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Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The Flight of the Noldoli from Valinor - Reading Material

an excerpt from a fragment of an early poem by Tolkien, possibly written around 1925
published in The Lays of Beleriand, History of Middle Earth v. 3

A! the Trees of Light,                  tall and shapely,
gold and silver,                             more glorious than the sun,
than the moon more magical,   o'er the meads of the Gods
their fragrant frith                       and flowerladen
gardens gleaming,                       once gladly shone.
In death they are darkened,      they drop their leaves.
from blackened branches          bled by Morgoth
and Ungoliant the grim              the Gloomweaver.
In spider's form                           despair and shadow
a shuddering fear                        and shapeless night
she weaves in a web                    of winding venom
that is black and breathless.     Their branched fail,
the light and laughter                 of their leaves are quenched.
Mirk goes marching,                  mists of blackness,
through the halls of the Mighty, hushed and empty,
the gates of the Gods                 are in gloom mantled.
Lo! the Elves murmur                mourning in anguish,
but no more shall be kindled    the mirth of Côr                {= Tirion}
in the winding ways                    of their walled city,
towercrownëd Tûn,                    whose twinkling lamps
are drowned in darkness.          The dim fingers
of fog come floating                    from the formless waste
and sunless seas.                         ....
....                                                   The city of the Elves
is thickly thronged.                    On threadlike stairs
carven of crystal                          countless torches
stare and twinkle,                       stain the twilight
and gleaming balusters             of green beryl.
A vauge rumour                          of rushing voices,
as myriads mount                       the marble paths,
there fills and troubles              those fair places
wide ways of Tûn                        and walls of pearl.


The Foam-riders,                        folk of waters
Elves of the endless                    echoing beaches,
of the bays and grottos              and the blue lagoons,
of silver sands                              sown with moonlit,
starlit, sunlit,                               stones of crystal,
paleburning gems                       pearls and opals,
on their shining shingle,            where now shadows groping
clutched their laughter,             quenched in mourning
their mirth and wonder,            in amaze wandered
under cliffs grown cold              calling dimly,
or in shrouded ships                   shuddering waited
for the light no more                  should be lit for ever.