The Lays of Beleriand. Christopher Tolkien

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СКАЧАТЬ torchlit hallsof Thingol the king; in the Thousand Cavesto be healéd whole by the hands enchanted730of Melian Mablui, the moonlit queen.

Ere a week was outworn his wounds were cured,
but his heart’s heaviness those hands of snow
nor soothed nor softened, and sorrow-laden
he fared to the forest. No fellows sought he	735
in his hopeless hazard, but in haste alone
he followed the feet of the foes of Elfland,
the dread daring, and the dire anguish,
that held the hearts of Hithlum’s men
and Doriath’s doughtiest in a dream of fear.	740
Unmatched among Men, or magic-wielding
Elves, or hunters of the Orc-kindred,
or beasts of prey for blood pining,
was his craft and cunning, that cold and dead
an unseen slot could scent o’er stone,	745
foot-prints could find on forest pathways
that lightly on the leaves were laid in moons
long waned, and washed by windy rains.
The grim Glamhoth’s goblin armies
go cunning-footed, but his craft failed not	750
to tread their trail, till the lands were darkened,
and the light was lost in lands unknown.
Never-dawning night was netted clinging
in the black branches of the beetling trees;
oppressed by pungent pinewood’s odours,	755
and drowsed with dreams as the darkness thickened,
he strayed steerless. The stars were hid,
and the moon mantled. There magic foundered
in the gathering glooms, there goblins even
(whose deep eyes drill the darkest shadows)	760
bewildered wandered, who the way forsook
to grope in the glades, there greyly loomed
of girth unguessed in growth of ages
the topless trunks of trees enchanted.
That fathomless fold by folk of Elfland	765
is Taur-na-Fuin, the Trackless Forest
of Deadly Nightshade, dreadly naméd.
Abandoned, beaten, there Beleg lying
to the wind harkened winding, moaning
in bending boughs; to branches creaking	770
up high over head, where huge pinions
of the pluméd pine-trees complained darkly
in black foreboding. There bowed hopeless,
in wit wildered, and wooing death,
he saw on a sudden a slender sheen	775
shine a-shimmering in the shades afar,
like a glow-worm’s lamp a-gleaming dim.
He marvelled what it might be as he moved softly;
for he knew not the Gnomes of need delving
in the deep dungeons of dark Morgoth.	780
Unmatched their magic in metal-working,
who jewels and gems that rejoiced the Gods
aforetime fashioned, when they freedom held,
now swinking slaves of ceaseless labour
in Angband’s smithies, nor ever were suffered	785
to wander away, warded always.
But little lanterns of lucent crystal
and silver cold with subtlest cunning
they strangely fashioned, and steadfast a flame
burnt unblinking there blue and pale,	790
unquenched for ever. The craft that lit them
was the jewel-makers’ most jealous secret.
Not Morgoth’s might, nor meed nor torment
them vowed, availed to reveal that lore;
yet lights and lamps of living radiance,	795
many and magical, they made for him.
No dark could dim them the deeps wandering;
whose lode they lit was lost seldom
in groundless grot, or gulfs far under.

’Twas a Gnome he beheld on the heaped needles	800
of a pine-tree pillowed, when peering wary
he crept closer. The covering pelt
was loosed from the lamp of living radiance
by his side shining. Slumber-shrouded
his fear-worn face was fallen in shade.	805
Lest in webs woven of unwaking sleep,
spun round by spells in those spaces dark,
he lie forlorn and lost for ever,
the Hunter hailed him in the hushed forest –
to the drowsy deeps of his dream profound	810
fear ever-following came falling loud;
as the lancing lightning he leapt to his feet
full deeming that dread and death were upon him,
Flinding go-Fuilin fleeing in anguish
from the mines of Morgoth. Marvelling he heard	815
the ancient tongue of the Elves of Tûn;
and Beleg the Bowman embraced him there,
and learnt his lineage and luckless fate,
how thrust to thraldom in a throng of captives,
from the kindred carried and the cavernous halls	820
of the Gnomes renowned of Nargothrond,
long years he laboured under lashes and flails
of the baleful Balrogs, abiding his time.
A tale he unfolded of terrible flight
o’er flaming fell and fuming hollow,	825
o’er the parchéd dunes of the Plains of Drouth,
till his heart took hope and his heed was less.
‘Then Taur-na-Fuin entangled my feet
in its mazes enmeshed; and madness took me
that I wandered witless, unwary stumbling	830
and beating the boles of the brooding pines
in idle anger – and the Orcs heard me.
They were camped in a clearing, that close at hand
by mercy I missed. Their marching road
is beaten broad through the black shadows	835
by wizardry warded from wandering Elves;
but dread they know of the Deadly Nightshade,
and in haste only do they hie that way.
Now cruel cries and clamorous voices
awoke in the wood, and winged arrows	840
from horny bows hummed about me;
and following feet, fleet and stealthy,
were padding and pattering on the pine-needles;
and hairy hands and hungry fingers
in the glooms groping, as I grovelled fainting	845
till they cowering found me. Fast they clutched me
beaten and bleeding, and broken in spirit
they laughing led me, my lagging footsteps
with their spears speeding. Their spoils were piled,
and countless captives in that camp were chained,	850
and Elfin maids their anguish mourning.
But one they watched, warded sleepless,
was stern-visaged, strong, and in stature tall
as are Hithlum’s men of the misty hills.
Full length he lay and lashed to pickets	855
in baleful bonds, yet bold-hearted
his mouth no mercy of Morgoth sued,
but defied his foes. Foully they smote him.
Then he called, as clear as cry of hunter
that hails his hounds in hollow places,	860
on the name renowned of that noblest king –
but men unmindful remember him little –
Húrin Thalion, who Erithámrod hight,
the Unbending, for Orc and Balrog
and Morgoth’s might on the mountain yet	865
he defies fearless, on a fangéd peak
of thunder-riven Thangorodrim.’

In eager anger then up sprang Beleg,
crying and calling, careless of Flinding:
‘O Túrin, Túrin, my troth-brother,	870
to the brazen bonds shall I abandon thee,
and the darkling doors of the Deeps of Hell?’

‘Thou wilt join his journey to the jaws of sorrow,
O bowman crazéd, if thy bellowing cry
to the Orcs should come; their ears than cats’	875
are keener whetted, and though the camp from here
be a day distant where those deeds I saw,
who knows if the Gnome they СКАЧАТЬ В начало < 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 > В конец