The Lays of Beleriand. Christopher Tolkien

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СКАЧАТЬ forward; there frozen lyinglong while they listened for alarm stirring,for hue and cry, and their hearts cowered;but unbroken the breathing of the bands sleeping,as darkness deepened to dead midnight,1180and the lifeless hour when the loosened souloft sheds the shackles of the shivering flesh.Then dared their dread to draw its breath,and they found their feet in the fouléd earth,and bent they both their backs once more1185to their task of toil, for Túrin woke not.There the huntsman’s hand was hurt deeply,as he groped on the ground, by a gleaming point –’twas Dailir his dart dearly prizédhe had found by his foot in fragments twain,1190and with barbs bended: it broke at lastneath his body falling. It boded ill.

As in dim dreaming, and dazed with horror,
they won their way with weary slowness,
foot by footstep, till fate them granted	1195
the leaguer at last of those lairs to pass,
and their burden laid they, breathless gasping,
on bare-bosméd earth, and abode a while,
ere by winding ways they won their path
up the slanting slopes with silent labour,	1200
with spended strength sprawling to cast them
in the darkling dell neath the deep thicket.
Then sought his sword, and songs of magic
o’er its eager edge with Elfin voice
there Beleg murmured, while bluely glimmered	1205
the lamp of Flinding neath the lacéd thorns.
There wondrous wove he words of sharpness,
and the names of knives and Gnomish blades
he uttered o’er it: even Ogbar’s spear
and the glaive of Gaurin whose gleaming stroke	1210
did rive the rocks of Rodrim’s hall;
the sword of Saithnar, and the silver blades
of the enchanted children of chains forgéd
in their deep dungeon; the dirk of Nargil,
the knife of the North in Nogrod smithied;	1215
the sweeping sickle of the slashing tempest,
the lambent lightning’s leaping falchion
even Celeg Aithorn that shall cleave the world.

Then whistling whirled he the whetted sword-blade
and three times three it threshed the gloom,	1220
till flame was kindled flickering strangely
like licking firelight in the lamp’s glimmer
blue and baleful at the blade’s edges.
Lo! a leering laugh lone and dreadful
by the wind wafted wavered nigh them;	1225
their limbs were loosened in listening horror;
they fancied the feet of foes approaching,
for the horns hearkening of the hunt afoot
in the rustling murmur of roving breezes.
Then quickly curtained with its covering pelt	1230
was the lantern’s light, and leaping Beleg
with his sword severed the searing bonds
on wrist and arm like ropes of hemp
so strong that whetting; in stupor lying
entangled still lay Túrin moveless.	1235
For the feet’s fetters then feeling in the dark
Beleg blundering with his blade’s keenness
unwary wounded the weary flesh
of wayworn foot, and welling blood
bedewed his hand – too dark his magic:	1240
that sleep profound was sudden fathomed;
in fear woke Túrin, and a form he guessed
o’er his body bending with blade naked.
His death or torment he deemed was come,
for oft had the Orcs for evil pastime	1245
him goaded gleeful and gashed with knives
that they cast with cunning, with cruel spears.
Lo! the bonds were burst that had bound his hands:
his cry of battle calling hoarsely
he flung him fiercely on the foe he dreamed,	1250
and Beleg falling breathless earthward
was crushed beneath him. Crazed with anguish
then seized that sword the son of Húrin,
to his hand lying by the help of doom;
at the throat he thrust; through he pierced it,	1255
that the blood was buried in the blood-wet mould;
ere Flinding knew what fared that night,
all was over. With oath and curse
he bade the goblins now guard them well,
or sup on his sword: ‘Lo! the son of Húrin	1260
is freed from his fetters.’ His fancy wandered
in the camps and clearings of the cruel Glamhoth.
Flight he sought not at Flinding leaping
with his last laughter, his life to sell
amid foes imagined; but Fuilin’s son	1265
there stricken with amaze, starting backward,
cried: ‘Magic of Morgoth! A! madness damned!
with friends thou fightest!’ – then falling suddenly
the lamp o’erturned in the leaves shrouded
that its light released illumined pale	1270
with its flickering flame the face of Beleg.
Than the boles of the trees more breathless rooted
stone-faced he stood staring frozen
on that dreadful death, and his deed knowing
wildeyed he gazed with waking horror,	1275
as in endless anguish an image carven.
So fearful his face that Flinding crouched
and watched him, wondering what webs of doom
dark, remorseless, dreadly meshed him
by the might of Morgoth; and he mourned for him,	1280
and for Beleg, who bow should bend no more,
his black yew-wood in battle twanging –
his life had winged to its long waiting
in the halls of the Moon o’er the hills of the sea.

Hark! he heard the horns hooting loudly,	1285
no ghostly laughter of grim phantom,
no wraithlike feet rustling dimly –
the Orcs were up; their ears had hearkened
the cries of Túrin; their camp was tumult,
their lust was alight ere the last shadows	1290
of night were lifted. Then numb with fear
in hoarse whisper to unhearing ears
he told his terror; for Túrin now
with limbs loosened leaden-eyed was bent
crouching crumpled by the corse moveless;	1295
nor sight nor sound his senses knew,
and wavering words he witless murmured,
‘A! Beleg,’ he whispered, ‘my brother-in-arms.’
Though Flinding shook him, he felt it not:
had he comprehended he had cared little.	1300
Then winds were wakened in wild dungeons
where thrumming thunders throbbed and rumbled;
storm came striding with streaming banners
from the four corners of the fainting world;
then the clouds were cloven with a crash of lightning,	1305
and slung like stones from slings uncounted
the hurtling hail came hissing earthward,
with a deluge dark of driving rain.
Now wafted high, now wavering far,
the cries of the Glamhoth called and hooted,	1310
and the howl of wolves in the heavens’ roaring
was mingled mournful: they missed their paths,
for swollen swept there swirling torrents
down the blackening slopes, and the slot was blind,
so that blundering back up the beaten road	1315
to the gates of gloom many goblins wildered
were drowned or drawn in Deadly Nightshade
to die in the dark; while dawn came not,
while the storm-riders strove and thundered
all the sunless day, and soaked and drenched	1320
Flinding go-Fuilin with fear speechless
there crouched aquake; cold and lifeless
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