The Lay of Leithian, Part I...

It is told in the Lay of Leithian that Beren came into Doriath the mere shadow of a man, the last Man of Dorthonion, bent and weary with a long exile and the torment of the dark vales of Ered Gorgoroth. But coming upon Lúthien dancing among the hemlocks on a summer evening and all weariness left his limbs and he was as one under a spell of enchantment. But Lúthien fled from Beren, and he wandered once again, only this time he was dumb, but in his heart he called her Tinúviel, which is Nightingale in the tongue of Beleriand. He wandered long, until Autumn and Winter were passed and the first signs of Spring were come, and once again he saw her, dancing upon a hillock, only this time she sang also. The Lay continues:

Thereafter on a hillock green

he saw far off the elven-sheen

of shining limb and jewel bright

often and oft on moonlit night;

and Dairon's pipe awoke once more,

and soft she sang as once before.

Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,

and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.

A night there was when winter died;

then all alone she sang and cried

and danced until the dawn of spring,

and chanted some wild magic thing

that stirred him, till it sudden broke

the bonds that held him, and he woke

to madness sweet and brave despair.

He flung his arms to the night air,

and out he danced unheeding, fleet,

enchanted, with enchanted feet.

He sped towards the hillock green,

the lissom limbs, the dancing sheen;

he leapt upon the grassy hill

his arms were empty, and she fled;

away, away her white feet sped.

But as she went he swiftly came

and called her with the tender name

of nightingales in the elvish tongue,

that all the woods now sudden rung:

''Tinúviel! Tinúviel!''

And clear his voice was as a bell;

its echoes wove a binding spell:

''Tinúviel! Tinúviel!''

His voice such love and longing filled

one moment stood she, fear was stilled;

one moment only; like a flame

he leapt towards her as she stayed

and caught and kissed that elfin maid.

As love there woke in sweet surprise

the starlight trembled in her eyes.

A! Lúthien! A! Lúthien!

more fair than any child of Men;

O! loveliest maid of Elfinesse,

what madness does thee now possess!

A! lissom limbs and shadowy hair

and chaplet of white snowdrops there;

O! starry diadem and white

pale hands beneath the pale moonlight!

She left his arms and slipped away

just at the breaking of the day.

The above image is again by Ted Nasmith - one of his ''sketches.''