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| '''Iúmonna Gold Galdre Bewunden''' is a poem by [[J.R.R. Tolkien]]. The [[Old English]] title of the poem is taken from a line of verse contained within ''[[Beowulf]]'', which in modern English reads: "the gold of men of long ago enmeshed in enchantment" (l. 3052).<ref>{{L|235}}</ref> | | '''Iúmonna Gold Galdre Bewunden''' is a poem by [[J.R.R. Tolkien]]. The [[Old English]] title of the poem is taken from a line of verse contained within ''[[Beowulf (poem)|Beowulf]]'', which in modern English reads: "the gold of men of long ago enmeshed in enchantment" (l. 3052).<ref>{{L|235}}</ref> |
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| The poem was published by Tolkien in three different versions. The first version was published in January [[1923]] within ''The Gryphon'' (n.s.4, no.4) as "Iúmonna Gold Galdre Bewunden". A heavily revised version, although bearing the same title, was then published in the ''Oxford Magazine'' 55, no.15 ([[4 March]] [[1937]]). The third version, differing little from the second but bearing the title "[[The Hoard]]", was finally published in ''[[The Adventures of Tom Bombadil|The Adventures of Tom Bombadil and Other Verses from the Red Book]]'' in [[1962]]. | | The poem was published by Tolkien in three different versions. The first version was published in January [[1923]] within ''The Gryphon'' (n.s.4, no.4) as "Iúmonna Gold Galdre Bewunden". A heavily revised version, although bearing the same title, was then published in the ''Oxford Magazine'' 55, no.15 ([[4 March]] [[1937]]). The third version, differing little from the second but bearing the title "[[The Hoard]]", was finally published in ''[[The Adventures of Tom Bombadil|The Adventures of Tom Bombadil and Other Verses from the Red Book]]'' in [[1962]]. |
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| The original 1923 version was reprinted in in [[Douglas A. Anderson]]'s ''[[The Annotated Hobbit]]''. Both the 1923 and 1937 versions were reprinted in ''[[Beowulf and the Critics]]'' in 2002 along with one intermediate version.<ref>[[Wayne G. Hammond]] and [[Christina Scull]], ''[[The J.R.R. Tolkien Companion and Guide]]: Reader's Guide'', p.383</ref> | | The original 1923 version was reprinted in [[Douglas A. Anderson]]'s ''[[The Annotated Hobbit]]''. Both the 1923 and 1937 versions were reprinted in ''[[Beowulf and the Critics]]'' in 2002 along with one intermediate version.<ref>{{CG|RG}}, p. 383</ref> |
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| ==1923 version==
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| <poem>
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| There were elves olden and strong spells
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| Under green hills in hollow dells
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| They sang o’er the gold they wrought with
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| mirth,
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| In the deeps of time in the young earth,
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| Ere Hell was digged, ere the dragons’ brood
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| Or the dwarves were spawned in dungeons
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| rude;
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| And men there were in a few lands
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| That caught some cunning of their mouths
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| and hands.
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| Yet their doom came and their songs failed.
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| And greed that made them not to its holes
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| haled
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| Their gems and gold and their loveliness,
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| And the shadows fell on Elfinesse.
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| There was an old dwarf in a deep grot
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| That counted the gold things he had got.
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| That the dwarves had stolen from men and
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| elves
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| And kept in the dark to their gloomy selves.
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| His eyes grew dim and his ears dull.
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| And the skin was yellow on his old skull ;
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| There ran unseen through his bony claw
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| The faint glimmer of gems without a flaw.
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| He heard not feet that shook the earth.
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| Nor the rush of wings, not the brazen mirth
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| Of dragons young in their fiery lust:
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| His hope was in gold and in jewels his trust.
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| Yet a dragon found his dark cold hole,
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| And he lost the earth and the things he stole.
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| There was an old dragon under an old stone
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| Blinking with red eyes all alone.
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| The flames of his fiery heart burnt dim;
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| His was knobbed and wrinkled and bent of
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| limb;
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| His joy was dead and his cruel youth.
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| But his lust still smouldered and he had no
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| ruth.
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| To the slime of his belly the gems stuck thick
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| And his things of gold he would snuff and lick
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| As he lay thereon and dreamed of the woe
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| And grinding anguish thieves should know
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| That ever set finger on one small ring;
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| And dreaming uneasy he stirred a wing.
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| He heard not the step nor the harness clink
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| Till the fearless warrior at his cavern’s brink
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| Called him come out and fight for his gold.
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| Yet iron rent his heart with anguish cold.
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| There was an old king on a high throne :
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| His white beard was laid on his knees of bone,
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| And his mouth savoured nor meat nor drink,
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| Nor his ears song, he could only think
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| Of his huge chest with carven lid
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| Where the gold and jewels unseen lay hid
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| In a secret treasury in the dark ground,
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| Whose mighty doors were iron-bound.
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| The swords of his warriors did dull and rust,
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| His glory was tarnished and his rule unjust,
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| His halls hollow and his bowers cold,
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| But he was king of elfin gold.
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| He heard not the horns in the mountain pass.
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| He smelt not the blood on the trodden grass.
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| Yet his halls were burned and his kingdom
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| lost,
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| In a grave unhonoured his bones were tossed.
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| There is an old hoard in a dark rock
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| Forgotten behind doors none can unlock.
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| The keys are lost and the path gone.
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| The mound unheeded that the grass grows on :
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| The sheep crop it and the larks rise
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| From its green mantle, and no man’s eyes
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| Shall find its secret, till those return
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| Who wrought the treasure, till again burn
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| The lights of Faery, and the woods shake,
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| And songs long silent once more awake.
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| </poem>
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| ==1937 version==
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| <poem>
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| When the moon was new and the sun young
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| of silver and gold the gods sung:
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| in the green grass they silver spilled;
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| and the white waters they with gold filled.
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| Ere the pit was dug or Hell yawned,
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| ere dwarf was bred or dragon spawned,
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| there were elves of old, and strong spells
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| under green hills in hollow dells
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| they sang as they wrought many fair things,
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| the bright crowns of the Elf-kings.
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| But their doom fell, and their song waned,
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| by iron hewn and by steel chained.
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| Greed that sang not, nor with mouth smiled,
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| in dark holes their wealth piled,
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| graven silver and carven gold:
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| over Elvenhome the shadow rolled.
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| There was an old dwarf in a dark cave,
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| to silver and gold his fingers clave;
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| with hammer and tongs and anvil-stone
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| he worked his hands to the hard bone,
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| and coins he made, and strings of rings,
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| and thought to buy the power of kings.
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| But his eyes grew dim and his ears dull,
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| and the skin yellow on his old skull;
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| through his bony claw with a pale sheen
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| the stony jewels slipped unseen.
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| No feet he heard, though the earth quaked,
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| when the young dragon his thirst slaked,
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| and the stream smoked at his dark door;
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| the flames hissed on the dank floor.
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| He died alone in the red fire,
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| and his bones were ash in the hot mire.
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| There was an old dragon under grey stone;
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| his red eyes blinked as he lay alone.
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| His joy was dead and his youth spent,
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| he was knobbed and wrinkled, and his limbs bent
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| with the long years to his gold chained;
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| in his heart's furnace the lire waned.
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| To his belly's slime gems stuck thick,
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| silver and gold he would snuff and lick:
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| he knew the place of the least ring
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| beneath the shadow of his black wing.
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| Of thieves he thought on his hard bed
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| and dreamed that on their flesh he fed.
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| their bones crushed, and their blood drank;
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| his cars drooped and his breath sank.
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| Mail-rings rang. He heard them not.
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| A voice echoed in his deep grot:
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| a young warrior with a bright sword
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| called him forth to defend his hoard.
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| His teeth were knives, and of horn his hide,
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| but iron lore him, and his flame died.
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| There was an old king on a high throne:
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| his white beard lay on knees of bone;
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| his mouth savoured neither meat nor drink,
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| nor his ears song; he could only think
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| of his huge chest with carven lid
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| where pale gems and gold lay hid,
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| in secret treasury in the dark ground
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| whose strong doors were iron-bound.
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| The swords of his thanes were dull with rust,
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| his glory fallen, his rule unjust,
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| his halls hollow, and his bowers cold,
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| but king he was of elvish gold.
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| He heard not the horns in the mountain-pass,
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| he smelt not the blood on the trodden grass,
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| but his halls were burned, his kingdom lost;
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| in a cold pit his bones were tossed.
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| There is an old hoard in a dark rock,
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| forgotten behind doors none can unlock;
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| that grim gate no man can pass.
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| On the mound grows the green grass;
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| there sheep feed and the larks soar,
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| and the wind blows from the sea-shore.
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| While gods wait and the elves sleep,
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| its old secret shall the earth keep.
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| </poem>
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| ==See also== | | ==See also== |
| * [[Poems by J.R.R. Tolkien]] | | * [[Index:Poems by J.R.R. Tolkien|Poems by J.R.R. Tolkien]] |
| {{references}} | | {{references}} |
| | {{DEFAULTSORT:Iumonna Gold Galdre Bewunden}} |
| [[Category:Poems by J.R.R. Tolkien]] | | [[Category:Poems by J.R.R. Tolkien]] |