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J R R Tolkien - The Second Version Of The Children Of Húrin : II. Túrin`s Fostering
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Lo! the lady Morwen     in the land of shadow
waited in the woodland     for her well-beloved,
but he came never     to clasp her nigh
from that black battle.     She abode in vain;
no tidings told her     whether taken or dread
or lost in flight     he lingered yet.
Laid waste his lands     and his lieges slain,
and men unmindful     of that mighty lord
in Dorlómin dwelling     dealt unkindly
with his wife in widowhood;     she went with child,
and a son must succour     sadly orphaned,
Túrin Thalion     of tender years.
In days of blackness     was her daughter born,
and named Nienor,     a name of tears
that in language of eld     is Lamentation.
Then her thoughts were turned     to Thingol the Elf,
and Lúthien the lissom     with limbs shining,
his daughter dear,     by Dairon loved,
who Tinúviel was named     both near and far,
the Star-mantled,     still remembered,
who light as leaf     on linden tree
had danced in Doriath     in days agone,
on the lawns had lilted     in the long moonshine,
while deftly was drawn     Dairon`s music
with fingers fleet     from flutes of silver.
The boldest of the brave,     Beren Ermabwed,
to wife had won her,     who once of old
had vowed fellowship     and friendly love
with Húrin of Hithlum,     hero dauntless
by the marge of Mithrim`s     misty waters.
Thus to her son she said:     `My sweetest child,
our friends are few;     thy father is gone.
Thou must fare afar     to the folk of the wood,
where Thingol is throned     in the Thousand Caves.
If he remember Morwen     and thy mighty sire
he will foster thee fairly,     and feats of arms,
the trade he will teach thee     of targe and sword,
that no slave in Hithlum     shall be son of Húrin.
A! return my Túrin     when time passeth;
remember thy mother     when thy manhood cometh
or when sorrows snare thee.`     Then silence took her,
for fears troubled      her trembling voice.
Heavy boded the heart     of Húrin`s son,
who unwitting of her woe     wondered vaguely,
yet weened her words     were wild with grief
and denied her not;     no need him seemed.

Lo! Mailrond and Halog,     Morwen`s henchmen,
were young of yore     ere the youth of Húrin,
and alone of the lieges     of that lord of Men
now steadfast in service     stayed beside her:
now she bade them brave     the black mountains
and the woods whose ways     wander to evil;
though Túrin be tender,     to travail unused,
they must gird them and go.     Glad they were not,
but to doubt the wisdom     dared not openly
of Morwen who mourned     when men saw not.

Came a day of summer     when the dark silence
of the towering trees    trembled dimly 
to murmurs moving     in the milder airs
far and faintly;     flecked with dancing
sheen of silver     and shadow-filtered
sudden sunbeams     were the secret glades
where winds came wayward     wavering softly
warm through the woodland`s     woven branches.
Then Morwen stood,     her mourning hidden,
by the gate of her garth     in a glade of Hithlum;
at her breast bore she     her babe unweaned,
crooning lowly     to its careless ears
a song of sweet     and sad cadence,
lest she droop for anguish.     Then the doors opened,
and Halog hastened     neath a heavy burden,
and Mailrond the old     to his mistress led
her gallant Túrin,     grave and tearless,
with heart heavy as stone     hard and lifeless,
uncomprehending     his coming torment.
There he cried with courage,     comfort seeking:
`Lo! quickly will I come     from the courts afar,
I will long ere manhood     lead to Morwen
great tale of treasure     and true comrades.`
He wist not the weird     woven of Morgoth,
nor the sundering sorrow     that them swept between,
as farewells they took     with faltering lips.
The last kisses     and lingering words
are over and ended;     and empty is the glen
in the dark forest,     where the dwelling faded 
in trees entangled.     Then in Túrin woke
to woe`s knowledge     his bewildered heart,
that he wept blindly     awakening echoes
sad resounding     in sombre hollows,
as he called: `I cannot,     I cannot leave thee.
O! Morwen my mother,     why makest me go?
The hills are hateful,     where hope is lost;
O! Morwen my mother,     I am meshed in tears,
for grim are the hills     and my home is gone.`
And there came his cries     calling faintly 
down the dark alleys     of the dreary trees,
that one there weeping     weary on the threshold
heard how the hills said     `my home is gone.`
****
The ways were weary     and woven with deceit
o`er the hills of Hithlum     to the hidden kingdom
deep in the darkness     of Doriath`s forest,
and never ere now     for need or wonder
had children of Men     chosen that pathway,
save Beren the brave     who bounds knew not
to his wandering feet     nor feared the woods
or fells or forest     or frozen mountain,
and few had followed     his feet after.
There was told to Túrin     that tale by Halog
that in the Lay of Leithian,     Release from Bonds,
in linkéd words     has long been woven,
of Beren Ermabwed,     the boldhearted;
how Lúthien the lissom     he loved of yore
in the enchanted forest     chained with wonder --
Tinúviel he named her,     than nightingale
more sweet her voice,     as veiled in soft
and wavering wisps     of woven dusk
shot with starlight,    with shining eyes
she danced like dreams     of drifting sheen,
pale-twinkling pearls     in pools of darkness;
how for love of Lúthien     he left the woods
on that quest perilous     men quail to tell,
thrust by Thingol     o`er the thirst and terror
of the Lands of Mourning;     of Lúthien`s tresses,
and Melian`s magic,     and the marvellous deeds
that after happened     in Angband`s halls,
and the flight o`er fell     and forest pathless
when Carcharoth     the cruel-fangéd, 
the wolf-warden     of the Woeful Gates,
whose vitals fire     devoured in torment
them hunted howling     (the hand of Beren
he had bitten from the wrist     where that brave on held
the nameless wonder,     the Gnome-crystal
where light living     was lockd enchanted,
all hue`s essence.     His heart was eaten,
and the woods were filled     with wild madness
in his dreadful torment,     and Doriath`s trees
did shudder darkly     in the shrieking glens);
how the hound of Hithlum,     Huan wolf-bane,
to the hunt hasted     to the help of Thingol,
and as dawn came dimly     in Doriath`s woods
was the slayer slain,     but silent lay
there Beren bleeding     nigh brought to death,
till the lips of Lúthien     in love`s despair
awoke him to words,     ere he winged afar
to the long awaiting;     thence Lúthien won him,
the Elf-maiden,     and the arts of Melian,
her mother Mablui     of the moonlit hand,
that they dwell for ever     in days ageless
and the grass greys not     in the green forest
where East or West     they ever wander.
Then a song he made them      for sorrow`s lightening,
a sudden sweetness     in the silent wood,
that is `Light as Leaf     on Linden` called,
whose music of mirth     and mourning blended 
yet in hearts does echo.     This did Halog sing them:

The grass was very long and thin,
    The leaves of many years lay thick,
The old tree-roots wound out and in,
    And the early moon was glimmering.
There went her white feet lilting quick,
    And Dairon`s flute did bubble thin,
As neath the hemlock umbels thick
    Tinúviel danced a-shimmering.

The pale moths lumbered noiselessly,
    And daylight died among the leaves,
As Beren from the wild country
    Came thither wayworn sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock sheaves,
    And watched in wonder noiselessly
Her dancing through the moonlit leaves
    And the ghostly moths a-following.

There magic took his weary feet,
    And he forgot his loneliness,
And out he danced, unheeding, fleet,
    Where the moonbeams were a-glistening.
Through the tangled woods of Elfinesse
    They fled on nimble fairy feet,
And left him to his loneliness
    In the silent forest listening,

Still hearkening for the imagined sound
    Of lissom feet upon the leaves,
For music welling underground
    In the dim-lit caves of Doriath.
But withered are the hemlock sheaves,
    And one by one with mournful sound
Whispering fall the beechen leaves
    In the dying woods of Doriath.

He sought her wandering near and far
    Where the leaves of one more year were strewn,
By winter moon and frosty star
    With shaken light a-shivering.
He found her neath a misty moon,
    A silver wraith that danced afar,
And the mists beneath her feet were strewn
    In moonlight palely quivering.

She danced upon a hillock green
    Whose grass unfading kissed her feet,
While Dairon`s fingers played unseen
    O`er his magic flute a-flickering;
And out he danced, unheeding, fleet,
    In the moonlight to the hillock green:
No impress found he of her feet
    That fled him swiftly flickering.

And longing filled his voice that called
    `Tinúviel, Tinúviel,`
And longing sped his feet enthralled
    Behind her wayward shimmering.
She heard as echo of a spell
    His lonely voice that longing called
`Tinúviel, Tinúviel`:
    One moment paused she glimmering.

And Beren caught that elfin maid
    And kissed her trembling starlit eyes,
Tinúviel whom love delayed
    In the woods of evening morrowless.
Till moonlight and till music dies
    Shall Beren by the elfin maid
Dance in the starlight of her eyes
    In the forest singing sorrowless.

Wherever grass is long and thin,
    And the leaves of countless years lie thick,
And ancient roots wind out and in,
    As once they did in Doriath,
Shall go their white feet lilting quick,
    But never Dairon`s music thin
Be heard beneath the hemlocks thick
    Since Beren came to Doriath.

This for hearts` uplifting     did Halog sing them
as the frowning fortress    of the forest clasped them
and nethermost night    in its net caught them.
There Túrin and the twain    knew torture of thirst
and hunger and fear,    and hideous flight
from wolfriders    and wandering Orcs
and the things of Morgoth    that thronged the woods.
There numbed and wetted     they had nights of waking
cold and clinging,     when the creaking winds
summer had vanquished     and in silent valleys
a dismal dripping     in the distant shadows
ever splashed and spilt     over spaces endless
from rainy leaves,     till arose the light
greyly, grudgingly,     gleaming thinly
at drenching dawn.     They were drawn as flies
in the magic mazes;     they missed their ways
and strayed steerless,     and the stars were hid
and the sun sickened.     Sombre and weary
had the mountains been;     the marches of Doriath
bewildered and wayworn     wound them helpless
in despair and error,     and their spirits foundered.
Without bread or water     with bleeding feet
and fainting strength     in the forest straying
their death they deemed it     to forwandered,
when they heard a horn      that hooted afar
and dogs baying.     Lo! the dreary bents
and hushed hollows     to the hunt wakened,
and echoes answered     to eager tongues,
for Beleg the bowman     was blowing gaily,
who furthest fared     of his folk abroad
by hill and by hollow     ahunting far,
careless of comrades     or crowded halls,
as light as a leaf,     as the lusty airs
as free and fearless     in friendless places.
He was great of growth     with goodly limbs
and lithe of girth,     and lightly on the ground
his footsteps fell     as he fared towards them
all garbed in grey     and green and brown.

`Who are ye?` he asked.     `Outlaws, maybe,
hiding, hunting,     by hatred dogged?`

`Nay, for famine and thirst     we faint,` said Halog,
`wayworn and wildered,     and wot not the road.
Or has not heard      of the hills of slain,
field tear-drenchéd     where in flame and terror
Morgoth devoured     the might and valour
of the hosts of Finweg     and Hithlum`s lord?
The Thalion Erithámrod     and his thanes dauntless
there vanished from the earth,     whose valiant lady 
yet weeps in widowhood     as she waits in Hithlum.
Thou lookest on the last     of the lieges of Morwen,
and the Thalion`s child     who to Thingol`s court
now wend at the word     of the wife of Húrin.`

Then Beleg bade them     be blithe, saying:
`The Gods have guided you     to good keeping;
I have heard of the house     of Húrin undaunted,
and who hath not heard     of the hills of slain,
of Nirnaith Ornoth,     Unnumbered Tears!
To that war I went not,     yet wage a feud
with the Orcs unending,     whom mine arrows fleeting
smite oft unseen     swift and deadly.
I am the hunter Beleg     of the hidden people;
the forest is my father     and the fells my home.`
Then he bade them drink     from his belt drawing
a flask of leather     full-filled with wine
that is bruised from the berries     of the burning South --
the Gnome-folk know it,     from Nogrod the Dwarves
by long ways lead it     to the lands of the North
for the Elves in exile     who by evil fate
the vine-clad valleys     now view no more
in the land of Gods.     There was lit gladly 
of wind-fallen wood     that his wizard`s cunning
rotten, rain-sodden,     to roaring life
there coaxed and kindled     by craft or magic;
there baked they flesh     in the brands` embers;
white wheaten bread     to hearts` delight
he haled from his wallet     till hunger waned
and hope mounted,     but their heads were mazed 
by that wine of Dor-Winion     that went in their veins,
and they soundly slept     on the soft needles
of the tall pinetrees     that towered above.
Then they waked and wondered,     for the woods were light,
and merry was the morn     and the mists rolling
from the radiant sun.     They soon were ready 
long leagues to cover.     Now led by ways
devious winding     through the dark woodland,
by slade and slope     and swampy thicket,
through lonely days,     long-dragging nights,
they fared unfaltering,     and their friend they blessed,
who but for Beleg     had been baffled utterly
by the magic mazes     of Melian the Queen.
To those shadowy shores     he showed the way
where stilly the stream     strikes before the gates
of the cavernous court     of the King of Doriath.
Over the guarded bridge     he gained them passage,
and thrice they thanked him,     and thought in their hearts
`the Gods are good` --     had they guessed, maybe,
what the future enfolded,     they had feared to live.

To the throne of Thingol     were the three now come;
there their speech well sped,     and he spake them fair,
for Húrin of Hithlum     he held in honour,
whom Beren Ermabwed     as a brother had loved
and remembering Morwen,     of mortals fairest,
he turned not Túrin     in contempt away.
There clasped him kindly     the King of Doriath,
for Melian moved him      with murmured counsel,
and he said: `Lo, O son      of the swifthanded,
the light in laughter,     the loyal in need,
Húrin of Hithlum,     thy home is with me,
and here shalt sojourn     and be held my son.
In these cavernous courts     for thy kindred`s sake
thou shalt dwell in dear love,     till thou deemest it time
to remember thy mother     Morwen`s loneliness;
thou shalt wisdom win     beyond wit of mortals,
and weapons shalt wield     as the warrior-Elves,
nor slave in Hithlum     shall be son of Húrin.`

There the twain tarried     that had tended the child,
till their limbs were lightened     and they longed to fare
through dread and danger     to their dear lady,
so firm their faith.     Yet frore and grey
eld sat more heavy     on the aged head
of Mailrond the old,     and his mistress` love
his might matched not,     more marred by years
than Halog he hoped not     to home again.
Then sickness assailed him     and his sight darkened:
`To Túrin I must turn     my troth and fealty,`
he said and he sighed,     `to my sweet youngling`;
but Halog hardened     his heart to go.
An Elfin escort     to his aid was given,
and magics of Melian,     and a meed of gold,
and a message to Morwen     for his mouth to bear,
words of gladness     that her wish was granted,
and Túrin taken     to the tender care
of the King of Doriath;     of his kindly will
now Thingol called her     to the Thousand Caves
to fare unfearing     with his folk again,
there to sojourn in solace     till her son be grown;
for Húrin of Hithlum     was holden in mind
and no might had Morgoth     where Melian dwelt.

Of the errand of the Elves     and of eager Halog
the tale tells not,     save in time they came
to Morwen`s threshold.     There Thingol`s message
was said where she sat     in her solitary hall,
but she dared not do     as was dearly bidden,
who Nienor her nursling     yet newly weaned
would not leave nor be led     on the long marches
to adventure her frailty      in the vast forest;
the pride of her people,     princes ancient,
had suffered her send     a son to Thingol
when despair urged her,     but to spend her days
an almsguest of others,     even Elfin kings,
it little liked her;     and lived there yet
a hope in her heart     that Húrin would come,
and the dwelling was dear     where he dwelt of old;
at night she would listen     for a knock at the doors
or a footstep falling     that she fondly knew.
Thus she fared not forth;     thus her fate was woven.
Yet the thanes of Thingol     she thanked nobly,
nor her shame showed she,     how shorn of  glory
to reward their wending     she had wealth too scant,
but gave them in gift     those golden things
that last lingered,     and led they thence
a helm of Húrin     once hewn in wars
when he battled with Beren     as brother and comrade
against ogres and Orcs     and evil foes.
Grey-gleaming steel,     with gold adorned
wrights had wrought it,     with runes graven
of might and victory,     that a magic sat there
and its wearer warded     from wound or death,
whoso bore to battle     brightly shining
dire dragon-headed     its dreadful crest.
This Thingol she bade     and her thanks receive.

Thus Halog her henchman     to Hithlum came,
but Thingol`s thanes     thanked her lowly 
and girt them to go,     though grey winter
enmeshed the mountains     and the moaning woods,
for the hills hindered not     the hidden people.
Lo! Morwen`s message     in a month`s journey,
so speedy fared they,     was spoken in Doriath.
For Morwen Melian      was moved to ruth,
but courteously the king     that casque received,
her golden gift,     with gracious words,
who deeply delved      had dungeons filled
with elvish armouries     of ancient gear,
yet he handled that helm     as his hoard were scant:
`That head were high     that upheld this thing
with the token crowned,     the towering crest
to Dorlómin dear,    the dragon of the North,
that Thalion Erithámrod      the thrice renowned 
oft bore into battle     with baleful foes.
Would that he had worn it     to ward his head
on that direst day     from death`s handstroke!`
Then a thought was thrust     into Thingol`s heart,
And Túrin was called     and told kindly 
that his mother Morwen     a mighty thing
had sent to her son,     his sire`s heirloom,
o`er-written with runes     by wrights of yore
in dark dwarfland     in the deeps of time,
ere Men to Mithrim     and misty Hithlum
o`er the world wandered;     it was worn aforetime
by the father of the fathers     of the folk of Húrin,
whose sire Gumlin     to his son gave it
ere his soul severed     from his sundered heart -- 
``Tis Telchar`s work     of worth untold,
its wearer warded      from wound or magic,
from glaive guarded     or gleaming axe.
Now Húrin`s helm     hoard till manhood
to battle bids thee,     then bravely don it,
go wear it well!`     Woeful-hearted
did Túrin touch it     but take it not,
too weak to wield     that mighty gear,
and his mind in mourning     for Morwen`s answer
was mazed and darkened.

                                       Thus many a day
it came to pass     in the courts of Thingol
for twelve years long     that Túrin lived.
But seven winters     their sorrows had laid
on the son of Húrin     when that summer to the world
came glad and golden     with grievous parting;
nine years followed     of his forest-nurture,
and his lot was lightened,     for he learned at whiles
from faring folk     what befell in Hithlum,
and tidings were told     by trusty Elves
how Morwen his mother     knew milder days
and easement of evil,     and with eager voice
all Nienor named      the Northern flower,
the slender maiden     in sweet beauty
now graceful growing.     The gladder was he then
and hope yet haunted     his heart at whiles.
He waxed and grew     and won renown
in all lands where Thingol     as lord was held
for his stoutness of heart     and his strong body.
Much lore he learned    and loved wisdom,
but fortune followed him     in few desires;
oft wrong and awry     what he wrought turnéd,
what he loved he lost,     what he longed for failed,
and full friendship     he found not with ease,
nor was lightly loved,     for his looks were sad;
he was gloomy-hearted     and glad seldom
for the sundering sorrow     that seared his youth.

On manhood`s threshold     he was mighty-thewed
in the wielding of weapons;     in weaving song
he had a minstrel`s mastery,     but mirth was not in it,
for he mourned the misery     of the Men of Hithlum.
Yet greater his grief     grew thereafter
when from Hithlum`s hills     he heard no more
and no traveller told him     tidings of Morwen.
For those days were drawing     to the doom of the Gnomes
and the power of the Prince     of the pitiless kingdom,
of the grim Glamhoth,     was grown apace,
till the lands of the North     were loud with their noise,
and they fell on the folk     with fire and slaughter
who bent not to Bauglir     or the borders passed
of dark Dorlómin     with its dreary pines
that Hithlum was called     by the unhappy people.
There Morgoth shut them     in the Shadowy Mountains,
fenced them from Faërie     and the folk of the wood.
Even Beleg fared not     so far abroad
as once was his wont,     for the woods were filled
with the armies of Angband     and with evil deeds,
and murder walked     on the marches of Doriath;
only the mighty magic     of Melian the Queen
yet held their havoc     from the hidden people.

To assuage his sorrow     and to sate his rage,
for his heart was hot     with the hurts of his folk,
then Húrin`s son     took the helm of his sire
and weapons weighty     for the wielding of men,
and he went to the woods     with warrior-Elves,
and far in the forest     his feet led him
into black battle     yet a boy in years.
Ere manhood`s measure     he met and he slew
Orcs of Angband     and evil things
that roamed and ravened     on the realm`s borders.
There hard his life,     and hurts he lacked not,
the wounds of shaft     and the wavering sheen
of the sickle scimitars,     the swords of Hell,
the bloodfain blades     on black anvils
in Angband smithied,     yet ever he smote
unfey, fearless,     and his fate kept him.
Thus his prowess was proven     and his praise was noised 
and beyond his years     he was yielded honour,
for by him was holden     the hand of ruin
from Thingol`s folk,     and Thû feared him,
and wide wandered     the word of Túrin:
`Lo! we deemed as dead     the dragon of the North,
but high o`er the host     its head uprises,
its wings are spread!     Who has waked this spirit
and the flame kindled     of its fiery jaws?
Or is Húrin of Hithlum     from Hell broken?`
And Thû who was throned     as than mightiest
neath Morgoth Bauglir,     whom that master bade
`go ravage the realm     of the robber Thingol
and mar the magic     of Melian the Queen`,
even Thû feared him,     and his thanes trembled.

One only was there     in war greater,
more high in honour     in the hearts of the Elves
than Túrin son of Húrin,     tower of Hithlum,
even the hunter Beleg     of the hidden people,
whose father was the forest     and the fells his home;
to bend whose bow,     Balthronding named,
that the black yewtree     once bore of yore,
had none the might;     unmatched in knowledge
of the woods` secrets     and the weary hills.
He was the leader beloved     of the light companies
all garbed in grey     and green and brown,
the archers arrowfleet     with eyes piercing,
the scouts that scoured      scorning danger
afar o`er the fells     their foemen`s lair,
and tales and tidings     timely won them
of camps and councils,     of comings and goings,
all the movements of the might     of Morgoth Bauglir.
Thus Túrin, who trusted      to targe and sword,
who was fain of fighting     with foes well seen,
where shining swords      made sheen of fire,
and his corslet-clad     comrades-in-arms
were snared seldom     and smote unlooked-for.

Then the fame of the fights     on the far marches
was carried to the courts     of the king of Doriath,
and tales of Túrin     were told in his halls,
of the bond and brotherhood     of Beleg the ageless
with the blackhaired boy      from the beaten people.
Then the king called them     to come before him
did Orc-raids lessen     in the outer lands
ever and often     unasked to hasten,
to rest them and revel     and to raise awhile
in songs and lays     and sweet music
the memory of the mirth     ere the moon was old,
when the mountains were young     in the morning of the world.

On a time was Túrin     at his table seated,
and Thingol thanked him     for his thriving deeds;
there was laughter long      and the loud clamour
of a countless company     that quaffed the mead
and the wine of Dor-Winion     that went ungrudged
in their golden goblets;     and goodly meats
there burdened the boards     neath blazing torches
in those high halls set     that were hewn of stone.
There mirth fell on many;     there minstrels clear
did sing them songs     of the city of Cór
that Taingwethil     towering mountain
o`ershadowed sheerly,     of the shining hals
where the great gods sit     and gaze on the world
from the guarded shores     of the gulf of Faërie.
One sang of the slaying     at the Swans` Haven
and the curse that had come    on the kindreds since.
Source
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