User:Narfil Palùrfalas/Poetry/I Nauglamír
I Nauglamír
Of old flamed a gem in sweet Doriath
that green elven-realm, that fair sundered land,
where Elu Thingol ruled upon a throne
in deep Menegroth, the cavernous hold
where Thingol’s gems were kept in darkling room
beneath the troubles of the world above.
A silver crown rested upon his brow,
a staff was held in his empowering hands,
his keen grey eyes did in sharp justice judge
the fates of fair-crowned elves who there did dwell.
The gem that was there held came from Aman,
where powers great rule with a mighty hand
over all of Eä’s fate. Called Valar
they sat atop lofty Taniquetil
and judged the peoples of the land below
with never-ceasing bright light and pure life,
that came from two trees radiant and yet free,
they lit the earth with gleaming boughs of gold
and silver, ere the moon and sun were wrought.
From Morgoth’s chains was loosed a man of might,
Húrin Thalion was the name of him
chained by the sorcerer’s spells of binding
from lofty bleak peaks of blackened cold stone
upon a binding enchanted seat of rock
cruelly twisted by the king of dark’s hand
looking o’er the sorrows of Húrin’s kin.
Alas, ’twere it not for evil phantom
might Húrin have become e’en greater still?
Mighty did he come, broken did he leave
and Morgoth’s laugh o’er the void echoes still
for the doom of great Húrin Thalion.
Ancient, dotardly old his form was bent;
deemed Morgoth that his will was broke in whole
though still lay sparking fire in Húrin’s heart
doom he brought to Gondolin.
- Stood he there
before the mountains encircling, descried
no eagle that had brought him once thither
to Gondolin, as in day of old ere
Morgoth’s chains encircled his dauntless feet.
Then in vain he cried aloud to he that
would hear, if only rocks and shiv’ring trees
“Turgon, Turgon, remember the dark day
at the Fen of Serech, when I thee saved.”
Yet rocks have ears, for Morgoth’s shadowy spies
did hear what Húrin cried aloud to Turgon
King of Gondolin, and Morgoth smiled
to know where hid that skulking lord of elves –
the last of the free Noldor east of the sea.
Then mourned Thalion “Turgon, hear me now,
Thou who sittest in the great halls of Gondobar!
Pray for me, O stones, and intercede, O trees,
if thou hearest, and if any god will list.”
Then striking earth with his black staff, waited,
and only the grass whispered songs of sorrow,
such was his only reply.
To be continued
