the story of beren and lúthien ~ finished by geoff zeiger
V
So days drew on from that mournful day;
the curse of silence no more lay
on Doriath, though Dairon's flute 1275
and Lúthien's singing both were mute.
The murmurs soft awake once more
about the woods, the waters roar
past the great gates of Thingol's halls,
but no dancing step of Lúthien falls 1280
on turf or leaf, for she, forlorn,
where stumbled once, where bruised and torn,
with longing on him like a dream
had Beren sat by the shrouded stream
Esgalduin the dark and strong, 1285
she sat and mourned in a low song:
"Endless roll the waters past!
To this my love hath come at last,
enchanted waters pitiless,
a heartache and a loneliness." 1290
The summer turns. In branches tall
she hears the pattering raindrops fall,
the windy tide in leafy seas,
the creaking of the countless trees;
and longs unceasing and in vain 1295
to hear one calling once again
the tender name that nightingales
were called of old. Echo fails.
"Tinúviel! Tinúviel!"
the memory is like a knell, 1300
a faint and far off tolling bell:
"Tinúviel! Tinúviel!"
"O! mother Melian, tell to me
some part of what thy dark eyes see!
Tell of thy magic where his feet 1305
are wandering! What foes him meet?
Tell me, mother, lives he still,
treading the desert and the hill?
Do sun and moon above him shine,
do the rains fall on him, mother mine?" 1310
"Nay Lúthien, my child, I fear
he lives indeed in bondage drear.
The Lord of Wolves hath prisons dark,
chains and enchantments cruel and stark.
There trapped and bound and languishing 1315
now Beren dreams that thou dost sing."
"Then I alone must go to him,
and dare the dread in dungeons dim;
for none there be that will him aid
in all the world, save elven-maid 1320
whose only skill were joy and song,
and both have failed and left her long."
Then naught said Melian thereto,
though wild the words. She wept anew
and ran through the woods like hunted deer 1325
with her hair streaming and eyes of fear.
Dairon she found with ferny crown
silent sitting on beech-leaves brown.
On the earth she cast her at his side.
"O Dairon, Dairon, my tears," she cried, 1330
"now pity for our old days' sake!
Make me a music for heart's ache,
for heart's despair, and for heart's dread,
for light gone dark and laughter dead!"
"But for music dead there is no note," 1335
Dairon answered, and at his throat
his fingers clutched. Yet pipe he took,
and sadly trembling the music shook;
and all things stayed while that piping went
wailing in the hollows, and there intent 1340
they listened, their business and their mirth,
their hearts' gladness and the light of earth
forgotten; and bird-voices failed
while Dairon's flute in Doriath wailed.
Lúthien wept not for very pain, 1345
and when he ceased she spoke again:
"My friend, I have a need of friends,
as one who long dark journey wends,
and fears the road, yet dare not turn
and look back where the candles burn 1350
in windows he has left. The night
in front, he doubts to find the light
that far beyond the hills he seeks."
And thus of Melian's words she speaks,
and of her doom and her desire 1355
to climb the mountains and the fire
and ruin of the Northern realm
to dare, a maiden without helm
or sword, or strength of hardy limb,
where magic founders and grows dim. 1360
His aid she sought to guide her forth
and find the pathways to the North,
if he would not for love of her
go by her side a wanderer.
"Wherefore," said he, "should Dairon go 1365
to direst peril earth doth know
for the sake of mortal who did steal
his laughter and joy? No love I feel
for Beren son of Barahir,
nor weep for him in dungeons drear, 1370
who in this wood have chains enow,
heavy and dark. But thee, I vow,
I will defend from hatred fell
and deadly wandering into hell."
Now more they spake that day, and she 1375
perceived not his meaning. Sorrowfully
she thanked him and she left him there.
A tree she climbed, till the bright air
above the woods her dark hair blew
and straining afar her eyes could view 1380
the outline grey and faint and low
of dizzy towers where the clouds go,
the southern faces mounting sheer
in rocky pinnacle and pier
of Shadowy Mountains pale and cold; 1385
and wide the lands before them rolled.
But straightway Dairon sought the king
and told of his daughter's pondering,
and how her madness might her lead
to ruin, unless the king gave heed. 1390
Thingol was wroth, and yet amazed;
in wonder and half fear he gazed
on Dairon, and said: "True hast thou been.
Now ever shall love be us between,
while Doriath lasts; within this realm 1395
thou art a prince of beech and elm!"
He sent for Lúthien, and said:
"O maiden fair, what hath thee led
to ponder madness and despair
to wander to ruin, and to fare 1400
from Doriath against my will,
stealing like wild thing men would kill
into the emptiness outside?"
"The wisdom, father" she replied;
nor would she promise to forget, 1405
nor would she vow for love or threat
her folly to forsake and meek
in Doriath her father's will to seek.
This only vowed she, if go she must,
that none but herself would she now trust, 1410
no folk of her father's would persuade
to break his will or lend her aid;
if go she must, she would go alone,
and friendless dare the walls of stone.
In angry love and half in fear 1415
Thingol took counsel his most dear
to guard and keep. He would not bind
in caverns deep and intertwined
sweet Lúthien, his lovely maid,
who robbed of air must wane and fade, 1420
who ever must look upon the sky
and see the sun and moon go by.
But close unto his mounded seat
and grassy throne there ran the feet
of Hirilorn, the beechen queen. 1425
Upon her triple boles were seen
no break or branch, until aloft
in a greener glimmer, distant, soft,
the mightiest vault of leaf and bough
from world's beginning until now 1430
was flung above Esgalduin's shores
and the long slopes to Thingol's doors.
Grey was the rind of pillars tall
and silken-smooth, and far and small
to squirrels' eyes were those who went 1435
at her grey feet upon the bent.
Now Thingol made men in the beech,
in that great tree, as far as reach
their longest ladders, there to build
an airy house; and as he willed 1440
a little dwelling of fair wood
was made, and veiled in leaves it stood
above the first branches. Corners three
it had, and windows faint to see,
and by three shafts of Hirilorn 1445
in the corners standing was upborne.
There Lúthien was bidden dwell
until she was wiser and the spell
of madness left her. Up she clomb
the long ladders to her new home 1450
among the leaves, among the birds;
she sang no song, she spoke no words.
White glimmering in the tree she rose,
and her little door they heard her close.
The ladders were taken and no more 1455
her feet might tread Esgalduin's shore.
Thither at whiles they climbed and brought
all things she needed or besought;
but death was his, whoso should dare
a ladder leave, or creeping there 1460
should set one by the tree at night;
a guard was held from dusk to light
about the grey feet of Hirilorn
and Lúthien in prison and forlorn.
There Dairon often grieving stood 1465
in sorrow for the captive of the wood,
and melodies made upon his flute
leaning against a grey tree-root.
Lúthien would from her windows stare
and see him far under piping there, 1470
and she forgave his betraying word
for the music and the grief she heard,
and only Dairon would she let
across her threshold foot to set.
Yet long the hours that she must sit 1475
and see the sunbeams dance and flit
in beechen leaves, or watch the stars
peep on clear nights between the bars
of beechen branches. And one night
just ere the changing of the light 1480
a dream there came, from the Gods, maybe,
or Melian's magic. She dreamed that she
heard Beren's voice o'er hill and fell
her sweetly call, "Tinúviel."
And her heart answered: "Let me be gone 1485
to seek him no others think upon!"
She woke and saw the moonlight pale
through the slim leaves. It trembled frail
upon her arms, as these she spread
and there in longing bowed her head, 1490
and yearned for freedom and escape.
Then Lúthien did her counsel shape,
and Melian's daughter of deep lore
knew many things, yea, magics more
than then or now know elven-maids 1495
that glint and shimmer in the glades.
She pondered long, while the moon sank
and faded, and the starlight shrank,
and the dawn opened. At last a smile
on her face flickered. She mused a while, 1500
and watched the morning sunlight grow,
and called to those that walked below.
And when one climbed to her she prayed
that he would in the dark pools wade
of cold Esgalduin, water clear, 1505
the clearest water, cold and sheer
to draw for her. "At middle night,"
she said, "in bowl of silver white
it must be drawn and brought to me
with no word spoken, silently." 1510
Another she begged to bring her wine
in a jar of gold where flowers twine –
"and singing let him come to me
at high noon, singing merrily."
Again she spake: "Now go, I pray, 1515
to Melian the queen, and say:
'thy daughter many a weary hour
slow passing watches in her bower;
a spinning-wheel she begs thee send.'"
Then Dairon she called: "I prithee, friend, 1520
climb up and talk to Lúthien!"
And sitting at her window then,
she said: "My Dairon, thou hast craft,
beside thy music, many a shaft
and many a tool of carven wood 1525
to fashion with cunning. It were good,
if thou wouldst make a little loom
to stand in the corner of my room.
My idle fingers would spin and weave
a pattern of colours, of morn and eve, 1530
of sun and moon and changing light
amid the beech-leaves waving bright."
This Dairon did and asked her then:
"O Lúthien, O Lúthien,
what wilt thou weave? What wilt thou spin?" 1535
"A marvelous thread, and wind therein
a potent magic, and a spell
I will weave within my web that hell
nor all the powers of Dread shall break."
Then Dairon wondered, but he spake 1540
no word to Thingol, though his heart
feared the dark purpose of her art.
And Lúthien now was left alone.
A magic song to Men unknown
she sang, and singing then the wine 1545
with water mingled three times nine;
and as in golden jar they lay
she sang a song of growth and day;
and as they lay in silver white
another song she sang, of night 1550
and darkness without end, of height
uplifted to the stars, and flight
and freedom. And all names of things
tallest and longest on earth she sings:
the locks of the Longbeard dwarves; the tail 1560
of Draugluin the werewolf pale;
the body of Glómund the great snake;
the vast upsoaring peaks that quake
above the fires in Angband's gloom;
the chain Angainor that ere Doom 1565
for Morgoth shall by Gods be wrought
of steel and torment. Names she sought,
and sang of Glend the sword of Nan;
of Gilim the giant of Eruman;
and last and longest named she then 1570
the endless hair of Uinen,
the Lady of the Sea, that lies
through all the waters under skies.
Then did she lave her head and sing
a theme of sleep and slumbering, 1575
profound and fathomless and dark
as Lúthien's shadowy hair was dark –
each thread was more slender and more fine
than threads of twilight that entwine
in filmy web the fading grass 1580
and closing flowers as day doth pass.
Now long and longer grew her hair,
and fell to her feet, and wandered there
like pools of shadow on the ground.
Then Lúthien in a slumber drowned 1585
was laid upon her bed and slept,
till morning through the windows crept
yet thin and faint. And then she woke,
and the room was filled as with a smoke
and with an evening mist, and deep 1590
she lay thereunder drowsed in sleep.
Behold! her hair from windows blew
in morning airs, and darkly grew
waving about the pillars grey
of Hirilorn at break of day. 1595
Then groping she found her little shears
and cut the hair about her ears,
and close she cropped it to her head,
enchanted tresses, thread by thread.
Thereafter grew they slow once more, 1600
yet darker than their wont before.
And now was her labour but begun:
long was she spinning, long she spun;
and though with elvish skill she wrought,
long was her weaving. If men sought 1605
to call her, crying from below,
"Nothing I need," she answered, "go!
I would keep my bed, and only sleep
I now desire, who waking weep."
Then Dairon feared, and in amaze 1610
he called from under, but three days
she answered not. Of cloudy hair
she wove a web like misty air
of moonless night, and thereof made
a cloak as fluttering-dark as shade 1615
beneath great trees, a magic dress
that all was drenched with drowsiness,
enchanted with a mightier spell
than Melian's raiment in that dell
wherein of yore did Thingol roam 1620
beneath the dark and starry dome
that hung above the dawning world.
And now this robe she round her furled,
and veiled her garments shimmering white;
her mantle blue with jewels bright 1625
like crystal stars, the lilies gold
were wrapped and hid; and down there rolled
dim dreams and faint oblivious sleep
falling about her, to softly creep
through all the air. Then swift she takes 1630
the threads unused; of these she makes
a slender rope of twisted strands
yet long and stout, and with her hands
she makes it fast unto the shaft
of Hirilorn. Now, all her craft 1635
and labour ended, looks she forth
from her little window facing North.
Already the sunlight in the trees
is drooping red, and dusk she sees
come softly along the ground below, 1640
and now she murmurs soft and slow.
Now chanting clearer down she cast
her long hair, till it reached at last
from her window to the darkling ground.
Men far beneath her heard the sound; 1645
but the slumberous strand now swung and swayed
above her guards. Their talking stayed,
they listened to her voice and fell
suddenly beneath a binding spell.
Now clad as in a cloud she hung; 1650
now down her ropéd hair she swung
as light as squirrel, and away,
away she danced, and who could say
what paths she took, whose elvish feet
no impress made a-dancing fleet? 1655