remem.me

J.R.R Tolkien

The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.

A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone forever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There blade was forged and bound the hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in horde.

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

J.R.R Tolkien

Eärendil was a mariner that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair, of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan, and light upon her banners laid.

In panoply of ancient kings, in chainéd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn, his arrows shorn of ebony;
of silver was his habergeon, his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant, of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest, upon his breast an emerald.

Beneath the Moon and under star he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him, and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless, unheralded he homeward sped.

There flying Elwing came to him, and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel; by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath as might of death across the grey
and long forsaken seas distressed; from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernight he back was borne on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion are mirrored on the Shadowmere.

He tarried there from errantry, and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told, and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white, and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then of folk and Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed forbid to those that dwell therein.

A ship then new they built for him of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him, and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come behind the Sun and light of Moon.

From Evereven's lofty hills where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light, beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From a World's End there he turned away, and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying, and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came, a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn where grey the Norland waters run.

And over Middle-earth he passed and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid, till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more on Hither Shores where Mortals are;
for ever still a herald on an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar, the Flammifer of Westernesse."