the story of beren and lúthien ~ finished by geoff zeiger
XII
In that vast shadow once of yore
Fingolfin stood; his shield he bore 3610
with field of heaven's blue and star
of crystal shimmering pale afar.
In overmastering wrath and hate
desperate he smote upon that gate,
the Gnomish king, there standing lone, 3615
while endless fortresses of stone
engulfed the thin clear ringing keen
of silver horn on baldric green.
His hopeless challenge dauntless cried
Fingolfin there: "Come, open wide, 3620
dark king, your ghastly brazen doors!
Come forth, whom earth and heaven abhors!
Come forth, O monstrous craven lord,
and fight with thine own hand and sword,
thou wielder of hosts of banded thralls, 3625
thou tyrant leaguered with strong walls,
thou foe of Gods and elvish race!
I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!"
Then Morgoth came. For the last time
in those great wars he dared to climb 3630
from subterranean throne profound,
the rumour of his feet a sound
of rumbling earthquake underground.
Black-armoured, towering, iron-crowned
he issued forth; his mighty shield 3635
a vast unblazoned sable field
with shadow like a thundercloud;
and o'er the gleaming king it bowed,
as huge aloft like mace he hurled
that hammer of the underworld, 3640
Grond. Clanging to ground it tumbled
down like a thunder-bolt, and crumbled
the rocks beneath it; smoke up-started,
a pit yawned, and a fire darted.
Fingolfin like a shooting light 3645
beneath a cloud, a stab of white,
sprang then aside, and Ringil drew
like ice that gleameth cold and blue,
his sword devised of elvish skill
to pierce the flesh with deadly chill. 3650
With seven wounds it rent his foe,
and seven mighty cries of woe
rang in the mountains, and the earth quook,
and Angband's trembling armies shook.
Yet Orcs would after laughing tell 3655
of the duel at the gates of hell;
though elvish song thereof was made
ere this but one – when proud was laid
the mighty king in barrow high,
and Thorndor, Eagle of the sky, 3660
the dreadful tidings brought and told
to mourning Elfinesse of old.
Thrice was Fingolfin with great blows
to his knees beaten, thrice he rose
still leaping up beneath the cloud 3665
aloft to hold star-shining, proud,
his stricken shield, his sundered helm,
that dark nor might could overwhelm
till all the earth was burst and rent
in pits about him. He was spent. 3670
His feet stumbled. He fell to wreck
upon the ground, and on his neck
a foot like rooted hills was set,
and he was crushed – not conquered yet;
one last despairing stroke he gave: 3675
the mighty foot pale Ringil clave
about the heel, and black the blood
gushed as from smoking fount in flood.
Halt goes for ever from that stroke
great Morgoth; but the king he broke, 3680
and would have hewn and mangled thrown
to wolves devouring. Lo! from throne
that Manwë bade him build on high,
on peak unscaled beneath the sky,
Morgoth to watch, now down there swooped 3685
Thorndor the King of Eagles, stooped,
and rending beak of gold he smote
in Bauglir's face, then up did float
on pinions thirty fathoms wide
bearing away, though loud they cried, 3690
the mighty corse, the Elven-King;
and where the mountains make a ring
far to the south about that plain
where after Gondolin did reign,
embattled city, at great height 3695
upon a dizzying snowcap white
in mounded cairn the mighty dead
he laid upon the mountain's head.
Never Orc nor demon after dared
that pass to climb, o'er which there stared 3700
Fingolfin's high and holy tomb,
till Gondolin's appointed doom.
Thus Bauglir earned the furrowed scar
that his dark countenance doth mar,
and thus his limping gait he gained; 3705
but afterward profound he reigned
darkling upon his hidden throne;
and thunderous paced his halls of stone,
slow building there his vast design
the world in thralldom to confine. 3710
Wielder of armies, lord of woe,
no rest now gave he slave or foe;
his watch and ward he thrice increased,
his spies were sent from West to East
and tidings brought from all the North, 3715
who fought, who fell, who ventured forth,
who wrought in secret; who had hoard;
if maid were fair or proud were lord;
well nigh all things he knew, all hearts
well nigh enmeshed in evil arts. 3720
Doriath only, beyond the veil
woven by Melian, no assail
could hurt or enter; but rumour dim
of things there passing came to him.
A rumour loud and tidings clear 3725
of other movements far and near
among his foes, and threat of war
from the seven sons of Fëanor,
from Nargothrond, from Fingon still
gathering his armies under hill 3730
and under tree in Hithlum's shade,
these daily came. He grew afraid
amidst his power once more; renown
of Beren vexed his ears, and down
the aisléd forests there was heard 3735
great Huan baying.
Then came word
most passing strange of Lúthien
wild-wandering by wood and glen,
and Thingol's purpose long he weighed,
and wondered, thinking of that maid 3740
so fair, so frail. A captain dire,
Boldog, he sent with sword and fire
to Doriath's march; but battle fell
sudden upon him: news to tell
never one returned of Boldog's host, 3745
and Thingol humbled Morgoth's boast.
Then his heart with doubt and wrath was burned:
new tidings of dismay he learned,
how Thû was overthrown, his isle
broken and plundered, how with guile 3750
his foes now guile beset; and spies
he feared, till each Orc to his eyes
was half suspect. Still ever down
the aisléd forests came renown
of Huan baying, hound of war 3755
that Gods unleashed in Valinor.
Then Morgoth of Huan's fate bethought
long-rumoured, and in dark he wrought.
Fierce hunger-haunted packs he had
that in wolvish form and flesh were clad, 3760
but demon spirits dire did hold;
and ever wild their voices rolled
in cave and mountain where they housed
and endless snarling echoes roused.
From these a whelp he chose and fed 3765
with his own hand on bodies dead,
on fairest flesh of Elves and Men,
till huge he grew and in his den
no more could creep, but by the chair
of Morgoth's self would lie and glare, 3770
nor suffer Balrog, Orc, nor beast
to touch him. Many a ghastly feast
he held beneath that awful throne,
rending flesh and gnawing bone.
There deep enchantment on him fell, 3775
the anguish and the power of hell;
more great and terrible he became
with fire-red eyes and jaws aflame,
with breath like vapours of the grave,
than any beast of wood or cave, 3780
than any beast of earth or hell
that ever in any time befell,
surpassing all his race and kin,
the ghastly tribe of Draugluin.
Him Carcharoth, the Red Maw, name 3785
the songs of Elves. Not yet he came
disastrous, ravening, from the gates
of Angband. There he sleepless waits;
where those great portals threatening loom
his red eyes smolder in the gloom, 3790
his teeth are bare, his jaws are wide;
and none may walk, nor creep, nor glide,
nor thrust with power his menace past
to enter Morgoth's dungeons vast.
Now, lo! before his watchful eyes 3795
a slinking shape he far descries
that crawls into the frowning plain
and halts at gaze, then on again
comes stalking near, a wolvish shape
haggard, wayworn, with jaws agape; 3800
and o'er it batlike in wide rings
a reeling shadow slowly wings.
Such shapes there oft were seen to roam,
this land their native haunt and home;
and yet his mood with strange unease 3805
is filled, and boding thoughts him seize.
"What grievous terror, what dread guard
hath Morgoth set to wait, and barred
his doors against all entering feet?
Long ways we came at last to meet 3810
the very maw of death that opes
between us and our quest! Yet hopes
we never had. No turning back!"
Thus Beren speaks, as in his track
he halts and sees with werewolf eyes 3815
afar the horror that there lies.
Then onward desperate he passed,
skirting the black pits yawning vast,
where King Fingolfin ruinous fell
alone before the gates of hell. 3820
Before those gates alone they stood,
while Carcharoth in doubtful mood
glowered upon them, and snarling spoke,
and echoes in the arches woke:
"Hail! Draugluin, my kindred's lord! 3825
'Tis very long since hitherward
thou camest. Yea, 'tis passing strange
to see thee now: a grievous change
is on thee, lord, who once so dire,
so dauntless, and as fleet as fire, 3830
ran over wild and waste, but now
with weariness must bend and bow!
'Tis hard to find the struggling breath
when Huan's teeth as sharp as death
have rent the throat? What fortune rare 3835
brings thee back living here to fare –
if Draugluin thou art? Come near!
I would know more, and see thee clear."
"Who art thou, young upstart whelp,
to bar my ways whom thou shouldst help? 3840
I fare with hasty tidings new
to Morgoth from forest-haunting Thû.
Aside! for I must in, or go
and swift my coming tell below!"
Then up that doorward slowly stood, 3845
eyes shining grim with evil mood,
uneasy growling: "Draugluin,
if such thou be, now enter in!
But what is this which crawls beside,
linking as if 'twould neath thee hide? 3850
Though wingéd creatures to and fro
unnumbered pass here, all I know.
I know not this. Stay, vampire, stay!
I like not thy kin nor thee. Come, say
what sneaking errand doth thee bring, 3855
thou wingéd vermin, to the king!
Small matter, I doubt not, if thou stay
or enter, or if in my play
I crush thee like a fly on wall,
or bite thy wings and make thee crawl." 3860
Huge-stalking, noisome, close he came.
In Beren's eyes there gleamed a flame;
the hair upon his neck uprose.
Naught may the fragrance fair enclose,
the odor of immortal flowers 3865
in everlasting spring neath showers
that glitter silver in the grass
in Valinor. Where'er did pass
Tinúviel, such air there went.
From that foul devil-sharpened scent 3870
its sudden sweetness no disguise
enchanted dark to cheat the eyes
could keep, if near those nostrils drew
snuffling in doubt. This Beren knew
upon the brink of hell prepared 3875
for battle and death. There threatening stared
those dreadful shapes, in hatred both,
false Draugluin and Carcharoth
when, lo! a marvel to behold:
some power descended from of old, 3880
from race divine beyond the West,
sudden Tinúviel possessed
like inner fire. The vampire dark
she flung aside, and like a lark
cleaving through night to dawn she sprang, 3885
while sheer, heart-piercing silver, rang
her voice, as those long trumpets keen
thrilling, unbearable, unseen
in the cold aisles of morn. Her cloak
by white hands woven, like a smoke, 3890
like all-bewildering, all-enthralling,
all-enfolding evening, falling
from lifted arms, as forth she stepped,
across those awful eyes she swept,
a shadow and a mist of dreams 3895
wherein enchanted starlight gleams.
"Sleep, O unhappy, tortured thrall!
Thou woebegotten, fail and fall
down, down from anguish, hatred, pain,
from lust, from hunger, bond and chain, 3900
to that oblivion, dark and deep,
the well, the lightless pit of sleep!
For one brief hour escape the net,
the dreadful doom of life forget!"
His eyes were quenched, his limbs were loosed; 3905
he fell like running steer that noosed
and tripped goes crashing to the ground.
Deathlike, moveless, without a sound
outstretched he lay, as lightning stroke
had felled a huge o'ershadowing oak. 3910