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J R R Tolkien - The Lay Of The Children Of Húrin: II. Beleg
Work rating: Medium

Long time alone     he lived in the hills
a hunter of beast     and hater of Men,
or Orcs, or Elves,     till outcast folk
there one by one,     wild and reckless
around him rallied;     and roaming far
they were feared by both foe     and friend of old.
For hot with hate     was the heart of Túrin,
nor a friend found him     such folk of Thingol
as he wandering met     in the wood`s fastness.

There Beleg the brave     on the borders of Doriath
they found and fought     -- and few were with him --
and o`erborne by numbers     they bound him at last,
till their captain came     to their camp at eve.
Afar from that fight     his fate that day
had taken Túrin     on the trail of the Orcs,
as they hastened home     to the Hills of Iron
with the loot laden     of the lands of Men.
Then soon was him said     that a servant of Thingol
they had tied to a tree --     and Túrin coming
stared astonied     on the stern visage
of Beleg the brave     his brother in arms,
of whom he learned the lore     of leaping blades,
and of bended bow     and barbéd shaft,
and the wild woodland`s     wisdom secret,
when they blent in battle     the blood of their wounds.

Then Túrin`s heart     was turned from hate,
and he bade unbind     Beleg the huntsman.
`Now fare thou free!     But, of friendship aught
if thy heart yet holds     for Húrin`s son,
never tell thou tale     that Túrin thou sawst
an outlaw unloved     from Elves and Men,
whom Thingol`s thanes     yet thirst to slay.
Betray not my trust     or thy troth of yore!`
Then Beleg of the bow     embraced him there --
he had not fared to the fast     or the fall of Orgof --
there kissed him kindly      comfort speaking:
`Lo! nought know I     of the news thou tellest;
but outlawed or honoured     thou ever shalt be
the brother of Beleg,     come bliss come woe!
Yet little me likes     that thy leaping sword
the life should drink     of the leaguered Elves.
Are the grim Glamhoth     then grown so few,
or the foes of Faërie     feeble-hearted,
that warlike Men     have no work to do?
Shall the foes of Faërie     be friends of Men?
Betrayest thou thy troth     whom we trusted of yore?`

`Nor of arméd Orc,     nor [of] Elf of the wood,
nor of any on earth     have I honour or love,
O Beleg the bowman.     This band alone
I count as comrades,     my kindred in woe
and friendless fate --     our foes the world.`

`Let the bow of Beleg     to your band be joined;
and swearing death     to the sons of darkness
let us suage our sorrow     and the smart of fate!
Our valour is not vanquished,     nor vain the glory
that once we did win     in the woods of old.`

Thus hope in the heart     of Húrin`s offspring
awoke at those words;     and them well likéd
of that band the boldest,     save Blodrin only --
Blodrin Bor`s son,    who for blood and for gold
alone lusted,     and little he recked
whom he robbed of riches     or reft of life,
were it Elf or Orc;     but he opened not
the thoughts of his heart.     There throbbed the harp,
where the fires flickered,     and the flaming brands
of pine were piled     in the place of their camp;
where glad men gathered      in good friendship
as dusk fell down     on the drear woodland.
Then a song on a sudden     soaring loudly --
and the trees up-looming     towering harkened --
was raised of the Wrack     of the Realm of the Gods;
of the need of the Gnomes     on the Narrow Crossing;
of the fight at Fangros,     and Fëanor`s sons`
oath unbreakable.     Then up sprang Beleg:
`That our vaunt and our vows     be not vain for ever,
evern such as they swore,     those seven chieftains,
an oath let us swear     that is unchanging
as Tain-Gwethil`s     towering mountain!`
Their blades were bared,    as blood shining
in the flame of the fires     while they flashed and touched.
As with one man`s voice     the words were spoken,
and the oath uttered     that must unrecalled
abide for ever,     a bond of truth
and friendship in arms,     and faith in peril.

Thus war was waked      in the woods once more
for the foes of Faërie,     and its fame widely,
and the fear of that fellowship,     now fared abroad;
when the horn was heard     of the hunting Elves
that shook the shaws     and the sheer valleys.
Blades were naked     and bows twanging,
and the shafts from the shadows     shooting wingéd,
even in Angband     the Orcs trembled.
Then the word wandered     down the ways of the forest
that Túrin Thalion     was returned to war;
and Thingol heard it,     and his thanes were sped
to lead the lost one     in love to his halls --
but his fate was fashioned     that they found him not. 
Little gold they got      in that grim warfare,
but weary watches      and wounds for guerdon;
nor on robber-raids      now rode they ever,
who fended from Faërie     the fiends of Hell.
But Blodrin Bor`s son     for booty lusted,
for the loud laughter     the the lawless days,
and meats unmeasured,     and mead-goblets
refilled and filled,     and the flagons of wine
that went as water     in their wild revels.
Now tales have told     that trapped as a child
he was dragged by the Dwarves     to their deep mansions,
and in Nogrod nurtured,     and in nought was like,
spite blood and birth,     to the blissful Elves.
His heart hated     Húrin`s offspring
and the bowman Beleg;     so biding his while 
he fled their fellowship     and forest hidings
to the merciless Orcs,      whose moon-pallid
cruel-curvéd blades     to kill spare not;
than whose greed for gold     none greater burns
save in hungry hearts     of the hell-dragons.
He betrayed his troth;     traitor made him
and the forest fastness     of his fellows in arms
he opened to the Orcs,     nor his oath heeded.
There they fought and fell     by foes outnumbered,
by treachery trapped     at a time of night
when their fires faded     and few were waking --
some wakened never,     not for wild noises,
nor cries nor curses,     nor clashing steel,
swept as they slumbered     to the slades of death.
But Túrin they took,     though towering mighty 
at the Huntsman`s hand     he hewed his foemen,
as a bear at bay     mid bellowing hounds,
unheeding his hurts;    at the hest of Morgoth
yet living they lapped him,     his limbs entwining,
with hairy hands    and hideous arms.
Then Beleg was buried     in the bodies of the fallen,
as sorely wounded     he swooned away;
and all was over,    and the Orcs triumphed.
The dawn over Doriath     dimly kindled
saw Blodrin Bor`s son     by a beech standing
with throat thirléd     by a thrusting arrow,
whose shaven shaft,     shod with poison,
and feather-wingéd,     was fast in the tree.
He bargained the blood     of his brothers for gold:
thus his meed was meted --     in the mirk at random
by an orc-arrow    his oath came home.

From the magic mazes     of Melian the Queen
they haled unhappy     Húrin`s offspring,
lest he flee his fate;     but they fared slowly 
and the leagues were long     of their laboured way
over hill and hollow     to the high places,
where the peaks and pinnacles    of pitiless stone
looming up lofty    are lapped in cloud,
and veiled in vapours     vast and sable;
where Eiglir Engrin,    the Iron Hills, lie
o`er the hopeless halls     of Hell upreared
wrought at the roots    of the roaring cliffs
of Thangorodrim`s     thunderous mountain.
Thither led they laden    with loot and evil;
but Beleg yet breathed     in blood drenchéd 
aswoon, till the sun    to the South hastened,
and the eye of day     was opened wide.
Then he woke and wondered,    and weeping took him,
and to Túrin Thalion     his thoughts were turned, 
that o`erborne in battle     and bound he had seen.
Then he crawled from the corpses     that had covered him over,
So Thingol`s thanes     athirst and bleeding
in the forest found him:     his fate willed not
that he should drink the draught    of death from foes.
Thus they bore him back     in bitter torment
his tidings to tell     in the torchlit halls
of Thingol the king;    in the Thousand Caves
to be healéd whole     by the hands enchanted
of Melian Mablui,     the moonlit queen.

Ere a week was outworn     his wounds were cured,
but his heart`s heaviness     those hands of snow
nor sotohed nor softened,     and sorrow-laden
he fared to the forest.    No fellows sought he
in his hopeless hazard,     but in haste alone
he followed the feet     of the foes of Elfland,
the dread daring,    and the dire anguish,
that held the hearts     of Hithlum`s men
and Doriath`s doughtiest     in a dream of fear.
Unmatched among Men,     or magic-wielding
Elves, or hunters     of the Orc-kindred,
or beasts of prey     for blood pining,
was his craft and cunning,    that cold and dead
an unseen slot     could scent o`er stone,
foot-prints could find     on forest pathways
that lightly on the leaves     were laid in moons
long waned, and washed     by windy rains.
The grim Glamhoth`s     goblin armies
go cunning-footed,     but his craft failed not
to tread their trail,     till the lands were darkened,
and the light was lost     in lands unknown.
Never-dawning night     was netted clinging
in the black branches     of the beetling trees;
oppressed by pungent     pinewood`s odours,
and drowsed with dreams     as the darkness thickened,
he strayed steerless.     The stars were hid,
and the moon mantled.     There magic foundered
in the gathering glooms,     there goblins even
(whose deep eyes drill     the darkest shadows)
bewildered wandered,     who the way forsook
to grope in the glades,     there greyly loomed
of girth unguessed     in growth of ages
the topless trunks     of trees enchanted.
That fathomless fold     by folk of Elfland
is Taur-na-Fuin,     the Trackless Forest
of Deadly Nightshade,     dreadly naméd.

Abandoned, beaten,     there Beleg lying
to the wind harkened     winding, moaning
in bending boughs;     to branches creaking
up high over head,     where huge pinions
of the pluméd pine-trees     complained darkly
in black foreboding.    There bowed hopeless,
in wit wildered,     and wooing death,
he saw on a sudden     a slender sheen
shine a-shimmering     in the shades afar,
like a glow-worm`s lamp     a-gleaming dim.
He marvelled what it might be     as he moved softly;
for he knew not the Gnomes     of need delving
in the deep dungeons     of dark Morgoth.
Unmatched their magic     in metal-working,
who jewels and gems    that rejoiced the Gods
aforetime fashioned,     when they freedom held,
now sinking slaves     of ceaseless labour
in Angband`s smithies,    nor ever were suffered
to wander away,    warded always.
But little lanterns     of lucent crystal
and silver cold     with sublest cunning
they strangely fashioned,     and steadfast a flame
burnt unblinking     there blue and pale,
unquenched for ever.     The craft that lit them
was the jewel-makers`     most jealous secret.
Not Morgoth`s might,     nor meed nor torment
them vowed, availed     to reveal that lore;
yet lights and lamps     of living radiance,
many and magical,     they made for him.
No dark could dim them     the deeps wandering;
whose lode they lit    was lost seldom
in groundless grot,     or gulfs far under.

`Twas a Gnome he beheld     on the heaped needles
of a pine-tree pillowed,     when peering wary
he crept closer.     The covering pelt
was loosed from the lamp     of living radiance
by his side shining.     Slumber-shrouded
his fear-worn face     was fallen in shade.
Lest in webs woven of unwaking sleep,
spun round by spells     in those spaces dark,
he like forlorn     and lost for ever,
the Hunter hailed him     in the hushed forest -- 
to the drowsy deeps     of his dream profound
fear ever-following     came falling loud;
as the lancing lightning he leapt to his feet
full deeming that dread     and death were upon him,
Flinding go-Fuilin     fleeing in anguish
from the mines of Morgoth.     Marvelling he heard
the ancient tongue     of the Elves of Tún;
and Beleg the Bowman     embraced him there,
and learnt his lineage     and luckless fate,
how thrust to thraldom     in a throng of captives,
from the kindred carried     and the cavernous halls
of the Gnomes renowned     of Nargothrond,
long years he laboured     under lashes and flails
of the baleful Balrogs,     abiding his time.
A tale he unfolded     of terrible flight
o`er flaming fell     and fuming hollow,
o`er the parchéd dunes    of the Plains of Drouth,
till his heart took hope     and his heed was less.
`Then Taur-na-Fuin     entangled my feet
in its mazes enmeshed;     and madness took me
that I wandered witless,     unwary stumbling
and beating the boles     of the brooding pines
in idle anger --     and the Orcs heard me.
They were camped in a clearing,     that close at hand
by mercy I missed.     Their marching road
is beaten broad     through the black shadows
by wizardry warded     from wandering Elves;
but dread they know     of the Deadly Nightshade,
and in haste only     do they hie that way.
Now cruel cries     and clamorous voices
awoke in the wood,     and winged arrows
from horny bows     hummed about me;
and following feet,     fleet and stealthy,
were padding and pattering     on the pine-needles;
and hairy hands     and hungry fingers
in the glooms groping,     as I grovelled fainting
till they cowering found me.    Fast they clutched me
beaten and bleeding,    and broken in spirit
they laughing led me,    my lagging footsteps
with their spears speeding.     Their spoils were piled,
and countless captives      in that camp were chained,
and Elfin maids     their anguish mourning.
But one they watched,     warded sleepless,
was stern-visaged, strong,     and in stature tall
as are Hithlum`s men     of the misty hills.
Full length he lay    and lashed to pickets
in baleful bonds,     yet bold-hearted
his mouth no mercy     of Morgoth sued,
but defied his foes.    Foully they smote him. 
Then he called, as clear     as cry of hunter
that hails his hounds     in hollow places,
on the name renowned     of that noblest king -- 
but men unmindful     remember him little --
Húrin Thalion,     who Erithámrod hight,
the Unbending,    for Orc and Balrog
and Morgoth`s might     on the mountain yet
he defies fearless,     on a fangéd peak
of thunder-riven     Thangorodrim.`

In eager anger     then up sprang Beleg,
crying and calling,     careless of Flinding:
`O Túrin, Túrin,    my troth-brother,
to the brazen bonds     shall I abandon thee,
and the darkling doors     of the Deeps of Hell?`

`Thou wilt join his journey     to the jaws of sorrow,
O bowman crazéd,     if thy bellowing cry
to the Orcs should come;     their ears than cats`
are keener whetted,    and though the camp from here
be a day distant     where those deeds I saw,
who knows if the Gnome     they now pursue
that crept from their clutches,     as a crawling worm
on belly cowering,     whom they bleeding cast
in deathly swoon     on the dung and slough
of their loathsome lair.     O Light of Valinor!
are ye glorious Gods!     How gleam their eyes,
and their tongues are red!`    `Yet I Túrin will wrest
from their hungry hands,    or to Hell be dragged,
or sleep with the slain     in the slades of Death.
Thy lamp shall lead us,     and my lore rekindle
and wise wood-craft!`     `O witless hunter,
thy words are wild --     wolves unsleeping
and wizardry ward     their woeful captives;
unerring their arrows;    the icy steel
of their curvéd blades     cleaves unblunted
the meshes of mail;     the mirk to pierce
those eyes are able;     their awful laughter
the flesh freezes!    I fare not thither,
for fear fetters me     in the Forest of Night:
better die in the dark    dazed, forwandered,
than wilfully woo    that woe and anguish!
I know not the way.`     `Are the knees then weak
of Flinding go-Fuilin?    Shall free-born Gnome
thus show himself     a shrinking slave,
who twice entrapped      has twice escaped?
Remember the might     and the mirth of yore,
the renown of the Gnomes     of Nargothrond!`

Thus Beleg the bowman     quoth bold-hearted,
but Flinding fought     the fear of his heart,
and loosed the light     of his lamp blue, 
now brighter burning.     In the black mazes
enwound they wandered,     weary searching;
by the tall tree-boles     towering silent
oft barred and baffled;     blindly stumbling
over rock-fast roots     writhing coiléd;
and drowsed with dreams     by the dark odours,
till hope was hidden.     `Hark thee, Flinding;
viewless voices     vague and distant,
a muffled murmur     of marching feet
that are shod with stealth     shakes the stillness.`

`No noise I hear,`     the Gnome answered,
`thy hope cheats thee.`    `I hear the chains
clinking, creaking,     the cords straining,
and wolves padding     on worn pathways.
I smell the blood     that is smeared on blades
that are cruel and crooked;     the croaking laughter --
now, listen! louder     and louder comes,` 
the hunter said.     `I hear no sound,`
quoth Flinding fearful.    `Then follow after!`
with bended bow    then Beleg answered,
`my cunning rekindles,     my craft needs not
thy lamp`s leading.`     Leaping swiftly 
he shrank in the shadows;     with shroud lantern
Flinding followed him,     and the forest-darkness
and drowsy dimness     drifted slowly 
unfolding from them    in fleeing shadows, 
and its magic was minished,     till they marvelling saw
they were brought to its borders.     There black-gaping
an archway opened.     By ancient trunks 
it was framed darkly,     that in far-off days
the lightning felled,     now leaning gaunt
their lichen-leprous    limbs uprooted.
There shadowy bats    that shrilled thinly
flew in and flew out     the air brushing
as they swerved soundless.     A swooning light
faint filtered in,    for facing North
they looked o`er the leagues     of the lands of mourning,
o`er the bleak boulders,     o`er the blistered dunes
and dusty drouth     of Dor-na-Fauglith;
o`er that Thirsty Plain,     to the threatening peaks,
now glimpséd grey     through the grim archway,
of the marching might     of the Mountains of Iron,
and faint and far     in the flickering dusk
the thunderous towers     of Thangorodrim.
But backward broad     through the black shadows 
from that darkling door     dimly wandered
the ancient Orc-road;    and even as they gazed
the silence suddenly    with sounds of dread
was shaken behind them,    and shivering echoes
from afar came fleeting.     Feet were tramping;
trappings tinkling;     and the troublous murmur
of viewless voices     in the vaulted gloom
came near and nearer.     `Ah! now I hear`,
said Flinding fearful;     `flee we swiftly 
from hate and horror    and hideous faces,
from fiery eyes    and feet relentless!
Ah! woe that I wandered     thus witless hither!`

Then beat in his breast,     foreboding evil,
with dread unwonted      the dauntless heart
of Beleg the brave.     With blanchéd cheeks
in faded fern     and the feathery leaves
of brown bracken     they buried them deep,
where dank and dark     a ditch was cloven
on the wood`s borders     by waters oozing,
dripping down to die     in the drouth below.
Yet hardly were they hid     when a host to view
round a dark turning     in the dusky shadows 
came swinging sudden     with a swift thudding
of feet after feet     on fallen leaves.
In rank on rank     of ruthless spears
that war-host went;    weary stumbling
countless captives,    cruelly laden
with bloodstained booty,     in bonds of iron
they haled behind them,     and held in ward
by the wolf-riders     and the wolves of Hell.
Their road of ruin     was a-reek with tears:
many a hall and homestead,    many a hidden refuge
of Gnomish lords     by night beleaguered
their o`ermastering might     of mirth bereft,
and fair things fouled,    and fields curdled 
with the bravest blood     of the beaten people.

To an army of war    was the Orc-band waxen
that Blodrin Bor`s son     to his bane guided 
to the wood-marches,    by the welded hosts
homeward hurrying     to the halls of mourning 
swiftly swollen    to a sweeping plague. 
Like a throbbing thunder     in the threatening deeps
of cavernous clouds     o`ercast with gloom
now swelled on a sudden    a song most dire,
and their hellward hymn     their home greeted;
flung from the foremost     of the fierce spearmen,
who viewed mid vapours     vast and sable
the threefold peaks    of Thangorodrim,
it rolled rearward,    rumbling darkly,
like drums in distant    dungeons empty.
Then a werewolf howled;    a word was shouted
like steel on stone;     and stiffly raised
their spears and swords     sprang up thickly 
as the wild wheatfields     of the wargod`s realm
with points that palely     pricked the twilight.
As by wind wafted     then waved they all,
and bowed, as the bands    with beating measured
moved on mirthless     from the mirky woods,
from the topless trunks     of Taur-na-Fuin,
neath the leprous limbs     of the leaning gate.

Then Beleg the bowman      in bracken cowering,
on the loathly legions    through the leaves peering,
saw Túrin the tall    as he tottered forward
neath the whips of the Orcs    as they whistled o`er him; 
and rage arose     in his wrathful heart,
and piercing pity    outpoured his tears.
The hymn was hushed;     the host vanished
down the hellward slopes    of the hill beyond;
and silence sank     slow and gloomy 
round the trunks of the trees    of Taur-na-Fuin,
and nethermost night     drew near outside.

`Follow me, Flinding,    from the forest curséd!
Let us haste to his help,     to Hell if need be
or to death by the darts     of the dread Glamhoth!`:
and Beleg bounded     from the bracken madly,
like a deer driven    by dogs baying
from his hiding in the hills     and hollow places;
and Flinding followed     fearful after him
neath the yawning gate,     through yew-thickets,
through bogs and bents     and bushes shrunken,
till they reached the rocks     and the riven moorlands
and friendless fells     falling darkly
to the dusty dunes     of Dor-na-Fauglith.
In a cup outcarven     on the cold hillside,
whose broken brink     was bleakly fringed
with bended bushes     bowed in anguish
from the North-wind`s knife,     beneath them far
the feasting camp     of their foes was laid;
the fiery flare     of fuming torches,
and black bodies      in the blaze they saw
crossing countlessly,     and cries they heard
and the hollow howling    of hungry wolves.

Then a moon mounted     o`er the mists riding,
and the keen radiance     of the cold moonshine
the shadows sharpened     in the sheer shallows,
and slashed the slopes     with slanting blackness;
in wreaths uprising     the reek of fires
was touched to tremulous     trails of silver.
Then the fires faded,     and their foemen slumbered
in a sleep of surfeit.     No sentinel watched,
nor guards them girded --     what good were it 
to watch wakeful     in those withered regions
neath Eiglir Engrin,     whence the eyes of Bauglir
gazed unclosing      from the gates of Hell?

Did not werewolves` eyes     unwinking gleam
in the wan moonlight --     the wolves that sleep not,
that sit in circles     with slavering tongues
round camp or clearing     of the cruel Glamhoth?
Then was Beleg a-shudder,     and the unblinking eyes
nigh chilled his marrow     and chained his flesh
in fear unfathomed,     as flat toearth
by a boulder he lay.     Lo! black cloud-drifts
surged up like smoke     from the sable North,
and the sheen was shrouded     of the shivering moon;
the wind came wailing     from the woeful mountains,
and the heath unhappy     hissed and whispered;
in the camp accursed.     His quiver rattled
as he found his feet    and felt his bow,
hard horn-pointed,     by hands of cunning
of black yew wrought;     with bears` sinews
it was stoutly strung;     strength to bend it 
it had nor Man nor Elf     save the magic helped him
that Beleg the bowman     now bore alone.
Nor arrows of the Orcs     so unerring wingéd
as his shaven shafts     that could shoot to a mark
that was seen but in glance     ere gloom seized it.
Then Dailir he drew,     his dart beloved;
howso far fared it,    or fell unnoted,
unsought he found it     with sound feathers
and barbs unbroken     (till it broke at last);
and fleet bade he fly     that feather-pinioned
snaketonguéd shaft,     as he snickered the string
in the notch nimbly,    and with naked arm
to his ear drew it.     The air whistled,
and the tingling string     twanged behind it,
soundless a sentinel     sank before it --
there was one of the wolves    that awaked no more.
Now arrows after     he aimed swiftly 
that missed not their mark     and meted silent
death in the darkness     dreadly stinging,
till three of the wolves     with throats piercéd,
and four had fallen     with fleet-wingéd
arrows a-quivering     in their quenchéd eyes.
Then great was the gap     in the guard opened,
and Beleg his bow     unbent, and said:
`Wilt come to the camp,     comrade Flinding,
or await me watchful?     If woe betide
thou might win with word     through the woods homeward
to Thingol the king     how throve my quest,
how Túrin the tall     was trapped by fate,
how Beleg the bowman     to his bane hasted.`
Then Flinding fiercely,     though fear shook him:
`I have followed thee far,    O forest-walker,
nor will leave thee now     our league denying!`
Then both bow and sword     Beleg left there
with his belt unbound      in the bushes tangled
of a dark thicket     in a dell nigh them,
and Flinding there laid     his flickering lamp
and his nailéd shoes,     and his knife only
he kept, that uncumbered     he might creep silent.

Thus those brave in dread     down the bare hillside
towards the camp clambered     creeping wary,
and dared that deed     in days long past
whose glory has gone     through the gates of earth,
and songs have sung     unceasing ringing
wherever the Elves    in ancient places
had light or laughter     in the later world.
With breath bated on the brink of the dale
they stood and stared      through stealthy shadows,
till they saw where the circle    of sleepless eyes
was broken; with hearts     beating dully
they passed the places     where pierced and bleeding
the wolves weltered     by wingéd death 
unseen smitten;     as smoke noiseless
they slipped silent     through the slumbering throngs
as shadowy wraiths     shifting vaguely 
from gloom to gloom,     till the Gods brought them
and the craft and cunning     of the keen huntsman
to Túrin the tall     where he tumbled lay
with face downard     in the filthy mire,
and his feet were fettered,     and fast in bonds
anguish enchained     his arms behind him.
There he slept or swooned,     as sunk in oblivion
by drugs of darkness     deadly blended;
he heard not their whispers;     no hope stirred him
nor the deep despair     of his dreams fathomed;
to awake his wit     no words availed.
No blade would bite     on the bonds he wore,
though Flinding felt     for the forgéd knife
of dwarfen steel,     his dagger prizéd,
that at waist he wore     awake or sleeping,
whose edge would eat     through iron noiseless
as a clod of clay     is cleft by the share.
It was wrought by wrights     in the realms of the East,
of troth unmindful;     it betrayed him now
from its sheath slipping     as o`er shaggy slades
and roughhewn rocks     their road they wended.

`We must bear him back     as best we may,` 
said Beleg, bending     his broad shoulders.
Then the head he lifted     of Húrin`s offspring,
and Flinding go-Fuilin     the feet claspéd; 
and doughty that deed,     for in days long gone
though Men were of mould     less mighty builded
ere the earth`s goodness     from the Elves they drew,
though the Elfin kindreds     ere old was the sun
were of might unminished,     nor the moon haunted
faintly fading     as formed of shadows 
in places unpeopled,     yet peers they were not
in bone and flesh     and body`s fashioning,
and Túrin was tallest    of the ten races
that in Hithlum`s hills     their homes builded.
Like a log they lifted      his limbs mighty,
and straining staggered     with stealth and fear,
with bodies bending    and bones aching,
from the cruel dreaming     of the camp of dread,
where spearmen drowsed    sprawling drunken
by their moon-blades keen     with murder whetted
mid their shaven shafts     in sheaves piléd.

Now Beleg the brave     backward led them,
but his foot fumbled     and he fell thudding
with Túrin atop of him,     and trembling stumbled
Flinding forward;    there frozen lying
long while they listened     for alarm stirring,
for hue and cry,     and their hearts cowered;
but unbroken the breathing     of the bands sleeping,
as darkness deepened     to the dead midnight,
and the lifeless hour     when the loosened soul
oft sheds the shackles     of the shivering flesh.
Then dared their dread     to draw its breath,
and they found their feet     in the fouléd earth,
and bent they both     their backs once more
to their task of toil,     for Túrin woke not.
There the huntsman`s hand     was hurt deeply,
as he groped on the ground,     by a gleaming point -- 
`twas Dailir his dart     dearly prizéd
he had found by his foot     in fragments twain,
and with barbs bended:     it broke at last
neath his body falling.    It boded ill.

As in dim dreaming,     and dazed with horror,
they won their way     with weary slowness,
foot by footstep,     till fate them granted
the leaguer at last     of those lairs to pass,
and their burden laid they,    breathless gasping,
on bare-bosméd earth,    and abode a while,
ere by winding ways     they won their path
up the slanting slopes     with silent labour,
with spended strength    sprawling to cast them
in the darkling dell     neath the deep thicket.
Then sought his sword,     and songs of magic 
o`er its eager edge     with Elfin voice
there Beleg murmured,     while bluely glimmered
the lamp of Flinding    neath the lacéd 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 forgéd
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.

Then whistling whirled he     the whetted sword-blade
and three times three     it threshed the gloom,
till flame was kindled     flickering strangely
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 Túrin 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 Túrin,     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 fleeful     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 Húrin, 
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 Húrin
is freed from his fetters.`     His fancy wandered
in the camps and clearings     of the cruel Glamhoth.
Flight he sought not     at Flinding leaping
with his last laughter,    his life to sell
amid 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.

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 Túrin;     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 Túrin now
with limbs loosened     leaden-eyed was bent
crouching crumpled      by the corse moveless;
nor sight nor sound      his senses knew
and wavering words     he witless murmured,
`A! Beleg,` he whispered,     `my brother-in-arms.`
Though Flinding shook him,     he felt it not:
had he comprehended     he had cared little.
Then winds were wakened     in wild dungeons
where thrumming thunders     throbbed and rumbled;
storm came striding     with streaming banners
from the four corners     of the fainting world;
then the clouds were cloven     with a crash of lightning,
and slung like stones     from slings uncounted
the hurtling hail     came hissing earthward,
with a deluge dark     of driving rain.
Now wafted high,     now wavering far,
the cries of the Glamhoth     called and hooted,
and the howl of wolves     in the heavens` roaring
was mingled mournful:     they missed their paths,
for swollen swept there     swirling torrents
down the blackening slopes,     and the slot was blind,
so that the blundering back     up the beaten raod
to the gates of gloom     many goblins wildered
were drowned or drawn     in Deadly Nightshade
to die in the dark;     while dawn came not,
while the storm-riders     strove and thundered
all the sunless day,     and soaked and drenched
Flinding go-Fuilin     with fear speechless
there crouched aquake;     cold and lifeless
lay Beleg the bowman;     brooding dumbly 
Túrin Thalion     neath the tangled thorns
sat unseeing     without sound or movement.

The dusty dunes     of Dor-na-Fauglith
hissed and spouted.     Huge rose the spires
of smoking vapour     swathed and reeking,
thick-billowing clouds     from thirst unquenched,
and dawn was kindled     dimly lurid
when a day and night     had dragged away.
The Orcs had gone,     their anger baffled,
o`er the weltering ways     weary fainting
to their hopeless halls     in Hell`s kingdom;
no thrall took they     Túrin Thalion --
a burden bore he     than their bonds heavier,
in despair fettered     with spirit empty
in mourning hopeless     he remained behind.
Source
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