---

J R R Tolkien - The Lay Of The Children Of Húrin: III. Failivrin
Work rating: Medium

Flinding go-Fuilin     faithful-hearted
the brand of Beleg     with blood stainéd
lifted with loathing     from the leafy mould,
and hid it in the hollow     of a huge thorn-tree;
then he turned to Túrin     yet tranced brooding,
and softly said he:     `O son of Húrin,
unhappy-hearted,    what helpeth it
to sit thus in sorrow`s     silent torment
without hope or counsel?`    But Húrin`s son,
by those words wakened,     wildly answered:
`I abide by Beleg;     nor bid me leave him,
thou voice unfaithful.     Vain are all things.
O Death dark-handed,    draw thou near me;
if remorse may move thee,     from mourning loosed
crush me conquered     to his cold bosom!`
Flinding answered,     and fear left him
for wrath and pity:     `Arouse thy pride!
Not thus unthinking     on Thangorodrim`s
heights enchainéd     did Húrin speak.`
`Curse thy comfort!     Less cold were steel.
If Death comes not     to the death-craving,
I will seek him by the sword.     The sword -- where lies it?
O cold and cruel,     where cowerest now, 
murderer of thy master?     Amends shalt work,
and slay me swift,     O sleep-giver.`
`Look not, luckless,     thy life to steal,
nor sully anew     his sword unhappy
in the flesh of the friend     whose freedom seeking
he fell by fate,     by foes unwounded.
Yea, think that amends     are thine to make,
his wrongéd blade     with wrath appeasing,
its thirst cooling     in the thrice-abhorred
blood of Bauglir`s     baleful legions.
Is the feud achieved     thy father`s chains
on thee laid, or lessened     by this last evil?
Dream not that Morgoth     will mourn thy death,
or thy dirges chant     the dread Glamhoth --
less would like them     thy living hatred
and vows of vengeance;     nor vain is courage,
though victory seldom     be valour`s ending.`

Then fiercely Túrin     to his feet leaping
cried new-crazéd:     `Ye coward Orcs,
why turn ye tail?     Why tarry ye now,
when the son of Húrin     and the sword of Beleg
in wrath await you?     For wrong and woe
here is vengeance ready.     If ye venture it not,
I will follow your feet     to the four corners
of the angry earth.     Have after you!`
Fainting Flinding     there fought with him,
and words of wisdom     to his witless ears
he breathless spake:     `Abide, O Túrin,
for need hast thou now     to nurse thy hurt,
and strength to gather     and strong counsel.
Who flees to fight     wears not fear`s token,
and vengeance delayed     its vow achieves.`
The madness passed;     amazed pondering
neath the tangled trees     sat Túrin wordless
brooding blackly     on bitter vengeance,
till the dusk deepened     on his day of waking,
and the early stars     were opened pale. 

Then Beleg`s burial     in those bleak regions
did Flinding fashion;     where he fell sadly 
he left him lying,     and lightly o`er him
with long labour     the leaves he poured.
But Túrin tearless     turning suddenly 
on the corse cast him,     and kissed the mouth,
cold and open,     and closed the eyes.
His bow laid he     black beside him,
and words of parting     wove about him:
`Now fare well, Beleg,     to feasting long
neath Tengwethil     in the timeless halls
where drink the Gods,     neath domes golden
o`er the sea shining.`     His song was shaken,
but the tears were dried     in his tortured eyes
by the flames of anguish     that filled his soul.
His mind once more     was meshed in darkness
as heaped they high     o`er the head beloved
a mound of mould     and mingled leaves.
Light lay the earth     on the lonely dead;
heavy lay the woe     on the heart that lived,
and his face and form,     nor faded ever:
and this was the third     of the throes of Túrin.

Thence he wandered witless     without wish or purpose;
but for Flinding the faithful     he had fared to death,
or been lost in the lands     of lurking evil.
Renewed in that Gnome     of Nargothrond
was heart and valour     by hatred wakened,
that he guarded and guided      his grim comrade;
with the light of his lamp     he lit their ways,
and they hid by day     to hasten by night,
by darkness shrouded     or dim vapours.

The tale tells not     of their travel weary,
how roamed their road     by the rim of the forest,
whose beetling branches,     black o`erhanging,
did greedy grope     with gloomy malice
to ensnare their souls     in silent darkness.
Yet west they wandered     by ways of thirst, 
and haggard hunger,     hunted often,
and hiding in holes     and hollow caverns,
by their fate defended.     At the furthest end
of Dor-na-Fauglith`s     dusty spaces
to a mighty mound     in the moon looming
they came at midnight:     it was crowned with mist,
bedewed as by drops     of drooping tears.
`A! green that hill     with grass fadeless,
where sleep the swords     of seven kindreds,
where the folk of Faërie     once fell uncounted.
There was fought the field     by folk naméd
Nirnaith Ornoth,     Unnumbered Tears.
`Twas built with the blood     of the beaten people;
neath moon nor sun     is it mounted ever
by Man nor Elf;     not Morgoth`s host
ever dare for dread     to delve therein.`
Thus Flinding faltered,     faintly stirring
Túrin`s heaviness,     that he turned his hand
toward Thangorodrim,     and thrice he cursed
the maker of mourning,     Morgoth Bauglir.

Thence later led them     their lagging footsteps
o`er the slender stream     of Sirion`s youth;
not long had he leapt     a lace of silver
from his shining well     in those shrouded hills,
the Shadowy Mountains     whose sheer summits
there bend humbled     towards the brooding heights
in mist mantled,     the mountains of the North.
Here the Orcs might pass him;     they else dared not 
o`er Sirion swim,     whose swelling water
through moor and marsh,     mead and woodland,
of Earth far under,     through empty lands
and leagues untrodden,     beloved Ylmir, 
fleeting floweth,     with fame undying
in the songs of the Gnomes,     to the sea at last.
Thus reached they the roots     and the ruinous feet
of those hoary hills     that HIthlum girdle,
the shaggy pinewoods     of the Shadowy Mountains.
There the twain enfolded     phantom twilight
and dim mazes     dark, unholy,
in Nan Dungorthin     where nameless gods
have shrouded shrines     in shadows secret,
more old than Morgoth     or the ancient lords
the golden Gods     of the guarded West.
But the ghostly dwellers     of that grey valley
hindered nor hurt them,     and they held their course
with creeping flesh     and quaking limb.
Yet laughter at whiles     with lingering echo,
as distant mockery     of demon voices
there harsh and hollow     in the hushed twilight
Flinding fancied,     fell, unwholesome
as that leering laughter     lost and dreadful
that rang in the rocks     in the ruthless hour
of Beleg`s slaughter.      ``Tis Bauglir`s voice
that dogs us darkly     with deadly scorn`
he shuddering thought;     but the shreds of fear
and black foreboding     were banished utterly 
when the clomb the cliffs     and crumbling rocks
that walled that vale     of watchful evil,
and southward saw     the slopes of Hithlum
more warm and friendly.     That way they fared
during the daylight     o`er dale and ghyll,
o`er mountain pasture,     moore and boulder,
over fell and fall     of flashing waters 
that slipped down to Sirion,     to swell his tide
in his eastward basin     onward sweeping
to the South, to the sea,     to his sandy delta.

After seven journeys     lo! sleep took them
on a night of stars     when they nigh had stridden
to those lands beloved     that long had known
Flinding aforetime.     At first morning
the white arrows     of the wheeling sun
gazed down gladly      on green hollows
and smiling slopes     that swept before them.
There builded boles     of beeches ancient
marched in majesty     in myriad leaves
of golden russet     greyly rooted,
in leaves translucent     lightly robéd;
their boughs up-bending     blown at morning
by the wings of winds     that wandered down
o`er blossomy bent     breathing odours
to the wavering water`s     winking margin.
There rush and reed     their rustling plumes
and leaves like lances     louted trembling
green with sunlight.     Then glad the soul
of Flinding the fugitive;     in his face the morning
there glimmered golden,     his gleaming hair
was washed with sunlight.     `Awake from sadness,
Túrion Thalion,     and troublous thoughts!
On Irvin`s lake     is endless laughter.
Lo! cool and clear     by crystal fountains
she is fed unfailing,     from defilement warded

by Ylmir the old,     who in ancient days,
wielder of waters,     here worked her beauty.
From outmost Ocean     yet often comes
his message hither     his magic bearing,
the healing of hearts     and hope and valour
for foes of Bauglir.     Friend is Ylmir
who alone remembers     in the Lands of Mirth
the need of the Gnomes.     Here Narog`s waters
(that in tongue of the Gnomes     is `torrent` naméd) 
are born, and blithely     boulders leaping
o`er the bents bounding     with broken foam
swirl down southward     to the secret halls
of Nargothrond     by the Gnomes builded 
that death and thraldom     in the dreadful throes
of Nirnaith Ornoth,     a number scanty,
escaped unscathed.     Thence skirting wild
the Hills of the Hunters,     the home of Beren
and the Dancer of Doriath     daughter of Thingol,
it winds and wanders     ere the willowy meads,
Nan-Tathrin`s land,     for nineteen leagues
it journeys joyful     to join its flood
with Sirion in the South.     To the salt marshes
where snipe and seamew     and the sea-breezes
first pipe and play     they press together
sweeping soundless     to the seats of Ylmir,
where the waters of Sirion     and the waves of the sea
murmurous mingle.     A marge of sand
there lies, all lit     by the long sunshine; 
there all day rustles     wrinkled Ocean,
and the sea-birds call     in solemn conclave,
whitewingéd hosts     whistling sadly,
uncounted voices     crying endlessly.
There a shining shingle     on that shore lieth,
whose pebbles as pearl     or pale marble
by spray and spindrift     splashed at evening
in the moon do gleam,     or moan and grind
when the Dweller in the Deep     drives in fury
the waters white     to the walls of the land;
when the long-haired riders     on their lathered horses
with bit and bridle     of blowing foam,
in wrack wreathéd     and ropes of seaweed,
to the thunder gallop     of the thudding of the surf.`

Thus Flinding spake     the spell of feeling
of Ylmir the old     and unforgetful,
which hale and holy     haunted Ivrin
and foaming Narog,     so that fared there never
Orc of Morgoth,     and that eager stream
no plunderer passed.     If their purpose held
to reach the realms     that roamed beyond
(nought yet knew they     of Nargothrond)
they harried o`er Hithlum     the heights of scaling
that lay behind     the lake`s hollow,
the Shadowy Mountains     in the sheen mirrored
of the pools of Ivrin.     Pale and eager
Túrin hearkened     to the tale of Flinding:
the washing of waters     in his words sounded,
as echo as of Ylmir`s     awful conches
in the abyss blowing.     there born anew
was hope in his heart     as they hastened down
to the lake of laughter.     A long and narrow
arm it reaches     that ancient rocks
o`ergrown with green     girdle strongly,
at whose outer end     there open sudden
a gap, a gateway     in the grey boulders;
whence thrusteth thin     in threadlike jets
newborn Narog,     nineteen fathoms
o`er a flickering force     falls in wonder,
and a glimmering goblet     with glass-lucent
fountains fills he     by his freshets carven
in the cool bosom     of the crystal stones.

There deeply drank     ere day was fallen
Túrin the toilworn     and his true comrade;
hurt`s ease found he,     heart`s refreshment,
from the meshes of misery     his mind was loosed,
as they sat on the sward     by the sound of water,
and watched in wonder     the westering sun
o`er the wall wading     of the wild mountains,
whose peaks empurpled     pricked the evening.
Then it dropped to the dark     and deep shadows
up the cliffs creeping     quenched in twilight
the last beacons     leashed with crimson.
To the stars upstanding     stony-mantled
the moutains waited     till the moon arose
o`er the endless East,     and Irvin`s pools
dreaming deeply     dim reflected
their pallid faces.     In pondering fast
woven, wordless,     they waked no sound,
till cold breezes     keenly breathing
clear and fragrant     curled about them; 
then sought they for sleep     a sand-pavéd
cove outcarven;     there kindled fire,
that brightly blossomed     the beechen faggots
in flowers of flame;     floated upward
a slender smoke,     when sudden Túrin
on the firelit face     of Flinding gazed,
and wondering words     he wavering spake:
`O Gnome, I know not     thy name or purpose
or father`s blood --     what fate binds thee
to a witless wayworn     wanderer`s footsteps,
the bane of Beleg,     his brother-in-arms?`

Then Flinding fearful     lest fresh madness
should seize for sorrow     on the soul of Túrin,
retold the tale     of his toil and wandering;
how the trackless folkds     of Taur-na-Fuin,
Deadly Nightshade,     dreadly meshed him;
of Beleg the bowman      bold, undaunted,
and that deed they dared     on the dim hillside,
that song has since     unceasing wakened;
of the fate that fell,     he faltering spake,
in the tangled thicket     neath the twining thorns
when Morgoth`s might     was moved abroad.
Then his voice vanished     veiled in mourning,
and lo! tears trickled     on Túrin`s face
till loosed at last     were the leashed torrents
of his whelming woe.     Long while he wept
soundless, shaken,     the sand clutching
with griping fingers     in grief unfathomed.
But Flinding the faithful      feared no longer;
no comfort cold     he kindly found,
for sleep swept him     into slumber dead.
There a singing voice     sweetly vexed him
and he woke and wondered:     the watchfire faded;
the night was aging,    nought was moving
but a song upsoaring     in the soundless dark
went strong and stern     to the starlit heaven.
`Twas Túrin that towering     on the tarn`s margin,
up high o`er the head     of the hushed water
now falling faintly,     let flare and echo
a song of sorrow     and sad splendour,
the dirge of Beleg`s     deathless glory.
There wondrous wove he     words enchanted,
the woods and water     waked and answered,
the rocks were wrung     with ruth for Beleg.
That song he sang     is since remembered,
by Gnomes renewed     in Nargothrond
it widely has wakened     warfain armies
to battle with Bauglir --     `The Bowman`s Friendship.`

`Tis told that Túrin     then turned him back
and fared to Flinding,     and flung him down
to sleep soundless     till the sun mounted
to the high heavens     and hasted westward.
A vision he viewed     in the vast spaces
of slumber roving:     it seemed he roamed
up the bleak boulders     of a bare hillside
to a cup outcarven     in a cruel hollow,
whose broken brink     bushes limb-wracked
by the North-wind`s knife     in knotted anguish
did fringe forbidding.     There black unfriendly 
was a dark thicket,     a dell of thorn-trees
with yews mingled     that the years had fretted.
The leafless limbs     they lifted hopeless
were blotched and blackened,     barkless, naked,
a lifeless remnant     of the levin`s flame,
charred chill fingers     changeless pointing
to the cold twilight.     There called he longing:
`O Beleg, my brother,     O Beleg, tell me
where is buried thy body     in these bitter regions?` --
and the echoes always     him answered `Beleg`;
yet a veiléd voice     vague and distant
he caught that called     like a cry at night
o`er the sea`s silence:     `Seek no longer.
My bow is rotten     in the barrow ruinous;
my grove is burned     by grim lightning;
here dread dwelleth,     none dare profane
this angry earth,     Orc nor goblin;
none gain the gate     of the gloomy forest
by this perilous path;     pass they may not,
yet my life has winged     to the long waiting
in the halls of the Moon     o`er the hills of the sea,
Courage be thy comfort,     comrade lonely!`

Then he woke in wonder;     is wit was healed,
courage him comforted,     and he called aloud
Flinding go-Fuilin,     to his feet striding.
There the sun slanted     of the waters tumbling
roofed with a radiant     rainbow trembling.
`Whither, O Flinding,     our feet now turn we,
or dwell we for ever     by the dancing water,
by the lake of laughter,     alone, untroubled?`
`To Nargothrond     of the Gnomes, methinks,`
said Flinding, `my feet     would fain wander,
that Celegorm and Curufin,     the crafty sons
of Fëanor founded     when they fled southward;
there built a bulwark     against Bauglir`s hate,
who live now lurking     in league secret
with those five others     in the forests of the East,
fell unflinching     foes of Morgoth.
Maidros whom Morgoth     maimed and tortured
is lord and leader,     his left wieldeth
his sweeping sword;     there is swift Maglor,
there Damrod and Díriel     and dark Cranthir,
the seven seekers     of their sire`s treasure.
Now Orodreth rules      the realms and caverns,
the numbered hosts     of Nargothrond.
There to woman`s stature     will be waxen full
frail Finduilas     the fleet maiden
his daughter dear,     in his darkling halls
a light, a laughter,     that I loved of yore,
and yet love in longing,     and love calls me.`

Where Narog`s torrent     gnashed and spouted
down his stream bestrewn     with stone and boulder,
swiftly southward     they sought their paths,
and summer smiling     smoothed their journey
through day on day,     down dale and wood
where birds blithely     with brimming music
thrilled and trembled     in thronging trees.
No eyes them watched     onward wending
till they gained the gorge     where Ginglith turns
all glad and golden     to greet the Narog.
There her gentler torrent     joins his tumult,
and they glide together     on the guarded plain
to the Hunters` Hills     that high to southward
uprear their rocks     robed in verdure.
There watchful waited     the Wards of Narog,
lest the need of the Gnomes      from the North should come,
for the sea in the South     them safe guarded,
and eager Narog     the East defended.
Their treegirt towers     on the tall hilltops 
no light betrayed     in the trees lurking,
no horns hooted     in the hills ringing
in loud alarm;     a leaguer silent
unseen, stealthy,     beset the stranger,
as of wild things wary     that watch moveless,
then follow fleetly      with feet of velvet
their heeldless prey     with padding hatred.
In this fashion fought they,     phantom hunters
that wandering Orc     and wild foeman
unheard harried,     hemmed in ambush.
The slain are silent,     and silent were the shafts
of the nimble Gnomes     of Nargothrond,
who word or whisper     warded sleepless
from their homes deep-hidden,     that hearsay never
was to Bauglir brought.     Bright hope knew they,
and east over Narog     to open battle 
no cause or counsel     had called them yet,
though of shield and shaft     and sheathéd swords,
of warriors wieldy     now waxed their host
to power and prowess,     and paths afar
their scouts and woodmen     scoured in hunting.

Thus the twain were tracked     till the trees thickened
and the river went rushing     neath a rising bank,
in foam hastened     o`er the feet of the hills.
In a gloom of green     there they groped forward;
there his fate defended     from flying death
Túrin Thalion --     a twisted thong
of writhing roots     enwrapped his foot;
as he fell there flashed,     fleet, whitewingéd,
a shrill-shafted arrow     that shore his hair,
and trembled sudden     in a tree behind.
Then Flinding o`er the fallen     fiercely shouted:
`Who shoots unsure     his shafts at friends?
Flinding go-Fuilin     of the folk of Narog
and the son of Húrin     his sworn comrade
here flee to freedom     from the foes of the North.`

His words in the woods     awoke no echo;
no leaf there lisped,     nor loosened twig
there cracked, no creak     of crawling movement
stirred the silence.     Still and soundless
in the glades about     were the green shadows.
Thus fared they on,     and felt that eyes
unseen saw them,     and swift footsteps
unheard hastened     behind them ever,
till each shaken bush     or shadowy thicket
they fled furtive     in fear needless,
for thereafter was aimed no arrow wingéd, 
and they came to a country     kindly tended;
through flowery frith     and fair acres
they fared, and found     of folk empty
the leas and leasows     and the lawns of Narog,
the teeming tilth     by trees enfolded
twixt hills and river.     The hoes unrecked
in the fields were flung,     and fallen ladders
in the long grass lay      of the lush orchards;
every tree there turned     its tangled head
and eyed them secretly,     and the ears listened
of the nodding grasses;     though noontide glowed
on land and leaf,     their limbs were chilled.
Never hall or homestead     its high gables
in the light uplifting     in that land saw they,
but a pathway plain     by passing feet
was broadly beaten.     Thither bent their steps
Flinding go-Fuilin,     whose feet remembered
that white roadway.     In a while they reached
to the acres` end,     that ever narrowing
twixt wall and water     did wane at last 
to blossomy banks     by the borders of the way.
A spuming torrent,     in spate tumbling
from the highest hill     of the Hunters` Wold
clove and crossed it;     there a carven stone
with slim and shapely      slender archway
a bridge was builded,     a bow gleaming
in the froth and flashing     foam of Ingwil,
that headlong hurried     and hissed beneath.
Where it found the flood,     far-journeyed Narog,
there steeply stood      the strong shoulders
of the hills, o`erhanging     the hurrying water;
there shrouded in trees     a sheer terrace,
wide and winding,     worn to smoothness,
was fashioned in the face     of the falling slope.
Doors there darkly     dim gigantic
were hewn in the hillside;     huge their timbers,
and their posts and lintels     of ponderous stone.

They were shut unshakeable.     Then shrilled a trumpet
as a phantom fanfare     faintly winding
in the hill from hollow     halls far under;
a creaking portal     with clangour backward
was flung, and forth     there flashed a throng,
leaping lightly,     lances wielding,
and swift encircling     seized bewildered
the wanderers wayworn,     wordless haled them
through the gaping gateway     to the glooms beyond.
Ground and grumbled     on its great hinges
the door gigantic;     with din ponderous
it clanged and closed     like clap of thunder,
and echoes awful     in empty corridors
there ran and rumbled      under roofs unseen;
the light was lost.     Then led them on
down long and winding     lanes of darkness
their guards guiding     their groping feet,
till the faint flicker     of fiery torches
flared before them;     fitful murmur
as of many voices     in meeting thronged
they heard as they hastened.     High sprang the roof.
Round a sudden turning     they swung amazed,
and saw a solemn     silent conclave,
where hundreds hushed      in huge twilight
neath distant domes     darkly vaulted
them wordless waited.     There waters flowed 
with washing echoes     winding swiftly 
amid the multitude,     and mounting pale
for fifty fathoms     a fountain sprang,
and wavering wan,     with winking redness
flushed and flickering     in the fiery lights,
it fell at the feet     in the far shadows
of a king with crown     and carven throne.

A voice they heard     neath the vault rolling,
and the king them called:     `Who come ye here
from the North unloved     to Nargothrond,
a Gnome of bondage     and a nameless Man?
No welcome finds here     wandering outlaw;
save his wish be death     he wins it not,
for those that have looked     on our last refuge
it boots not to beg     other boon of me.`
Then Flinding go-Fuilin     freely answered:
`Has the watch then waned     in the woods of Narog,
since Orodreth ruled     this realm and folk?
Or how have the hunted     thus hither wandered,
if the warders willed it not     thy word obeying;
or how hast not heard     that thy hidden archer,
who shot his shaft    in the shades of the forest,
there learned our lineage,     O Lord of Narog,
and knowing our names     his notched arrows
loosed no longer?`     Then low and hushed
a murmur moved     in the multitude,
and some were who said:     ``Tis the same in truth:
the long looked-for,     the lost is found,
the narrow path he knew     to Nargothrond
who was born and bred here     from babe to youth`;
and some were who said:     `The son of Fuilin
was lost and looked for     long years agone.
What sign or token     that the same returns
have we heard or seen?     Is this haggard fugitive
with back bended     the bold leader,
the scout who scoured,     scorning danger,
most far afield     of the folk of Narog?`
`That tale was told us,`     returned answer
the Lord Orodreth,     `but belief were rash.
That alone the lost,     whom leagues afar
the Orcs of Angband     in evil bonds
have dragged to the deeps,     thou darest home,
by grace or valour,    from grim thraldom,
what proof dost thou proffer?     What plea dost show
that a Man, a mortal,     on our mansions hidden
should look and live,    our leage sharing?`

Thus the curse on the kindred     for the cruel slaughter
at the Swans` Haven     there swayed his heart,
but Flinding go-Fuilin     fiercely answered:
`Is the son of Húrin,     who sits on high
in a deathless doom     dreadly chainéd,
unknown, nameless,     in need of plea
to fend from him the fate     of foe and spy?
Flinding the faithful,     the far wanderer,
though form and face     fires of anguish
and bitter bondage,     Balrogs` torment,
have seared and twisted,     for a song of welcome
had hoped in his heart     at that home-coming
that he dreamed of long     in dark labour.
Are these deep places     to dungeons turned,
a lesser Angband     in the land of the Gnomes?`

Thereat was wrath aroused     in Orodreth`s heart,
and the muttering waxed     to many voices,
and this and that     the throng shouted;
when sweet and sudden     a song awoke, 
a voice of music     o`er that vast murmur
mounted in melody     to the misty domes;
with clear echoes     the caverned arches
it filled, and trembled     frail and slender,
those words weaving     of welcome home
that the wayweary     had wooed from care
since the Gnomes first knew     need and wandering.
Then hushed was the host;     no head was turned,
for long known and loved     was that lifted voice,
and Flinding knew it     at the feet of the king
like stone graven     standing silent
with heart laden;     but Húrin`s son
was waked to wonder     and to wistful thought,
and searching the shadows     that the seat shrouded,
the kingly throne,     there caught he thrice
a gleam, a glimmer,     as of garments white.
`Twas frail Finduilas,     fleet and slender,
to woman`s stature,     wondrous beauty,
now grown in glory,     that glad welcome
there raised in ruth,     and wrath was stilled.
Locked fast the love     had lain in her heart
that in laughter grew     long years agone
when in the meads merrily     a maiden played
with fleet-footed     Fuilin`s youngling.
No searing scars     of sundering years
could blind those eyes     bright with welcome,
and wet with tears     wistful trembling
at the grief there graven     in grim furrows
on the face of Flinding.     `Father,` said she,
`what dream of doubt     dreadly binds thee?
`Tis Flinding go-Fuilin,     whose faith of yore
none dared to doubt.     This dark, lonely,
mournful-fated     Man beside him
if his oath avows     the very offspring
of Húrin Thalion,     what heart in this throng
shall lack belief     or love refuse?
But are none yet nigh us     that knew of yore
that mighty of Men,     mark of kinship
to seek and see     in these sorrow-laden
form and features?     The friends of Morgoth
not thus, methinks,     through thirst and hunger
come without comrades,     nor have countenance
thus grave and guileless,     glance unflinching.`

Then did Túrin`s heart     tremble wondering
at the sweet pity     soft and gentle 
of that tender voice     touched with wisdom
that years of yearning     had yielded slow;
and Orodreth, whose heart     knew ruth seldom,
yet loved deeply     that lady dear,
gave ear and answer     to her eager words,
and his doubt and dread     of dire treachery,
and his quick anger,     he quelled within him.
No few were there found     who had fought of old
where Finweg fell     in flame of swords,
and Húrin Thalion     had hewn the throngs,
the dark Glamhoth`s     demon legions,
and who called there looked     and cried aloud:
``Tis the face of the father     new found on earth,
and his strong stature     and stalwart arms;
though such care and sorrow     never claimed his sire,
whose laughing eyes     were lighted clear
at board or battle,     in bliss or in woe.`
Nor could lack belief     for long the words
and faith of Flinding     when friend and kin
and his father hastening     that face beheld.
Lo! sire and son     did sweet embrace
neath trees entwining     tangled branches
at the dark doorways     of those deep mansions
that Fuilin`s folk     afar builded,
and dwelt in the deep     of the dark woodland
to the West on the slopes     of the Wold of Hunters.
Of the four kindreds     that followed the king,
the watchtower`s lords,     the wold`s keepers
and the guards of the bridge,     the gleaming bow
that was flung o`er the foaming     froth of Ingwil,
from Fuilin`s children     were first chosen,
most noble of name,     renowned in valour.

In those halls in the hills     at that homecoming
mirth was mingled     with melting tears
for the unyielding years     whose yoke of pain
the form and face     of Fuilin`s son
had changed and burdened,     chilled the laughter
that leapt once lightly     to his lips and eyes.
Now in kindly love     was care lessened,
with song assuaged     sadness of hearts;
the lights were lit    and lamps kindled
o`er the burdened board;     there bade they feast
Túrin Thalion     with his true comrade
at the long tables`     laden plenty,
where dish and goblet     on the dark-gleaming
wood well-waxéd,     where the wine-flagons
engraven glistened     gold and silve.r
Then Fuilin filled     with flowing mead,
dear-hoarded drink     dark and potent
a carven cup     with curious brim,
by ancient art     of olden smiths
fairly fashioned,     filled with marvels;
there gleamed and lived     in grey silver
the folk of Faërie     in the first noontide
of the Blissful Realms;     with their brows wreathéd
in garlands golden     with their gleaming hair
in the wind flying     and their wayward feet
fitful flickering,     on unfading lawns
the ancient Elves     there everlasting
danced undying     in the deep pasture
of the gardens of the Gods;     there Glingol shone
and Bansil bloomed     with beams shimmering,
mothwhite moonlight     from its misty flowers;
the hilltops of Tûn     there high and green
were crowned by Côr,     climbing, winding,
town white-walléd     where the tower of Ing
with pale pinnacle     pierced the twilight,
and its crystal lamp     illumined clear
with slender shaft     the Shadowy Seas.
Through wrack and ruin,     the wrath of the Gods,
through weary wandering,     waste and exile,
had come that cup,     carved in gladness,
in woe hoarded,     in waning hope
when little was left     of the lore of old.
Now Fuilin at feast     filled it seldom
svae in pledge of love     to proven friend;
blithely bade he     of that beaker drink
for the sake of his son     that sate nigh him
Túrin Thalion     in token sure
of a league of love     long enduring.
`O Húrin`s child     chief of Hithlum,
with mourning marred,     may the mead of the Elves
thy heart uplift     with hope lightened;
nor fare thou from us     the feast ended,
here deign to dwell;     if this deep mansion
thus dark-dolven     dimly vaulted
displease thee not,     a place awaits thee.`
There deeply drank     a draught of sweetness
Túrin Thalion returned his thanks
in eager earnest,     while all the folk
with loud laughter     and long feasting,
with mournful lay     or music wild
of magic minstrels     that mighty songs
did weave with wonder,     there wooed their hearts
from black foreboding;     there bed`s repose
their guest was granted,     when in gloom silent
the light and laughter     and the living voices
were quenched in slumber.     Now cold and slim
the sickle of the Moon     was silver tilted
o`er the wan waters     that washed unsleeping,
nightshadowed Narog,     the Gnome-river.
In tall treetops     of the tangled wood
therhe hooted hollow     the hunting owls.

Thus fate it fashioned     that in Fuilin`s house
the dark destiny     now dwelt awhile
of Túrin the tall.     There he toiled and fought
with the folk of Fuilin     for Flinding`s love;
lore long forgotten     learned among them,
for light yet lingered     in those leaguered places,
and wisdom yet lived     in that wild people,
whose minds yet remembered      the Mountains of the West
and the faces of the Gods,     yet filled with glory
more clear and keen     than kindreds of the dark
or Men unwitting     of the mirth of old.

Thus Fuilin and Flinding     friendship showed him,
and their halls were his home,     while high summer
waned to autumn     and the western gales
the leaves loosened     from the labouring boughs;
the feet of the forest     in fading gold
and burnished brown     were buried deeply;
a restless rustle     down the roofless aisles
sighed and whispered.     Lo! the Silver Wherry,
the sailing Moon     with slender mast,
was filled with fires     as of furnace golden
whose hold had hoarded     the heats of summer,
uprising ruddy     o`er the rim of Evening
by the misty wharves     on the margin of the world.
Thus the months fleeted     and mightily he fared
in the forest with Flinding,     and his fate waited
slumbering a season,     while he sought for joy
the lore learning     and the league sharing
of the Gnomes renowned      of Nargothrond.

The ways of the woods     he wandered far,
and the land`s secrets      he learned swiftly
by winter unhindered      to weathers hardened,
whether snow or sleet     or slanting rain
from glowering heavens     grey and sunless
cold and cruel     was cast to earth,
till the floods were loosed      and the fallow waters 
of sweeping Narog,    swollen, angry,
were filled with flotsam     and foaming turbid
passed in tumult;    or twinkling pale
ice-hung evening     was opened wide,
a dome of crystal     o`er the deep silence
of the windless wastes     and the woods standing
like frozen phantoms     under flickering stars.
By day or night     danger needless
he dared and sought for,     his dread vengeance
ever seeking unsated     on the sons of Angband;
yet as winter waxed     wild and pathless,
and biting blizzards     the bare faces
lashed and tortured     of the lonely tors
and haggard hilltops,     in the halls more often
was he found in fellowship     with the folk of Narog,
and cunning there added     in the crafts of hand,
and in subtle mastery     of song and music
and peerless poesy,     to his proven lore
and wise woodcraft;     there wondrous tales
were told to Túrin     in tongues of gold
in those mansions deep,     there many a day
to the hearth  and halls     of the haughty king
did those friends now fare     to feast and game,
for frail Finduilas     her father urged
to his board and favour     to bid those twain,
and his grudging her granted     that grimhearted
king deep-counselled --     cold his anger,
his ruth unready,     his wrath enduring;
yet fierce and fell     by the fires of hate
his breast was burned     for the broods of Hell
(his son had they slain,     the swift-footed
Halmir the hunter     of hart and boar), 
and kinship therein     the king ere long
in his heart discovered     for Húrin`s son,
dark and silent,     as in dreams walking
of anguish and regret     and evergrowing
feud unsated.     Thus favour soon
by the king accorded     of the company of his board
he was member made,     and in many a deed
and wild     to West and North
he achieved renown     among the chosen warriors
and fearless bowmen;     in far battles
in secret ambush     and sudden onslaught,
where fell-tonguéd flew     the flying serpents,
their shafts envenomed,     in valleys shrouded 
he played his part,     but it pleased him little,
who trusted to targe     and tempered sword,
whose hand was hungry     for the hilts it missed
but dared never a blade     since the doom of Beleg
to draw or handle.     Dear-holden was he,
though he wished nor willed it,     and his works were praised.
When tales were told     of times gone by,
of valour they had known,     of vanished triumph,
glory half-forgot,     grief remembered,
then they bade and begged him     be blithe and sing
of deeds in Doriath     in the dark forest
by the shadowy shores     that shunned the light
where Esgalduin     the Elf-river
by root-fenced pools     roofed with silence,
by deep eddies     darkly gurgling,
flowed fleetly on     past the frowning portals
of the Thousand Caves.     Thus his thought recalled 
the woodland ways     where once of yore
Beleg the bowman     had a boy guided
by slade and slope     and swampy thicket
neath trees enchanted;     then his tongue faltered 
and his tale was stilled.

                                                 At Túrin`s sorrow
one marvelled and was moved,     a maiden fair
the frail Finduilas     that Failivrin,
the glimmering sheen     on the glassy pools
of Ivrin`s lake     the Elves in love
had named anew.     By night she pondered
and by day wondered     what depth of woe
lay locked in his heart     his life marring;
for the doom of dread     and death that had fallen
on Beleg the bowman     in unbroken silence
Túrin warded,     nor might tale be won
of Flinding the faithful     of their fare and deeds
in the waste together.     Now waned her love
for the form and face     furrowed with anguish,
for the bended back     and broken strength,
the wistful eyes     and the withered laughter 
of Flinding the faithful,     though filled was her heart
with deepwelling pity     and dear friendship.
Grown old betimes     and grey-frosted,
he was wise and kindly     with wit and counsel,
with sight and foresight,     but slow to wrath
nor fiercely valiant,     yet if fight he must
his share he shirked not,     though the shreds of fear
in his heart yet hung;     he hated no man,
but he seldom smiled,     save suddenly a light
in his grave face glimmered     and his glance was fired:
Finduilas maybe     faring lightly 
on the sward he saw     or swinging pale,
a sheen of silver     down some shadowy hall.
Yet to Túrin was turned     her troublous heart
against will and wisdom     and waking thought:
in dreams she sought him,     his dark sorrow
with love lightening,     so that laughter shone
in eyes new-kindled,     and her Elfin name
he eager spake,     as in endless spring
they fared free-hearted     through flowers enchanted
with hand in hand     o`er the happy pastures
of that land that is lit     by no light of Earth,
by no moon nor sun,     down mazy ways
to the black abysmal     brink of waking.

From woe unhealed     the wounded heart
of Túrin the tall     was turned to her.
Amazed and moved,     his mind`s secret
half-guessed, half-guarded,     in gloomy hour
of night`s watches,     when down narrow winding
paths of pondering     he paced wearily,
he would lonely unlock,     then loyal-hearted 
shut fast and shun,     or shroud his grief
in dreamless sleep,     deep oblivion
where no echo entered     of the endless war
of waking worlds,     woe nor friendship,
flower nor firelight     nor the foam of seas,
a land illumined     by no light at all.

`O! hands unholy,     O! heart of sorrow,
O! outlaw whose evil     is yet unatonéd,
wilt thou, troth-breaker,     a treason new
to thy burden bind;     thy brother-in-arms,
Flinding go-Fuilin     thus foully betray,
who thy madness tended     in mortal perils,
to thy waters of healing     thy wandering feet
did lead at the last     to lands of peace,
where his life is rooted     and his love dwelleth?
O! stainéd hands     his hope steal not!`

Thus love was fettered     in loyal fastness
and coldly clad     in courteous word;
yet he would look and long     for her loveliness,
in her gentle words     his joy finding,
her face watching     when he feared no eye
might mark his mood.     One marked it all --
Failivrin`s face,     the fleeting gleams,
like sun through clouds     sailing hurriedly
over faded fields,     that fleeting gleams,
as Túrin passed;     the tremulous smiles,
his grave glances     out of guarded shade,
his sighs in secret --     one saw them all,
Flinding go-Fuilin,     who had found his home
and lost his love     to the lying years,
he watched and wondered,     no word speaking,
and his heart grew dark     `twixt hate and pity,
bewildered, weary,     in the webs of fate.
Then Finduilas,     more frail and wan
twixt olden love     now overthrown
and new refused,     did nightly weep;
and folk wondered     at the fair pallor
of the hands upon her harp,     her hair of gold
on slender shoulders     slipped in tumult,
the glory of her eyes     that gleamed with firs
of secret thought     in silent deeps.

Many bosoms burdened     with foreboding vague
their glooms disowned     neath glad laughter.
In song and silence,     snow and tempest,
winter wore away;     to the world there came
a year once more     in youth unstained,
nor were leaves less green,     light less golden,
the flowers less fair,     though in faded hearts
no spring was born,     though speeding nigh
danger and dread     and doom`s footsteps
to their halls hasted.     Of the host of iron
came tale and tidings     ever treading nearer;
Orcs unnumbered      to the East of Narog
roamed and ravened     on the realm`s borders,
the might of Morgoth     was moved abroad.
No ambush stayed them;     the archers yielded 
each vale by vale,     though venomed arrows
Source
The script ran 0.07 seconds.