Read Online The Lays of Beleriand by J. R. R. Tolkien - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J. R. R. Tolkien
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glimmered
the lamp of Flinding neath the laced thorns.
There wondrous wove he words of sharpness,
and the names of knives and Gnomish blades
he uttered o'er it: even Ogbar's spear
and the glaive of Gaurin whose gleaming stroke did rive the rocks of Rodrim's hall;
the sword of Saithnar, and the silver blades
of the enchanted children of chains forged
in their deep dungeon; the dirk of Nargil,
the knife of the North in Nogrod smithied;
the sweeping sickle of the slashing tempest,
the lambent lightning's leaping falchion
even Celeg Aithorn that shall cleave the world.
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1205
1210
1215
Then whistling whirled he the whetted sword-blade and three times three it threshed the gloom,
till flame was kindled flickering strangely
1220
like licking firelight in the lamp's glimmer
blue and baleful at the blade's edges.
Lo! a leering laugh lone and dreadful
by the wind wafted wavered nigh them;
their limbs were loosened in listening horror; they fancied the feet of foes approaching,
for the horns hearkening of the hunt afoot
in the rustling murmur of roving breezes.
Then quickly curtained with its covering pelt was the lantern's light, and leaping Beleg
with his sword severed the searing bonds
on wrist and arm like ropes of hemp
so strong that whetting; in stupor lying
entangled still lay Turin moveless.
For the feet's fetters then feeling in the dark Beleg blundering with his blade's keenness
unwary wounded the weary flesh
of wayworn foot, and welling blood
bedewed his hand -- too dark his magic:
that sleep profound was sudden fathomed;
in fear woke Turin, and a form he guessed
o'er his body bending with blade naked.
His death or torment he deemed was come,
for oft had the Orcs for evil pastime
him goaded gleeful and gashed with knives
that they cast with cunning, with cruel spears.
Lo! the bonds were burst that had bound his hands: his cry of battle calling hoarsely
he flung him fiercely on the foe he dreamed,
and Beleg falling breathless earthward
was crushed beneath him. Crazed with anguish
then seized that sword the son of Hurin,
to his hand lying by the help of doom;
at the throat he thrust; through he pierced it, that the blood was buried in the blood-wet mould; ere Flinding knew what fared that night,
all was over. With oath and curse
he bade the goblins now guard them well,
or sup on his sword: 'Lo! the son of Hurin
is freed from his fetters.' His fancy wandered in the camps and clearings of the cruel Glamhoth.
Flight he sought not at Flinding leaping
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with his last laughter, his life to sell
gmid foes imagined; but Fuilin's son
there stricken with amaze, starting backward, cried: 'Magic of Morgoth! A! madness damned!
with friends thou fightest! ' -- then falling suddenly the lamp o'erturned in the leaves shrouded
that its light released illumined pale
with its flickering flame the face of Beleg.
Then the boles of the trees more breathless rooted stone-faced he stood staring frozen
on that dreadful death, and his deed knowing
wildeyed he gazed with waking horror,
as in endless anguish an image carven.
So fearful his face that Flinding crouched
and watched him, wondering what webs of doom
dark, remorseless, dreadly meshed him
by the might of Morgoth; and he mourned for him, and for Beleg, who bow should bend no more,
his black yew-wood in battle twanging --
his life had winged to its long waiting
in the halls of the Moon o'er the hills of the sea.
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1275
1280
Hark! he heard the horns hooting loudly,
no ghostly laughter of grim phantom,
no wraithlike feet rustling dimly --
the Orcs were up; their ears had hearkened
the cries of Turin; their camp was tumult,
their lust was alight ere the last shadows
of night were lifted. Then numb with fear
in hoarse whisper to unhearing ears
he told his terror; for Turin now
with limbs loosened leaden-eyed was bent
crouching crumpled by the corse
the lamp of Flinding neath the laced thorns.
There wondrous wove he words of sharpness,
and the names of knives and Gnomish blades
he uttered o'er it: even Ogbar's spear
and the glaive of Gaurin whose gleaming stroke did rive the rocks of Rodrim's hall;
the sword of Saithnar, and the silver blades
of the enchanted children of chains forged
in their deep dungeon; the dirk of Nargil,
the knife of the North in Nogrod smithied;
the sweeping sickle of the slashing tempest,
the lambent lightning's leaping falchion
even Celeg Aithorn that shall cleave the world.
1195
1200
1205
1210
1215
Then whistling whirled he the whetted sword-blade and three times three it threshed the gloom,
till flame was kindled flickering strangely
1220
like licking firelight in the lamp's glimmer
blue and baleful at the blade's edges.
Lo! a leering laugh lone and dreadful
by the wind wafted wavered nigh them;
their limbs were loosened in listening horror; they fancied the feet of foes approaching,
for the horns hearkening of the hunt afoot
in the rustling murmur of roving breezes.
Then quickly curtained with its covering pelt was the lantern's light, and leaping Beleg
with his sword severed the searing bonds
on wrist and arm like ropes of hemp
so strong that whetting; in stupor lying
entangled still lay Turin moveless.
For the feet's fetters then feeling in the dark Beleg blundering with his blade's keenness
unwary wounded the weary flesh
of wayworn foot, and welling blood
bedewed his hand -- too dark his magic:
that sleep profound was sudden fathomed;
in fear woke Turin, and a form he guessed
o'er his body bending with blade naked.
His death or torment he deemed was come,
for oft had the Orcs for evil pastime
him goaded gleeful and gashed with knives
that they cast with cunning, with cruel spears.
Lo! the bonds were burst that had bound his hands: his cry of battle calling hoarsely
he flung him fiercely on the foe he dreamed,
and Beleg falling breathless earthward
was crushed beneath him. Crazed with anguish
then seized that sword the son of Hurin,
to his hand lying by the help of doom;
at the throat he thrust; through he pierced it, that the blood was buried in the blood-wet mould; ere Flinding knew what fared that night,
all was over. With oath and curse
he bade the goblins now guard them well,
or sup on his sword: 'Lo! the son of Hurin
is freed from his fetters.' His fancy wandered in the camps and clearings of the cruel Glamhoth.
Flight he sought not at Flinding leaping
1225
1230
1235
1240
1245
1250
1255
1260
with his last laughter, his life to sell
gmid foes imagined; but Fuilin's son
there stricken with amaze, starting backward, cried: 'Magic of Morgoth! A! madness damned!
with friends thou fightest! ' -- then falling suddenly the lamp o'erturned in the leaves shrouded
that its light released illumined pale
with its flickering flame the face of Beleg.
Then the boles of the trees more breathless rooted stone-faced he stood staring frozen
on that dreadful death, and his deed knowing
wildeyed he gazed with waking horror,
as in endless anguish an image carven.
So fearful his face that Flinding crouched
and watched him, wondering what webs of doom
dark, remorseless, dreadly meshed him
by the might of Morgoth; and he mourned for him, and for Beleg, who bow should bend no more,
his black yew-wood in battle twanging --
his life had winged to its long waiting
in the halls of the Moon o'er the hills of the sea.
1265
1270
1275
1280
Hark! he heard the horns hooting loudly,
no ghostly laughter of grim phantom,
no wraithlike feet rustling dimly --
the Orcs were up; their ears had hearkened
the cries of Turin; their camp was tumult,
their lust was alight ere the last shadows
of night were lifted. Then numb with fear
in hoarse whisper to unhearing ears
he told his terror; for Turin now
with limbs loosened leaden-eyed was bent
crouching crumpled by the corse
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