The words of Morgoth and Lúthien...

In the previous post, we saw how Lúthien could not deceive the dread Lord of Hell with her false raiment and how she was stripped of it by his will, revealed to all the hosts of Angband as the daughter of Thingol and Melian. The Lay goes on:

The fires of Angband flared and died,

smouldered into darkness; through the wide

and hollow halls there rolled unfurled

the shadows of the underworld.

All movement stayed, and all sound ceased,

save vaporous breath of Orc and beast.

One fire in the darkness still abode;

one sound the breathing silence broke:

the mirthless voice of Morgoth spoke.

''So Lúthien, so Lúthien,

a liar like all Elves and Men!

Yet welcome, welcome, to my hall!

I have a use for every thrall.

What news of Thingol in his hole

shy lurking like a timid vole?

What folly fresh in his mind,

who cannot keep his offspring blind

from straying thus? or can devise

no better counsel for his spies?''

She wavered, and she stayed her song.

''The road,'' she said, ''was wild and long,

but Thingol sent me not, nor knows

what way his rebellious daughter goes.

Yet every road and path will lead

Northward at last, and here of need

I trembling come with humble brow,

and here before thy throne I bow;

for Lúthien hath many arts

for solace sweet of kingly hearts.''

''And here of need thou shalt remain

now, Lúthien, in joy or pain -

or pain, the fitting doom for all

for rebel, thief, and upstart thrall.

Why should ye not in our fate share

of woe and travail? Or should I spare

to slender limb and body frail

breaking torment? Of what avail

here dost thou deem thy babbling song

and foolish laughter? Minstrels strong

are at my call. Yet I will give

a respite brief, a while to live,

a little while, though purchased dear,

to Lúthien the fair and clear,

a pretty toy for idle hour.

In slothful gardens many a flower

like thee the amorous gods are used

honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised,

their fragrance loosing, under feet.

But here we seldom find such sweet

amid our labours long and hard,

from godlike idleness debarred.

And who would not taste the honey-sweet

lying to lips, or crush with feet

the soft cool tissue of pale flowers,

easing like gods the dragging hours?

A! curse the Gods! O hunger dire,

O blinding thirst's unending fire!

One moment shall ye cease, and slake

your string with morsel I here take!''

In his eyes the fire to flame was fanned,

and forth he stretched his brazen hand.

Lúthien as shadow shrank aside.

''Not thus, O king! Not thus!'' she cried,

''do great lords hark to humble boon!

For every minstrel hath his tune;

and some are strong and some are soft,

and each would bear his song aloft,

and each a little while be heard,

though rude the note, and light the word.

But Lúthien hath cunning arts

for solace sweet of kingly hearts.

Now hearken!'' And her wings she caught

then deftly up, and swift as thought

slipped from his grasp, and wheeling round,

fluttering before his eyes, she wound

a mazy-wingéd dance, and sped

about his iron-crownéd head.

Suddenly her song began anew;

and soft came dropping like a dew

down from on high in that domed hall

her voice bewildering, magical,

and grew to silver-murmuring streams

pale falling in dark pools in dreams.