The Lays of Beleriand (2 page)

Based on this manuscript is the typescript B. This introduces changes not found in A or its emendations; and it was itself emended both in ink and pencil, doubtless involving several movements of revision. To take a single line as exemplification: line 8 was written first in A: Lo! Thalion in the throng of thickest battle

The line was emended, in two stages, to

Lo! Thalion Hurin in the throng of battle

and this was the form in B as typed; but B was emended, in two stages, to Lo! Hurin Thalion in the hosts of war

It is obvious that to set this and a great many other similar cases out in a textual apparatus would be a huge task and the result impossibly complicated. The text that follows is therefore, so far as purely metrical-stylistic changes are concerned, that of B as emended, and apart from a few special cases there is no mention in the notes of earlier readings.

In the matter of names, however, the poem presents great difficulty; for changes were made at quite different times and were not introduced consistently throughout. If the latest form in any particular passage is made the principle of choice, irrespective of any other consideration, then the text will have Morwin at lines 105, 129, Mavwin 137 etc., Morwen 438, 472; Ulmo 1469, but Ylmir 1529 and subsequently; Nirnaith Ornoth 1448, but Nirnaith Unoth 1543. If the later Nirnaith Onroth is adopted at 1543, it seems scarcely justifiable to intrude it at lines 13 and 218 (where the final form is Ninin Unothradin). I have decided finally to abandon overall consistency, and to treat individual names as seems best in the circumstances; for example, I give Ylmir rather than Ulmo at line 1469, for consistency with all the other occurrences, and while changing Unoth to Ornoth at line 1543 I retain Ornoth rather than the much later Arnediad at line 26 of the second version -- similarly I prefer the earlier Finweg to Fingon (I975, second version 19, 520) and Bansil, Glingol to Belthil, Glingal (2027 -- 8) . All such points are documented in the notes.

A has no title. In B as typed the title was The Golden Dragon, but this was emended to Turin Son of Hurin O' Glorund the Dragon. The second version of the poem was first titled Turin, but this was changed to The Children of Hurin, and I adopt this, the title by which my father referred to the poem in the 1926 'Sketch', as the general title of the work.

The poem in the first version is divided into a short prologue (Hurin and Morgoth) without sub-title and three long sections, of which the first two ('Turin's Fostering' and 'Beleg') were only introduced later into the typescript; the third ('Failivrin') is marked both in A and in B as typed.

The detail of the typescript is largely preserved in the present text, but I have made the capitalisation rather more consistent, added in occasional accents, and increased the number of breaks in the text. The space between the half-lines is marked in the second part of the A-text and begins at line 543 in B.

I have avoided the use of numbered notes to the text, and all annotation is related to the line-numbers of the poem. This annotation (very largely concerned with variations of names, and comparisons with names in the Lost Tales) is.found at the end of each of the three major parts, followed by a commentary on the matter of that part.

Throughout, the Tale refers to the Tale of Turambar and the Foaloke (II. 69 ff.); Narn refers to the Narn i Hin Hurin, in Unfinished Tales pp. 57 ff.

TURIN SON OF HURIN

&

GLORUND THE DRAGON.

Lo! the golden dragon of the God of Hell,

the gloom of the woods of the world now gone, the woes of Men, and weeping of Elves

fading faintly down forest pathways,

is now to tell, and the name most tearful

of Niniel the sorrowful, and the name most sad of Thalion's son Turin o'erthrown by fate.

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Lo! Hurin Thalion in the hosts of war

was whelmed, what time the white-clad armies

of Elfinesse were all to ruin

by the dread hate driven of Delu-Morgoth.

That field is yet by the folk named

Ninin Unothradin, Unnumbered Tears.

There the children of Men, chieftain and warrior, fled and fought not, but the folk of the Elves they betrayed with treason, save that true man only, Thalion Erithamrod and his thanes like gods.

There in host on host the hill-fiend Orcs

overbore him at last in that battle terrible, by the bidding of Bauglir bound him living,

and pulled down the proudest of the princes of Men.

To Bauglir's halls in the hills builded,

to the Hells of Iron and the hidden caverns

they haled the hero of Hithlum's land,

Thalion Erithamrod, to their throned lord,

whose breast was burnt with a bitter hatred,

and wroth he was that the wrack of war

had not taken Turgon ten times a king,

even Finweg's heir; nor Feanor's children,

makers of the magic and immortal gems.

For Turgon towering in terrible anger

a pathway clove him with his pale sword-blade out of that slaughter -- yea, his swath was plain through the hosts of Hell like hay that lieth all low on the lea where the long scythe goes.

A countless company that king did lead

through the darkened dales and drear mountains 10

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out of ken of his foes, and he comes not more in the tale; but the triumph he turned to doubt of Morgoth the evil, whom mad wrath took.

Nor spies sped him, nor spirits of evil,

nor his wealth of wisdom to win him tidings,

whither the nation of the Gnomes was gone.

Now a thought of malice, when Thalion stood,

bound, unbending, in his black dungeon,

then moved in his mind that remembered well

how Men were accounted all mightless and frail by the Elves and their kindred; how only treason could master the magic whose mazes wrapped

the children of Corthun, and cheated his purpose.

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'Is it dauntless Hurin,' quoth Delu-Morgoth,

'stout steel-handed, who stands before me,

a captive living as a coward might be?

Knowest thou my name, or need'st be told

what hope he has who is haled to Angband --

the bale most bitter, the Balrogs' torment?'

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'I know and I hate. For that knowledge I fought thee by fear unfettered, nor fear I now,'

said Thalion there, and a thane of Morgoth

on the mouth smote him; but Morgoth smiled:

'Fear when thou feelest, and the flames lick thee, and the whips of the Balrogs thy white flesh brand.

Yet a way canst win, an thou wishest, still

to lessen thy lot of lingering woe.

Go question the captives of the accursed people I have taken, and tell me where Turgon is hid; how with fire and death I may find him soon,

where he lurketh lost in lands forgot.

Thou must feign thee a friend faithful in anguish, and their inmost hearts thus open and search.

Then, if truth thou tellest, thy triple bonds I will bid men unbind, that abroad thou fare

in my service to search the secret places

following the footsteps of these foes of the Gods.'

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'Build not thy hopes so high, O Bauglir --

I am no tool for thy evil treasons;

torment were sweeter than a traitor's stain.'

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'If torment be sweet, treasure is liever.

The hoards of a hundred hundred ages,

the gems and jewels of the jealous Gods,

are mine, and a meed shall I mete thee thence, yea, wealth to glut the Worm of Greed.'

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'Canst not learn of thy lore when thou look'st on a foe, O Bauglir unblest? Bray no longer

of the things thou hast thieved from the Three Kindreds. 85

In hate I hold thee, and thy hests in scorn.'

'Boldly thou bravest me. Be thy boast rewarded,'

in mirth quod Morgoth, 'to me now the deeds,

and thy aid I ask not; but anger thee nought

if little they like thee. Yea, look thereon

helpless to hinder, or thy hand to raise.'

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Then Thalion was thrust to Thangorodrim,

that mountain that meets the misty skies

on high o'er the hills that Hithlum sees

blackly brooding on the borders of the north.

To a stool of stone on its steepest peak

they bound him in bonds, an unbreakable chain, and the Lord of Woe there laughing stood,

then cursed him for ever and his kin and seed with a doom of dread, of death and horror.

There the mighty man unmoved sat;

but unveiled was his vision, that he viewed afar all earthly things with eyes enchanted

that fell on his folk -- a fiend's torment.

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I.

TURIN'S FOSTERING.

Lo! the lady Morwin in the Land of Shadows

waited in the woodland for her well-beloved;

but he came never from the combat home.

No tidings told her whether taken or dead,

or lost in flight he lingered yet.

Laid waste his lands, and his lieges slain,

and men unmindful of his mighty lordship

dwelt in Dorlomin and dealt unkindly

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with his widowed wife; and she went with child, who a son must succour now sadly orphaned,

Turin Thaliodrin of tender years.

Then in days of blackness was her daughter born, and was named Nienor, a name of tears

that in language of eld is Lamentation.

Then her thoughts turned to Thingol the Elf-king, and the dancer of Doriath, his daughter Tinuviel, whom the boldest of the brave, Beren Ermabwed, had won to wife. He once had known

firmest friendship to his fellow in arms,

Thalion Erithamrod -- so thought she now,

and said to her son, 'My sweetest child,

our friends are few, and thy father comes not.

Thou must fare afar to the folk of the wood,

where Thingol is throned in the Thousand Caves.

If he remember Morwin and thy mighty sire

he will fain foster thee, and feats of arms

he will teach thee, the trade of targe and sword, and Thalion's son no thrall shall be --

but remember thy mother when thy manhood nears.'

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Heavy boded the heart of Hurin's son,

yet he weened her words were wild with grief, and he denied her not, for no need him seemed.

Lo! henchmen had Morwin, Halog and Gumlin,

who were young of yore ere the youth of Thalion, who alone of the lieges of that lord of Men

steadfast in service staid beside her:

now she bade them brave the black mountains,

and the woods whose ways wander to evil;

though Turin be tender and to travail unused, they must gird them and go; but glad they were not, and Morwin mourned when men saw not.

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Came a summer day when sun filtered

warm through the woodland's waving branches.

Then Morwin stood her mourning hiding

by the gate of her garth in a glade of the woods.

At the breast she mothered her babe unweaned, and the doorpost held lest she droop for anguish.

There Gumlin guided her gallant boy,

and a heavy burden was borne by Halog;

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but the heart of Turin was heavy as stone

uncomprehending its coming anguish.

He sought for comfort, with courage saying:

'Quickly will I come from the courts of Thingol; long ere manhood I will lead to Morwin

great tale of treasure, and true comrades' --

for he wist not the weird woven by Bauglir,

nor the sundering sorrow that swept between.

The farewells are taken: their footsteps are turned to the dark forest: the dwelling fadeth

in the tangled trees. Then in Turin leapt

his awakened heart, and he wept blindly,

calling 'I cannot, I cannot leave thee.

0 Morwin, my mother, why makest me go?

Hateful are the hills where hope is lost.

0 Morwin, my mother, I am meshed in tears.

Grim are the hills, and my home is gone.'

And there came his cries calling faintly

down the dark alleys of the dreary trees,

and one who wept weary on the threshold

heard how the hills said 'my home is gone.'

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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,

and few of the folk have followed it since.

There Turin and the twain knew torment of thirst, and hunger and fear and hideous nights,

for wolfriders and wandering Orcs

and the Things of Morgoth thronged the woodland.

Magics were about them, that they missed their ways and strayed steerless, and the stars were hid.

Thus they passed the mountains, but the mazes of Doriath wildered and wayworn in wanhope bound them.

They had nor bread nor water, and bled of strength their death they deemed it to die forewandered, when they heard a horn that hooted afar,

and baying dogs. It was Beleg the hunter,

who farthest fared of his folk abroad

ahunting by hill and hollow valley,

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who cared not for concourse and commerce of men.

He was great of growth and goodly-limbed,

but lithe of girth, and lightly on the ground his footsteps fell as he fared towards them,

all garbed in grey and green and brown --

a son of the wilderness who wist no sire.

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'Who are ye?' he asked. 'Outlaws, or maybe

hard hunted men whom hate pursueth? '

'Nay, for famine and thirst we faint,' saith Halog,

'wayworn and wildered, and wot not the road.

Or hast not heard of the hills of slain,

or the tear-drenched field where the terror and fire of Morgoth devoured both Men and Elves?