The Lays of Beleriand (12 page)

1900

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 Hurin, who sits on high

in a deathless doom dreadly chained,

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?'

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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 Hurin'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,

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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 Hurin 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.'

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Then did Turin'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 Hurin 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;

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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 watchtowers' 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, renowed in valour.

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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 Turin Thalion with his true comrade

at the long tables' laden plenty,

where dish and goblet on the dark-gleaming

wood well-waxed, where the wine-flagons

engraven glistened gold and silver.

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 Faerie in the first noontide

of the Blissful Realms; with their brows wreathed 2000

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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 Tun there high and green

were crowned by Cor, climbing, winding,

town white-walled 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

save in pledge of love to proven friend;

blithely bade he of that beaker drink

for the sake of his son that sate nigh him

Turin Thalion in token sure

of a league of love long enduring.

'0 Hurin'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

Turin Thalion and 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

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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

there hooted hollow the hunting owls.

Thus fate it fashioned that in Fuilin's house the dark destiny now dwelt awhile

of Turin 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,

whose shrouds were shaped of shining flame

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.

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The ways of the woods

and the land's secrets

by winter unhindered

whether snow or sleet

he wandered far,

he learned swiftly

to weathers hardened,

or slanting rain

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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 Turin 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 it 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 Hurin'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

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and wild venture 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-tongued 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,

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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,

Rowed 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.

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At Turin'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