had known,
   till fear then seized her, all alone,
   seeing that shape with shagged hair
   and shadow long that halted there.
   Then sudden she vanished like a dream
   in dark oblivion, a gleam
   in hurrying clouds, for she had leapt
   among the hemlocks tall, and crept
   under a mighty plant with leaves
   all long and dark, whose stem in sheaves
   upheld an hundred umbrels fair;
   and her white arms and shoulders bare
   her raiment pale, and in her hair
   the wild white roses glimmering there,
   all lay like spattered moonlight hoar
   in gleaming pools upon the floor.
   Then stared he wild in dumbness bound
   at silent trees, deserted ground;
   he blindly groped across the glade
   to the dark trees' encircling shade,
   and, while she watched with veilëd eyes,
   touched her soft arm in sweet surprise.
   Like startled moth from deathlike sleep
   in sunless nook or bushes deep
   she darted swift, and to and fro
   with cunning that elvish dancers know
   about the trunks of trees she twined
   a path fantastic. Far behind
   enchanted, wildered and forlorn
   Beren came blundering, bruised and torn:
   Esgalduin the elven-stream,
   in which amid tree-shadows gleam
   the stars, flowed strong before his feet.
   Some secret way she found, and fleet
   passed over and was seen no more,
   and left him forsaken on the shore.
   `Darkly the sundering flood rolls past!
   To this my long way comes at last -
   a hunger and a loneliness,
   enchanted waters pitiless.'
   
     A summer waned, an autumn glowed,
   and Beren in the woods abode,
   as wild and wary as a faun
   that sudden wakes at rustling dawn,
   and flits from shade to shade, and flees
   the brightness of the sun, yet sees
   all stealthy movements in the wood.
   The murmurous warmth in weathers good,
   the hum of many wings, the call
   of many a bird, the pattering fall
   of sudden rain upon the trees,
   the windy tides in leafy seas,
   the creaking of the boughs, he heard;
   but not the song of sweetest bird
   brought joy or comfort to his heart,
   a wanderer dumb who dwelt apart;
   who sought unceasing and in vain
   to hear and see those thinga again:
   a song more fair than nightingale,
   a wonder in the moonlight pale.
   
     An autumn waned, a winter laid
   the withered leaves in grove and glade;
   the beeches bare were gaunt and grey,
   and red their leaves beneath them lay.
   From cavern pale the moist moon eyes
   the white mists that from earth arise
   to hide the morrow's sun and drip
   all the grey day from each twig's tip.
   By dawn and dusk he seeks her still;
   by noon and night in valleys chill,
   nor hears a sound but the slow beat
   on sodden leaves of his own feet.
   
     The wind of winter winds his horn;
   the misty veil is rent and torn.
   The wind dies; the starry choirs
   leap in the silent sky to fires,
   whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer
   through domes of frozen crystal clear.
   
     A sparkle through the darkling trees,
   a piercing glint of light he sees,
   and there she dances all alone
   upn a freeless knoll of stone!
   Her mantle blue with jewels white
   caught all the rays of frosted light.
   She shone with cold and wintry flame,
   as dancing down the hill she came,
   and passed his watchful silent gaze,
   a glimmer as of stars ablaze.
   And snowdrops spang beneath her feet,
   and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,
   shrilled as the wayward passed along.
   A frozen brook to bubbling song
   awoke and laughed; but Beren stood
   still bound enchanted in the wood.
   Her starlight faded and the night
   closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.
   
     Thereafter on a hillock green
   he saw far off the elven-sheen
   of shining limb and jewel bright
   often and oft on moonlit night;
   and Dairon's pipe awoke him once more,
   and soft she sang as once before.
   Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,
   and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.
   
     A night there was when winter died;
   then all alone she sang and cried
   and danced until the dawn of spring,
   and chanted some wild magic thing
   that stirred him, till it sudden broke
   the bonds that held him, and he woke
   to madness sweet and brave despair.
   He flung his arms to the night air,
   and out he danced unheeding, fleet,
   enchanted, with enchanted feet.
   He sped towards the hillock green,
   the lissom limbs, the dancing sheen;
   he leapt upon the grasy hill
   his arms with loveliness to fill:
   his arms were empty, and she fled;
   away, away her white feet sped.
   But as she went he swiftly came
   and called her with the tender name
   of nightingales in elvish tongue,
   that all the woods now in sudden rung:
   `Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
   And clear his voice was as a bell;
   its echoes wove a binding spell:
   `Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
   His voice such love and longing filled
   one moment stood she, fear was stilled;
   one moment only; like a flame
   he leaped towards her as she stayed
   and caught and kissed that elfin maid.
   
     As love there woke in sweet surprise
   the starlight trembled in her eyes.
   A! Lúthien! A! Lúthien!
   more fair than any child of Men;
   O! loveliest maid of Elfinesse,
   what madness does thee now possess!
   A! lissom limbs and shadowy hair
   and chaplet of white snowdrops there;
   O! starry diadem and white
   pale hands beneath the pale moonlight!
   She left his arms and slipped away
   just at the breaking of the day.
   
   
   
                    *
   
   
   
                   IV
   
   
   He lay upon the leafy mould,
   his face upon earth's bosom cold,
   aswoon in overwhelming bliss,
   enchanted of an elvish kiss,
   seeing within his darkened eyes
   the light that for no darkness dies,
   the loveliness that doth not fade,
   though all in ashes cold be laid.
   Then folded in the mists of sleep
   hi sank into abysses beep,
   drowned in an overwhelming grief
   for parting after meeting brief;
   a shadow and a fragrance fair
   lingered, and waned, and was not there.
   Forsaken, barren, bare as stone,
   the daylight found him cold, alone.
   
     `Where art thou gone? The day is bare,
   the sunlight dark, and cold in the air!
   Tinúviel, where went thy feet?
   O wayward star! O maiden sweet!
   O flower of Elfland all too fair
   for mortal heart! The woods are bare!
   The woods are bare!' he rose and cried.
   `Ere spring was born, the spring hath died!'
   And wandering in path and mind
   he groped as one gone sudden blind,
   who seeks to grasp the hidden light
   with faltering hands in more than night.
   
     And thus in anguish Beren paid
   for that great doom upin him laid,
   the deathless love of Lúthien,
   too fair for ove of mortal Men;
   and in his doom was Lúthien snared,
   the deathless in his dying shared;
   and Fate them forged a binding chain
   of living love and mortal pain.
   
     Beyond all hope her feet returned
   at eve, whenin the sky there burned
   the flame of stars; and in her eyes
   there trembled the starlight of the skies,
   and from her hair the fragrance felll
   of elvenflowers in elven-dell.
   
    Thus Lúthien, whom no pursuit,
   no snare, no dart that hunters shoot,
   might hope to win or hold, she came
   at the sweet calling of her name;
   and thus in his her slender hand
   was linked in far Beleriand;
   in hour enchanted long ago
   her arms about his nech did go,
   and gently down she drew to rest
   his weary head upon her breast.
     A! Lúthien, Tinúviel,
   why wentest thou to darkling dell
   with shining eyes and dancing pace,
   the twilight glimmering in thy face?
   Each day before the end of eve
   she sought him love, nor would him leave,
   until the stars were dimmed, and day
   came glimmering eastward silver-grey.
   Then trembling-veiled she would appear
   and dance before him, half in fear;
   there flitting just before his feet
   she gently chid with laughter sweet:
   `Come! dance now, Beren, dance with me!
   For fain thy dancing I would see.
   Come! thou must woo with nimbler feet,
   than those who walk where mountains meet
   the bitter skies beyond this realm
   of marvellous moonlit beech and elm.'
   
     In Doriath Beren long ago
   new art and lore he learned to know;
   his limbs were freed; his eyes alight,
   kindled with a new enchanted sight;
   and to her dancing feet his feet
   attuned went dancing free and fleet;
   his laughter welled as from a spring
   of music, and his voice would sing
   as voices of those in Doriath
   where paved with flowers are floor and path.
   The year thus on to summer rolled,
   from spring to a summertime of gold.
   
     Thus fleeting fast their short hour flies,
   while Dairon watches with fiery eyes,
   haunting the gloom of tangled trees
   all day, until at night he sees
   in the fickle moon their moving feet,
   two lovers linked in dancing sweet,
   two shadows shimmering on the green
   where lonely-dancing maid had been.
     `Hateful art thou, O Land of Trees!
   May fear and silence on thee seize!
   My flute shall fall from idle hand
   and mirth shall leave Beleriand;
   music shall perish and voices fail
   and trees stand dumb in dell and dale!'
   
     It seemed a hush had fallen there
   upon the waiting woodland air;
   and often murmured Thingol's folk
   in wonder, and to their king they spoke:
   `This spell of silence who hath wrought?
   what web hath Dairon's music caught?
   It seems the very birds sing low;
   murmurless Esgalduin doth flow;
   the leaves scarce whisper on the trees,
   and soundless beat the wings of bees!'
   
     This Lúthien heard, and there the queen
   her sudden glances saw unseen.
   But Thingol marvelled, and he sent
   for Dairon the piper, ere he went
   and sat upon his mounded seat -
   his grassy throne by the grey feet
   of the Queen of Beeches, Hirilorn,
   upon whose triple piers were borne
   the mightiest vault of leaves and bough
   from world's beginning until now.
   She stood above Esgalduin's shore,
   where long slopes fell beside the door,
   the guarded gates, the portals stark
   of the Thousand echoing Caverns dark.
     There Thingol sat and heard no sound
   save far off footsteps on the ground;
   no flute, no vocice, no song of bird,
   no choirs of windy leaves there stirred;
   and Dairon coming no word spoke,
   silent amid the woodland folk.
   Then Thingol said: `O Dairon fair,
   thou master of all musics rare,
   O magic heart and wisdom wild,
   whoue ear nor eye may be beguiled,
   what omen doth this silence bear?
   What horn afar upon the air,
   what summons do the woods await?
   Mayhap the Lord Tavros from his gate
   and tree-propped halls, the forest-god,
   rides his wild stallion golden-shod
   amid the trumpets' tempest loud,
   amid his green-clad hunters proud,
   leaving his deer and friths divine
   and emerald forests? Some faint sign
   of his great onset may have come
   upon the Western winds, and dumb
   the woods now listen for a chase
   that here once more shall thundering race
   beneath the shade of mortal trees.
   Would it were so! The Lands of Ease
   hath Tavros left not many and age,
   since Morgoth evil wars did wage,
   since ruin fell upon the North
   and the Gnomes unhappy wandered forth.
   But if not he, who comes or what?'
   And Dairon answered: `He cometh not!
   No feet divine shall leave that shore,
   where the Shadowy Seas' last surges roar,
   till many things be come to pass,
   and many evils wrought. Alas!
   the guest is here. The woods are still,
   but wait not; for a marvel chill
   them holds at the strange deeds they see,
   but kings see not - though queens, maybe,
   may guess, and maidens, maybe, know.
   Where one want lonely two now go!'
   
     `Whither thy riddle points is plain'
   the king in anger said, `but deign
   to make it plainer! Who is he
   that earns my wrath? How walks he free
   within my woods amid my folk,
   a stranger to both beech and oak?'
   But Dairon looked on Lúthien
   and would he had not spoken then,
   and no more would he speak that day,
   though Thingol's face with wrath was grey.
   Then Lúthien stepped lightly forth:
   `Far in the mountain-leaguered North,
   my father,' said she, `lies the land
   that groans beneath King Morgoth's hand.
   Thence came one hither, bent and worn
   in wars and travail, who had sworn
   undying hatred of that king;
   the last of Bëor's sons, they sing,
   and even hither far and deep
   within thy woods the echoes creep
   through the wild mountain-passes cold,
   the last of Bëor's house to hold
   a sword unconquered, neck unbowed,
   a heart by evil power uncowed.
   No evil needest thou think or fear
   of Beren son of Barahir!
   If aught thou hast to say to him,
   then swear to hurt not flesh or limb,
   and I will lead him to thy hall,
   a son of kings, no mortal thrall.'
     Then long King Thingol looked on her
   while hand nor foot nor tongue did stir,
   and Melian, silent, unamazed,
   on Lúthien and Thingol gazed.
   `No blade nor chain his limbs shall mar'
   the king then swore. `He wanders far,
   and news, mayhap, he hath for me,
   and words I have for him, maybe!'
   Now Thingol bade them all depart
   save Dairon, whom he called: `What art,
   that wizardry of Northern mist
   hath this illcomer brought us? List!
   Tonight go thou by secret path,
   who knowest all wide Doriath,
   and watch that Lúthien - daughter mine,
   what madness doth thy heart entwine,
   what web from Morgoth's dreadful halls
   hath caught thy feet and thee enthralls! -
   that she bid not this Beren flee
   back whence he came. I would him see!
   Take with thee woodland archers wise.
   Let naught beguile your hearts or eyes!'
   
     Thus Dairon heavyhearted did,
   and the woods were filled with watchers hid;
   yet needless, for Lúthien that night
   led Beren by the golden light
   of mounting moon unto the shore
   and bridge befor her father's door;
   and the white light silent looked within
   the waiting portals yawning dim.
   
     Downward with gentle hand she led
   through corridors of carven dread
   whose turns were lit by lanterns hung
   of flames from torches that were flung
   on dragons hewn in the cold stone
   with jewelled eyes and teeth of bone.
   Then sudden, deep beneath the earth
   the silences with silver mirth
   were shaken and the roks were ringing,
   the birds of Melian were singing;
   and wide the ways of shadow spread
   as into archéd halls she led
   Beren in wonder. There a light
   like day immortal and like night
   of stars unclouded, shone and gleamed.
   A vault of topless trees it seemed,
   whose trunks of carven tones there stood
   like towers of and enchanted wood
   in magic fast for ever bound,
   bearing a roof whose branches wound
   in endless tracery of green
   lit by some leaf-imprisoned sheen
   of moon and sun, and wrought of gems,
   and each leaf hung on golden stems.
     Lo! there amid immortal flowers
   the nightingales in shining bowers
   sang o'er the head of Melian,
   while water for ever dripped and ran
   from fountains in the rocky floor.
   There Thingol sat. His crown he wore
   of green and silver, and round his chair
   a host in gleaming armour fair.
   Then Beren looked upon the king
   and stood amazed; and swift a ring
   of elvish weapons hemmed him round.
   Then Beren looked upon the ground,
   for Melian's gaze had sought his face,
   and dazed there drooped he in that place,
   and when the king spake deep and slow:
   `Who art thou stumblest hither? Know
   that none unbidden seek this throne
   and ever leave these halls of stone!'
   no word he answered, filled with dread.
   But Lúthien answered in his stead:
   `Behold, my father, one who came
   pursued by hatred like a flame!
   Lo! Beren son of Barahir!
   What need hath he thy wrath to fear,
   foe of our foes, without a friend,
   whose knees to Morgoth do not bend?'
   
     `Let Beren answer!' Thingol said.
   `What wouldst thou here? What hither led
   thy wandering feet, O mortal wild?
   How hast thou Lúthien beguiled
   or darest thou to walk this wood
   unasked, in secret? Reason good
   'twere best declare now if thou may,
   or never again see light of day!'
     Then Beren looked in Lúthien's eyes
   and saw a light of starry skies,
   and thence was slowly drawn his gaze
   to Melian's face. As from a maze
   of wonder dumb he woke; his heart
   the bonds of awe there burst apart
   and filled with fearless pride of old;
   in his glance now gleamed an anger cold.
   `My feet hath fate, O king,' he said,
   `here over the mountains bleeding led,
   and what I sought not I have found,
   and love it is hath here me bound.
   Thy dearest treasure I desire;
   nor rocks nor steel nor Morgoth's fire
   nor all the power of Elfinesse
   shall keep that gem I would possess.
   For fairer than are born to Men
   A daughter hast thou, Lúthien.'
   
     Silence then fell upon the hall;
   like graven stone there stood they all,
   save one who cast her eyes aground,
   and one who laughed with bitter sound.
   Dairon the piper leant there pale
   against a pillar. His fingers frail
   there touched a flute that whispered not;
   his eyes were dark; his heart was hot.
   `Death is the guerdon thou hast earned,
   O baseborn mortal, who hast learned
   in Morgoth's realm to spy and lurk
   like Orcs that do his evil work!'
   `Death!' echoed Dairon fierce and low,
   but Lúthien trembling gasped in woe.
   `And death,' said Thingol, `thou shouldst taste,
   had I not sworn an oath in haste
   that blade nor chain thy flesh should mar.
   Yet captive bound by never a bar,
   unchained, unfettered, shalt thou be
   in lightless labyrinth endlessly
   that coils about my halls profound
   by magic bewildered and enwound;
   thou shalt learn the power of Elfinesse!'
   `That may not be!' Lo! Beren spake,
   and through the king's words coldly brake.
   `What are thy mazes but a chain
   wherein the captive blind is slain?
   Twist not thy oaths, O elvish king,
   like faithless Morgoth! By this ring -
   the token of a lasting bond
   that Felagund of Nargothrond
   once swore in love to Barahir,
   who sheltered him with shield and spear
   and saved him from pursuing foe
   on Northern battlefields long ago -
   death thou canst give unearned to me,
   but names I will not take from thee
   of baseborn, spy, or Morgoth's thrall!
   Are these the ways of Thingol's hall?'
   Proud are the words, and all there turned
   to see the jewels green that burned
   in Beren's ring. These Gnomes had set
   as eyes of serpents twined that met
   beneath a golden crown of flowers,
   that one upholds and one devours:
   the badge that Finrod made of yore
   and Felagund his son now bore.
     His anger was chilled, but little less,
   and dark thoughts Thingol did possess,
   though Melian the pale leant to his side
   and whispered: `O king, forgo thy pride!
   Such is my counsel. Not by thee
   shall Beren be slain, for far and free
   from these deep halls his fate doth lead,
   yet wound with thine. O king, take heed!'
   But Thingol looked on Lúthien.
   `Fairest of Elves! Unhappy Men,
   children of little lords and kings
   mortal and frail, these fading things,
   shall they then look with love on thee?'
   his heart with him thought. `I see
   thy ring,' he said, `O mighty man!
   But to win the child of Melian
   a father's deeds shall not avail,
   nor thy proud words at which I quail.
   A treasure dear I too desire,
   but rocks and steel and Morgoth's fire
   from all the powers of Elfinesse
   do keep the jewel I would possess.
   Yet bonds like these I hear thee say
   affright thee not. Now go thy way!
   Bring me one shining Silmaril
   from Morgoth's crown, then if she will,
   may Lúthien set her hand in thine;
   then shalt thou have this jewel of mine.'
   
     Then Thingol's warriors loud and long
   they laughed; for wide renown in song
   had Fëanor's gems o'er land and sea,
   the peerless Silmarils; and three
   alone he made and kindled slow
   in the land of Valar long ago,
   and there in Tûn of their own light
   they shone like marvellous stars at night,
   in the great Gnomish hoards of Tûn,
   while Glingal flowered and Belthil's bloom
   yet lit the land beyond the shore
   where the Shadowy Seas' last surges roar,
   ere Morgoth stole them and the Gnomes
   seeking their glory left their homes,
   ere sorrow fell on Elves and Men,
   ere Beren was or Lúthien,
   ere Fëanor's sons in madness swore
   their dreadful oath. But now no more
   their beauty was seen, save shining clear
   in Morgoth's dungeons vast and drear.
   His iron crown they must adorn,
   and gleam above Orcs and slaves forlorn,
   treasured in Hell above all wealth,
   more than his eyes; and might nor stealth
   could touch them, or even gaze too long
   upon their magic. Throng on throng
   of Orcs with reddened scimitars
   encircled him, and mighty bars
   and everlasting gates and walls,
   who wore them now amigst his thralls.
     Then Beren laughed more loud than they
   in bitterness, and thus did say:
   `For little price do elven-kings
   their daughters sell - for gems and rings
   and things of gold! If such thy will,
   thy bidding I will now fulfill.
   On Beren son of Barahir
   thou hast not looked the last, I fear.
   Farewell, Tinúviel, starlit maiden!
   Ere the pale winter pass snowladen,
   I will return, not thee to buy
   with any jewel in Elfinesse,
   but to find my love in loveliness,
   a flower that grows beneath the sky.'
   Bowing before Melian and the king
   he turned, and thrust aside the ring
   of guards about him, and was gone,
   and his footsteps faded one by one
   in the dark corridors. `A guileful oath
   thou sworest, father! Thou hast both
   to blade and chain his flesh now doomed
   in Morgoth's dungeons deep entombed,'
   said Lúthien, and welling tears
   sprang in her eyes, and hideous fears
   clutched at her heart. All looked away,
   and later remembered that sad day
   whereafter Lúthien no more sang.
   Then clear in the silence the cold words rang
   of Melian: `Counsel cunning-wise,
   O king!' she said. `Yet if mine eyes
   lose not their power, 'twere well for thee
   that Beren failed his errantry.
   Well for thee, but for thy child
   a dark doom and a wandering wild.'
   
     `I sell not to Men those whom I love'
   said Thingol, `whom all things above
   I cherish; and if hope there were
   that Beren should ever living fare
   to the Thousand Caverns once more, I swear
   he should not ever have seen the air
   or light of heaven's stars again.'
   But Melian smiled, and there was pain
   as of far knowledge in her eyes;
   for such is the sorrow of the wise.
   
   
   
                    V
   
   
   So days drew on from the mournful day;
   the curse of silence no more lay
   on Doriath, though Dairon's flute
   and Lúthien's singing both were mute.
   The murmurs soft awake once more
   about the woods, the waters roar
   past the great gates of Thingol's halls;
   but no dancing step of Lúthien falls
   on turf or leaf. For she forlorn,
   where stumbled once, where bruised and torn,
   with longing on him like a dream,
   had Beren sat by the shrouded stream
   Esgalduin the dark and strong,
   she sat now and mourned in a low song:
   `Endless roll the waters past!
   To this my love hath come at last,
   enchanted waters pitiless,
   a heartache and a loneliness.'
   
     The summer turns. In branches tall
   she hears the pattering raindrops fall,
   the windy tide in leafy seas,
   the creaking of the countless trees;
   and longs unceasing and in vain
   to hear one calling once again
   the tender name that nightingales
   were called of old. Echo fails.
   `Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
   the memory is like a knell,
   a faint and far-off tolling bell:
   `Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
   
     `O mother Melian, tell to me
   some part of what thy dark eyes see!
   Tell of thy magic where his feet
   are wandering! What foes him meet?
   O mother, tell me, lives he still
   treading the desert and the hill?
   Do sun and moon above him shine,
   do the rains fall on him, mother mine?'
   
     `Nay, Lúthien my child, I fear
   he lives indeed in bondage drear.
   The Lord of Wolves hath prisons dark,
   chains and enchantments cruel and stark,
   there trapped and bound and languishing
   now Beren dreams that thou dost sing.'
   
     `Then I alone must go to him
   and dare the dread in dungeons dim;
   for none there be that will him aid
   in all the world, save elven-maid
   whose only skill were joy and song,
   and both have failed and left her long.'
   
   And nought said Melian thereto,
   though wild the words. She wept anew,
   and ran through the woods like hunted deer
   with her hair streaming and eyes of fear.
   Dairon she found with ferny crown
   silently sitting on beech-leaves brown.
   On the earth she cast her at his side.
   `O Dairon, Dairon, my tears,' she cried,
   `now pity for our old days' sake!
   Make me a music for heart's ache,
   for heart's despair, and for heart's dread,
   for light gone dark and laughter dead!'
   
     `But for music dead there is no note,'
   Dairon answered, and at his throat
   his fingers clutched. Yet his pipe he took,
   and sadly trembling the music shook;
   and all things stayed while that piping went
   wailing in the hollows, and there intent
   they listened, their business and mirth,
   their hearts' gladness and the light of earth
   forgotten; and bird-voices failed
   while Dairon's flute in Doriath wailed.
   Lúthien wept not for very pain,
   and when he ceased she spoke again:
   `My friend, I have a need of friends,
   as he who a long dark journey wends,
   and fears the road, yet dare not turn
   and look back where the candles burn
   in windows he has left. The night
   in front, he doubts to find the light
   that far beyond the hills he seeks.'
   And thus of Melian's words she speaks,
   and of her doom and her desire
   to climb the mountains, and the fire
   and ruin of the Northern realm
   to dare, a maiden without helm
   or sword, or strength of hardy limb,
   where magic founders and grows dim.
   His aid she sought to guide her forth
   and find the pathways to the North,
   if he would not for love of her
   go by her side a wanderer.
     `Wherefore,' said he, `should Dairon go
   into direst peril earth doth know
   for the sake of mortal who did steal
   his laughter and joy? No love I feel
   for Beren son of Barahir,
   nor weep for him in dungeons drear,
   who in this wood have chains enow,
   heavy and dark. But thee, I wow,
   I will defend from perils fell
   and deadly wandering into hell.'
   
     No more they spake that day, and she
   perceived not his meaning. Sorrowfully
   she thanked him, and she left him there.
   A tree she climbed, till the bright air
   above the woods her dark hair blew,
   and straining afar her eyes could view
   the outline grey and faint and low
   of dizzy towers where the clouds go,
   the southern faces mounting sheer
   in rocky pinnacle and pier
   of Shadowy Mountains pale and cold;
   and wide the lands before them rolled.
   But straightway Dairon sought the king
   and told him his daughter's pondering,
   and how her madness might her lead
   to ruin, unless the king gave heed.
   Thingol was wroth, and yet amazed;
   in onder and half fear he gazed
   on Dairon and said: `True hast thou been.
   Now ever shall love be us between,
   while Doriath lasts; within this realm
   thou art a prince of beech and elm!'
   He sent for Lúthien, and said:
   `O maiden fair, what hath thee led
   to ponder madness and despair
   to wander ruin, and to fare
   from Doriath agains my will,
   stealing like a wild thing men would kill
   into the emptiness outside?'
   `The wisdom, father,' she replied;
   nor would she promise to forget,
   nor would she vow for love or threat
   her folly to forsake and meek
   in Doriath her father's will to seek.
   This only vowed she, if go she must,
   that none but herself would she now trust,
   no folk of her father's would persuade
   to break his will or lend her aid;
   if go she must, she would go alone
   and friendless dare the walls of stone.
   
     In angry love and half in fear
   Thingol took counsel in his most dear
   to guard and keep. He would not bind
   in caverns deep and intertwined
   sweet Lúthien, his lovely maid,
   who robbed of air must wane and fade,
   who ever must look uponthe sky
   and see the sun and moon go by.
   But close unto his mounded seat
   and grassy throne there ran the feet
   of Hirirlorn, the beechen queen.
   Upon her triple boles were seen
   no break or branch until aloft
   in a green glimmer, distant, soft,
   the mightiest vault of leaf and bough
   from world's beginning until now
   was flung above Esgalduin's shores
   and the long slopes of Thingol's doors.
     Grey was the rind of pillars tall
   and silken-smooth, and far and small
   to squirrels' eyes were those who went
   at her grey feet upon the bent.
   Now Thingol made men in the beech,
   in that great tree, as far as reach
   their longest ladders, there to build
   an airy house; and as he willed
   a little dwelling of fair wood
   was made, and veiled in leaves it stood
   above the first branches. Corners three
   it had and windows faint to see,
   and by three shafts of Hirilorn
   in the corners standing was upborne.
     There Lúthien was bidden dwell,
   until she was wiser and the spell
   of madness left her. Up she clomb
   the long ladders to her new home
   among the leaves, among the birds;
   she sang no song, she spoke no words.
   White glimmering in the tree she rose,
   and her little door they heard her close.
   The ladders were taken and no more
   her feet might tread Esgalduin's shore.
   
     Thither at whiles they climbed and brought
   all things she needed and besought;
   but death was his, who so should dare
   a ladder leave, or creeping there
   should set one by the tree at night;
   a guard was held from dusk to light
   about the grey feet of Hirilorn
   and Lúthien in prison and forlorn.
   There Dairon grieving often stood
   insorrow for the captive of the wood,
   and melodies made upon his flute
   leaning against a grey tree-root.
   Lúthien would from her windows stare
   and see him far under piping there,
   and she forgave his betraying word
   for the music and the grief she heard,
   and only Dairon would she let
   across her threshold foot to set.
     Yet long the hours when she must sit
   and see the sunbeams dance and flit
   in beechen leaves, or watch the stars
   peep on clear nights between the bars
   of beechen branches. And one night
   just ere the changing of the light
   a dream there came, from the Gods, maybe,
   or Melian's magic. She dreamed that she
   heard Beren's voice o'er the hill and fell
   `Tinúviel' call, `Tinúviel.'
   And her heart answered: `Let me be gone
   to seek him no others think upon!'
   She woke and saw the moonlight pale
   through the slim leaves. It trembled frail
   upon her arms, as these she spread
   and there in longing bowed her head,
   and yearned for freedom and escape.
   
     Now Lúthien doth her counsel shape;
   and Melian's daughter of deep lore
   knew many things, yea, magics more
   than then or now know elven-maids
   that glint and shimmer in the glades.
   She pondered long, while the moon sank
   and faded, and the starlight shrank,
   and the dawn opened. At last a smile
   on her face flickered. She mused a while,
   and watched the morning sunlight grow,
   then called to those that walked below.
   And when one climbed to her she prayed
   that he would in the dark pools wade
   af cold Esgalduin, water clear,
   the clearest water cold and sheer
   to draw for her. `At middle night,'
   she said, `in bowl of silver white
   it must be drawn and brought to me
   with no word spoked, silently.'
   Another she begged to bring her wine
   in a jag of gold where flowers twine -
   `and singing let him come to me
   at high noon, singing merrily.'
   Again she spake: `Now go, I pray,
   to Melian the queen, and say:
   "thy daughter many a weary hour
   slow passing watches in her bower;
   a spinning-wheel she begs thee send."'
   Then Dairon she called: `I prithee, friend,
   climb up and talk to Lúthien!'
   And sitting at her window then,
   she said: `My Dairon, thou hast craft,
   beside thy music, many a shaft
   and many a tool of carven wood
   to fashion with cunning. It were good,
   if thou wouldst make a little loom
   to stand in the corner of my room.
   My idle fingers would spin and weave
   a pattern of colours, of morn and eve,
   of sun and moon and changing light
   amid the beech-leaves waving bright.'
   This Dairon did and asked her then:
   `O Lúthien, O Lúthien,
   What wilt thou weave? What wilt thou spin?'
   `A marvellous thread, and wind therin
   a potent magic, and a spell
   I will weave within my web that hell
   nor all the powers of Dread will break.'
   Then Dairon wondered, but he spake
   no word to Thingol, though his heart
   feared the dark purpose of her art.
   
     And Lúthien now was left alone.
   A magic song to Men unknown
   she sang, and singing then the wine
   with water mingled three times nine;
   and as in golden jar they lay
   she sang a song of groth and day;
   and as they lay in silver white
   another song she sang, of night
   and darkness without end, of height
   uplifted to the stars, and flight
   and freedom. And all the names of things
   tallest and longest on earth she sings:
   the locks of the Longbeard dwarves; the tail
   of Draugluin the werewolf pale;
   the body of Glómund the great snake;
   the vast upsoaring peaks that quake
   above the fiers in Angband's gloom;
   the chain Angainor that ere Doom
   for Morgoth shall by gods be wrought
   of steel and torment. Names she sought,
   and sang of Glend the sword of Nan;
   of Gimil the giant of Eruman;
   and last and longest named she then
   the endless hair of Uinen,
   the Lady of the Sea, that lies
   through all the waters under skies.
   
     Then did she lave her head and sing
   a theme of sleep and slumbering,
   profound and fathomless and dark
   as Lúthien's shadowy hair was dark -
   each thread was more slender and more fine
   than threads of twilight that entwine
   in filmy web the fading grass
   and closing flowers as day doth pass.
     Now longer and longer grew her hair,
   and fell to her feet, and wandered there
   like pools


[edit] External Links

  • Of Hunters Lore... OpenMic Video: Excerpt of the Lay of Leithian (Canto II) by Loren & Strumstick Messiah


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