The captives sad in Angband mourn...

We're drawing towards the end of the Lay of Leithian, at least as it was composed by Tolkien in verse. We still have far to go with the narrative, but the Lay is almost over...some of you may be glad to hear! When I started my synopsis of The Silmarillion, in May of last year in fact, I had not given thought over much as to how long it would take. When I arrived at the gest of Beren and Lúthien, I decided that it is better to read the legends of the Elder Days in verse, since this was how the Hobbits would have heard them when they stayed in Rivendell. When we come to the Lay of the Children of Húrin, I think I shall just skip the verse and let you read it alongside an abridged synopsis. I can only do my best.

In the last post, we arrived at the ''moment-of-truth'' (as the saying goes). Imagine, the Dark Lord and his diabolical court are in an uneasy sleep, ready to wake up at any moment, and these two furtive creatures, frail and alone and utterly beyond aid, have wrested one of the Silmarils from the Iron Crown. Then, Beren conceives of going beyond his Oath to Thingol and attempts to cut all three from the Crown. The knife snaps! A splinter wounds the cheek (in the Lay it is his brow) of Morgoth and he stirs in sleep, as does his court. What happens next? The Lay goes on:

Up through the dark and echoeing gloom

as ghosts from many-tunnelled tomb,

up from the mountains' roots profound

and the vast menace underground,

their limbs aquake with deadly fear,

terror in eyes, and dread in ear,

together fled they, by the beat

affrighted of their flying feet.

At last before them far away

they saw the glimmering wraith of day,

the mighty archway of the gate -

and there a horror new did wait.

Upon the threshold, watchful, dire,

his eyes new-kindled with dull fire,

towered Carcharoth, a biding doom:

his jaws were gaping like a tomb,

his teeth were bare, his tongue aflame;

aroused he watched that no one came,

no flitting shade nor hunted shape,

seeking from Angband to escape.

Now past that guard what guile or might

could thrust from death into the light?

He heard afar their hurrying feet,

he snuffled an odour strong and sweet;

he smelled their coming long before

they marked the waiting threat at door.

His limbs he stretched and shook off sleep,

then stood at gaze. With sudden leap

upon them as they sped he sprang,

and his howling in the arches rang.

Too swift for thought his onset came,

too swift for any spell to tame;

and Beren desperate then aside

thrust Lúthien, and forth did stride

unarmed, defenceless to defend

Tinúviel until the end.

With left he caught at hairy throat,

with right, from which the radiance welled

of the holy Silmaril he held.

As gleam of swords in fire there flashed

the fangs of Carcharoth, and crashed

together like a trap, that tore

the hand about the wrist, and shore

through brittle bone and sinew nesh,

devouring the frail mortal flesh;

and in that cruel mouth unclean

engulfed the jewel's holy sheen.

[Here ends the Lay of Leithian]