Thursday, 10 December 2009

To Sauron's Isle...

In my previous post, we saw how Finrod Felagund resolved to fulfill his oath to Barahir and accompany Beren on his Quest to wrest the Silmaril from Morgoth's Iron Crown and together with ten companions they left Nargothrond and went north to Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, where Sauron was lord. In the woods along the way, they waylaid a band of wandering Orcs, and taking their gear, they were by the arts of Felagund made as hideous as the Orcs, and thus they continued their journey. At length they left the mild lands of Beleriand and came to the hither regions, dark and morrowless, about Taur-nu-Fuin and the upper vales of Sirion, and there amidst the river there stood a hill upon which was set Minas Tirith, built of old by Finrod Felagund himself, but which now served as a watchtower for Morgoth, under the dominion of Sauron.

Now in that hill was the abode
of one most evil; and the road
that from Beleriand thither came
he watched with sleepless eyes of flame.
(From the North there led no other way,
save east where the Gorge of Aglon lay,
and that dark path of hurrying dread
which only in need the Orcs would tread
through Deadly Nightshade's awful gloom
where Taur-na-Fuin's [Taur-nu-Fuin] branches loom;
and Aglon led to Doriath,
and Fëanor's sons watched o'er that path.)
Men called him Thû [Sauron], and as a god
in after days beneath his rod
bewildered bowed to him, and made
his ghastly temples in the shade.
Not yet by Men enthralled adored,
now was he Morgoth's mightiest lord,
Master of Wolves, whose shivering howl
for ever echoed in the hills, and foul
enchantments and dark sigaldry*
did weave and wield. In glamoury*
that necromancer held his hosts
of phantoms and of wandering ghosts,
of misbegotten or spell-wronged
monsters that about him thronged,
working his bidding dark and vile:
the werewolves of the Wizard's Isle.
From Thû [Sauron] their coming was not hid;
and though beneath the eaves they slid
of the forest's gloomy-hanging boughs
he saw them afar, and wolves did rouse:
''Go! fetch me those sneaking Orcs,'' he said,
''that fare thus strangely, as if in dread,
and do not come, as all Orcs use
and are commanded, to bring me news
of all their deeds, to me, to Thû.''
From his tower he gazed, and in him grew
suspicion and a brooding thought,
waiting, leering, till they were brought.
Now ringed about with wolves they stand,
and fear their doom. Alas! the land,
the land of Narog left behind!
Foreboding evil weights their mind,
as downcast, halting, they must go
and cross the stony bridge of woe
to Wizard's Isle, and to the throne
there fashioned of blood-darkened stone.
(The Lay of Leithian, Canto VII).
**These strange words are listed in the Word Study section of The Ring of Words. ''Sigaldry,'' meaning ''enchantment, sorcery'' is recorded only in Middle English texts until Tolkien revived it. It is derived from the Anglo-Saxon word sigalder, meaning a ''charm or incantation.'' The Middle English form sigaldrie appears in one of the manuscripts of the Ancrene Riwle, the medieval religious work edited by Tolkien. ''Glamoury'' means ''occult knowledge, magic, necromancy'' It is an odd word, related (somehow) to the word ''grammar.'' The Oxford English Dictionary explains that in the Middle Ages, the Latin word grammatica chiefly meant the study and knowledge of the Latin language. Since all academic and Ecclesiastical learning was done in Latin (as it ought still, in my opinion), the word eventually came to mean any learning in general, and this encompassed also the ''secret'' knowledge of occult things and astrology.

Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Ave Maria, Gratia plena...


Athanasius of Suffering World has an excellent post on Our Lady's Immaculate Conception - we are not, of course, too late to talk about it, since the Feast of old had an Octave (and still does as far as I am concerned). He has also made use of his skills as a Classicist and has traced the etymological significances of the Latin Gratia and the Greek Kharis in relation to the unique relationship between God and His Immaculate Mother. His introduction to this exquisite piece was informative also, since I had forgotten that Pope Pius IX had sought the ''opinion'' of the Bishops on the matter of this logical Doctrine. I can't say I agree with the Pope in this sense - by implication his actions mean that doctrinal orthodoxy rests solely upon consensus rather than the authority of the Church (what would the position of the Traditional Latin Mass now be if the present Holy Father had sought the opinion of the Bishops!?). I once spoke to an eminent Church historian (my tutor in fact) about why the Orthodox faithful, with their wonderful liturgical tradition (preserved in tact, unlike us Westerners, in the last 40 years - well except the Russians and the Greeks of course), disagreed so vehemently with the Doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, and his response was that we placed more emphasis upon St Augustine's understanding of Original Sin than they did. Indeed, St Augustine was little known in the East until the Middle Ages. To me, the doctrine represents the logical result of one argument to the next. That is not to say that Catholic Doctrine can be ''explained'' always using syllogistic arguments (can anyone fully explain the mystery of the Blessed Trinity, or the Hypostatic Union?), but in the case of Our Lady, whose personal spotlessness and eternal beauty are far beyond the reach of any of our minds, the doctrine of her Immaculate Conception is both a mystery and very logical - I wonder whether in this respect she acts as a kind of mediator between the eternal mystery of God and the understanding and logic of the minds of Men? Surely understanding and mystery emanate from the same Divine source?

Do read the post, it's excellent.

Monday, 7 December 2009

A Christmas ''quiz''

I spoke to the eminent Zephyrinus in person on Sunday, a faithful reader of this blog, and he suggested to me that I might put up a ''quiz'' after the manner of the mouldy Fr Mildew who I have since added to my blogroll. Any suggestions to a topic would be nice, and what would be the prize? I was thinking of that wonderful book I read recently, The Ring of Words, but others with less of an all-absorbing fascination with Tolkien might appreciate something else...

Were I to commence with a quiz, answers would be sent to my email address and you will of course need to provide me with your name and address, unless of course you know me personally, in which case I can personally present you with the ''prize'' with some degree of ''ceremony...''

Sunday, 6 December 2009

The Hobbit...


I am supremely confident that this is one of the greatest masterpieces of children's literature ever to have been written, although Tolkien was somewhat embarrassed by it later in life. I plan to translate this work into Latin one day (what would Tolkien think of this, I wonder? He'd have preferred Old Norse of course), if only to amuse and stimulate my own intellect. I amazed myself the other day: I wrote out the names of all 13 Dwarves, and a number of their relatives (and dates of birth - it gets scarier!) - and I didn't think I knew that much about The Hobbit, having read this work the least among Tolkien's legendary works.

From memory, the Quest of Erebor consisted of 15 persons in toto, namely: 1. Thorin Oakenshield son of Thráin II son of Thrór of the House of Durin, 2. Balin and 3. Dwalin sons of Fundin, 4. Bifur, 5. Bofur, 6. Bombur (the fat one), 7. Dori (whose name, amusingly, is Old Norse for ''borer'' - in the sense of someone who drills not a bore like me!), 8. Nori, 9. Ori, 10. Glóin and 11. Óin the sons of Gróin, and 12. Fíli and 13. Kíli, the sons of Dís, the only Dwarf-woman mentioned in the whole history of Middle-earth, the daughter of Thráin II and therefore sister of Thorin. Much of this connexion is made of in the later chapters. The 14th and 15th persons were, of course, Gandalf the Wizard (not given the title ''the Grey'' until The Lord of the Rings) and the star of the show, the professional hired ''burglar'' Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins and the great Belladonna Took, one of the daughters of the Old Took.

I greatly enjoyed this book when I read it for the first time - I think because I liked Dragons and hunting treasure and I adored Bilbo, and wanting to find out as much as possible about Hobbits, I was brought The Lord of the Rings. I have never stopped reading it!

For the last however-many-years I have vainly wanted a signed First Edition of The Hobbit to add to my collection of Tolkien books (I'd also like the 1951 Second and the 1966 Third editions, purely for the purposes of private study and to add to my Tolkien collection) - there is one signed First Edition on sale on Abebooks for £75500.00. It's worth a browse actually, here's the link. It would make a nice Christmas present you know...

Venturi sunt?


I have wanted to post this painting for a while now, but being stuck in the First Age of the Sun in my silly synopsis of The Silmarillion, we have some thousands of years to go yet. I have actually covered a significant portion of the history of Arda in my ''synopsis'' already. The events surrounding the lives of Beren and Lúthien mainly occur in the 465th year since the first rising of the Sun, many thousands of years since the Creation of Arda (how many, I know not - having, perforce, to rely on semi-''canonical'' stuff in The History of Middle-earth); the War of Wrath takes place in the 583rd year since the first rising of the Sun and so ends the First Age. The Second Age is a period of marked advancement in the lives of the Men of the Three Houses, those who went into the West to Númenor, the Elendili, the Lords of Men, the sires of Aragorn. However, Men were ill-content with the wisdom of the Eldar and their longevity, and wanted more - the above painting, by Ted Nasmith, depicts the great Eagles of Manwë, rising out of the West in great thunderous and threatening clouds to warn the Men of their imminent doom. I'd like to have seen these clouds myself...

Saturday, 5 December 2009

Problems with Sitemeter...

I am having trouble with my Sitemeter (O Lord, when does it end?). Last night before bed, I checked my sitemeter (as is my wont, I find it interesting), and for Friday 4th December I had 63 visitors, with a total of 8,528 since I set the thing up on 12th May. I have just sat down and checked it again, and for some obscure reason it has gone back to 8,491 visitors, and indicates that yesterday I had only 19 and today only 6. Very strange. I have sent them an email about it, but I don't expect to hear anything soon...

Friday, 4 December 2009

New look for New Advent...


Sorry about that awful cliché, but I thought this to be of interest. The Catholic Encyclopedia Online, an invaluable resource, has improved its Scripture section. Now one can read the English text alongside the Greek and the Latin. Follow this link to read St John Chapter VI, part of which I translated yesterday.

Beren among the Gnomes...


Let's go back to the wonderful Lay of Leithian. This ''synopsis'' of The Silmarillion has proven no such thing at all, but I do enjoy ''going on'' about Tolkien and since this is my blog, I can say what I want anyway! Let us return to the caves of Nargothrond where Felagund is Lord:

Behind closed doors, Finrod the Beloved heard in wonder the tale of Beren, and Beren wept for the loveliness of Lúthien and the cruel doom of Thingol. And so Finrod declared the doom of Beren before his people. By ill luck, Celegorm and Curufin, the sons of Fëanor, were dwelling within the realm of Finrod, for they had fled the Dagor Bragollach and had sought refuge with their cousin Finrod, and upon hearing that Beren would wrest from Morgoth a Silmaril as the brideprice of Lúthien, Celegorm arose, eyes aflame with wrath and the memory of the terrible Oath, drew his sword, and lifted his voice above the crowd:

''Be he friend or foe, or demon wild
of Morgoth, Elf, or mortal child,
or any that here on earth may dwell,
no law, nor love, nor league of hell,
no might of Gods, no binding spell,
shall him defend from hatred fell
of Fëanor's sons, whoso take or steal
or finding keep a Silmaril.
These we alone do claim by right,
our thrice enchanted jewels bright.''

Many wild and potent words he spoke,
and as before in Tûn [Túna] awoke
his father's voice their hearts to fire,
so now dark fear and brooding ire
he cast on them, foreboding war
of friend with friend; and pools of gore
their minds imagined lying red
in Nargothrond about the dead,
did Narog's host with Beren go;
or haply battle, ruin, and woe
in Doriath where great Thingol reigned,
if Fëanor's fatal jewel he gained.
And even such as were most true
to Felagund his oath did rue,
and thought with terror and despair
of seeking Morgoth in his lair
with force or guile. This Curufin
when his brother ceased did then begin
more to impress upon their minds;
and such a spell he on them binds
that never again till Túrin's day
would Gnome of Narog in array
of open battle go to war.
With secrecy, ambush, spies, and lore
of wizardry, with silent leaguer
of wild things wary, watchful, eager,
of phantom hunters, venomed darts,
and unseen stealthy creeping arts,
with padding hatred that its prey
with feet of velvet all the day
followed remorseless out of sight
and slew it unawares at night -
thus they defended Nargothrond,
and forgot their kin and solemn bond
for dread of Morgoth that the art
of Curufin set within their heart.

So would they not that angry day
King Felagund their lord obey,
but sullen murmured that Finrod
nor yet his son were as a god.
Then Felagund took off his crown
and at his feet he cast it down,
the silver helm of Nargothrond:
''Yours ye may break, but I my bond
must keep, and kingdom here forsake.
If hearts here were that did not quake,
or that to Finrod's [Finarfin's] son were true,
then I at least should find a few
to go with me, not like a poor
rejected beggar scorn endure,
turned from my gates to leave my town,
my people, and my realm and crown!''

Hearing these words there swiftly stood
beside him ten tried warriors good,
men of his house who had ever fought
wherever his banners had been brought.
One stooped and lifted up his crown,
and said: ''O king, to leave this town
is now our fate, but not to lose
thy rightful lordship. Thou shalt choose
one to be steward in thy stead.''
Then Felagund upon the head
of Orodreth set it: ''Brother mine,
till I return this crown is thine.''
Then Celegorm no more would stay,
and Curufin smiled and turned away.
(The History of Middle-earth, Volume III, The Lays of Beleriand).

The above painting is a sketch by Ted Nasmith depicting the oath of Fëanor.

Comments on this Blog...

Having taken the advice of the wise Mulier Fortis, I have edited the comment moderation on this blog. I do not accept Anonymous comments, but bloggers who wish to comment as of now no longer need to fill in the ''word verification'' thingy to indicate they're not robots or whatever. If I remember rightly, the reason I installed that in the first place was because I received a spam comment, but as I was advised today, since I am in charge of what appears in the Comment box anyway, I can delete or publish at my whim. I hope leaving comments is now not such a bother anymore...

Thursday, 3 December 2009

Dixit Patricius lectoribus suis...


After the last two days of near-constant whinging and much unneeded stress, I spent today resting and didn't go to University, which is a shame since Thursday means Latin and Latin means civilisation and art and Liturgy, which is the beautifully harmonious mingling of all classical and theological and aesthetic graces. I spent the day reading by the grey shores of Middle-earth (that is to say, on my bed!) doing translations of St John's Gospel and reading wonderful books. I wish my Bachelor's degree were over by now though, and I had my Masters, and I were truly at leisure to do these things...

I was taught to read Latin, which means that when I see Latin (in a Missal for example) it is easy enough to read. However, if the Missal is removed and I am asked to compose Latin, my mind goes blank. I wonder whether this is the correct way of going about the earnest study of a language. I would that, like Tolkien or Wilde, I knew Latin (and Greek) so thoroughly...until then, I am rather stuck. I find it rather worrying, especially since I would like to make Latin my profession.

The above painting is by John Howe and depicts the Grey Havens. I like the colour grey, and it crops up in Tolkien quite a lot and in different senses - most famously, Gandalf the Grey (which signifies merely the colour of his raiment), the Grey Havens, the Ered Lithui (mountains as grey as ash, seen by Frodo and Sam as threatening sentinels or pillars of broken teeth on the edge of sight from the Emyn Muil and the Marshes), Círdan the Shipwright refers to ''these grey shores,'' which probably means refers to their fading or age, when speaking of Middle-earth, the grey rain curtain of this world rolls back and all that...nice. The day here has been wet, miserable and overcast, with the clouds as a great dull mournful canopy blocking both sun and light; but there are consolatory qualities in miserable weather, especially English wintertide weather. I expect it behoves us to accept the good with the bad; there'd be no green grass or orchards or forests or flowers without rain...oh please, I am commenting on the weather! Now to get my dinner and amble off to Benediction...

Wednesday, 2 December 2009

New ICEL...

I am not really interested in new translations of the New Rite ''missal'' - not being that interested in the New Rite - but it seems that the new ''missal'' is overdue for another year. The way I see it, if priests are well-versed in the Latin language, which according to Canon Law they should be, why not use a Latin New Rite ''missal'' and translate as they go along? I know of at least one priest who did this, being appalled at what passed for a modern translation of the prayers of the ''missal.'' He was, of course, in trouble for doing so, but what on earth for? His extempore translation was, I have no doubt at all, a lot more accurate...

Better still, why not just say the Old Rite and not bother translating? Let the whingers whinge all they want; to whom can these geriatrics possibly turn! Rome? Rome favours the Old Rite...

Tuesday, 1 December 2009

Climate change, suffering etc...


In these latter days, I am always instinctively suspicious of anything so pushed by the Government. Why? Because I think the Government is packed full of dishonest, misguided, Modernist, vegetarian, teetotal, Protestant, secular, feminist, liberal (which, paradoxically, means precisely the opposite of freedom) Freemasonic idiots with a violently anti-Catholic agenda. I am filled with wrath whenever I hear about ''5-a-day'' (something which in my opinion has little or no scientific basis whatsoever), swine flu, climate change, ''carbon footprints'' etc, and I also get rather annoyed whenever I hear ''charities'' such as Cafod or Christian Aid or Oxfam going on about people starving in Africa, and dying of HIV/Aids on account of contraception. This requires some explanation, so I shall do my best without sounding too prejudiced.

Take my mother: 48 years old, with more than enough in her own life and in the life of our family to worry about (which I will not elaborate here without her leave) - why should she spend a great deal of her spare time feeling miserable about the suffering of people thousands of miles away? Now, I grieve at those sufferings, but does it really behove us as Catholics to be constantly and vividly aware of them? It seems to me to run counter to the nature of Man as created by God to live lives annexed to a constant misery on account of suffering. I wonder, were we ever supposed to be aware of such suffering? Modern technology is to blame of course, that and journalism and propaganda: they seem to have burdened or imposed upon our sympathies. Was human emotion ever intended for such burdens? It seems that if we do not sympathise with anonymous people thousands of miles away, or fret over carbon footprints or whatever we are accused of prejudice or callous indifference.

If somebody you know, a relative or friend, is having a ''difficult patch'' (lets say), such as the death of a loved one or a divorce - well, it is becoming that you sympathise and condole with them. But if Joe Bloggs living in Nigeria is having a ''difficult patch,'' is it equally becoming to sympathise and condole with him in the same manner? I think it is quite impossible. More Saints come from eras in the Church's history when there were no blogs, internets, TVs etc. Are they any less holy and heroic because they were simply unaware of climate change!? Was St Francis of Assisi worried about his ''carbon footprint!'' Certainly not. And yet he is derided and scoffed at these days for being indoctrinated by the silly Romish Medieval religion by stupid people truly brainwashed by journalism and modern governments about climate change! Such people are haughty and arrogant busy-bodies under the pretence that their zeal for curtailing Co2 emissions is the real concern for the race of Men. I am personally more concerned for the marring of the human soul by Sin and the overthrow of the human mind by idolatry and superstition than the effects of climate change - which are probably grossly exaggerated anyway. I wonder - is indifference the answer? I have long ceased to care about the news, which passes through the clogged and muddied filter of journalism and triviality before it is stared at by people who bother to watch TV. I hope this doesn't sound too callous? I wonder if people think likewise...
Whenever thinking about things of this sort, I am reminded of this Scripture quotation: For the poor you have always with you: but me you have not always (Matthew 26:11).

Middle-earth...


The Oxford English Dictionary defines ''Middle-earth'' as ''the world regarded as a middle region between Heaven and Hell, or as occupying the centre of the Universe.'' As you know, it is not an invention of Tolkien's anymore than the words Dwarf, Elf and Gnome were, and neither did he use it to convey the idea of an imaginary world. In a letter to W.H Auden, he wrote:

''I am historically minded. Middle-earth is not an imaginary world. The name is the modern form (appearing in the 13th century and still in use) of midden-erd>middel-erd, an ancient name for the oikoumené [related, incidentally, to ecumenical], the abiding place of Men, the objectively real world, in use specifically opposed to imaginary worlds (as Fairyland) or unseen worlds (as Heaven or Hell). The theatre of my tale is this earth, the one in which we now live, but the historical period is imaginary.'' (The Letters of J.R.R Tolkien, no.183).

According to this wonderful book, The Ring of Words, the compound has a long history and prehistory. It is a Germanic formation, found in the oldest Germanic language Gothic, of which Tolkien was especially enamoured, as early as the 4th century in the form midjun-gards, meaning, roughly, ''the middle enclosed region.'' The Old Norse equivalent was Miðgarðr or Midgard, referring to the world of Men between the encircling seas, accounted one of a number of separate regions, such as the more familiar Ásgarðr or Asgard, the dwelling place of the gods.

In Old English, between the 8th-12th centuries, the form was middangeard, which meant simply, as Tolkien says, ''the world in which we live.'' As I wrote in my previous post, the form appears in the Anglo-Saxon translation of St Bede's Ecclesiastical History, in Cædmon's hymn, which refers to the Creation of the World. By the beginning of the 14th century, the form had changed, and in Middle English the form was Middle-earth.

Tolkien did not use the term Middle-earth in the earliest writings of the Legendarium. In the Lost Tales for instance, Tolkien refers to what later became Middle-earth as the Great Lands, the Outer Lands or the Hither Lands. Neither does Middle-earth appear in The Hobbit (which, incidentally, I read for the first time this year over the last two days!). It appears that Tolkien adopted the term in the mid-1930s; we can glean this from its occurrence in the Anglo-Saxon Annals of Valinor found in Volume IV of The History of Middle-earth. I like the form personally, it is fitting philologically and geographically, but I sometimes also use the terms Outer Lands or Great Lands - if only in mere comparison to the smaller, but pleasanter, land of Aman in the West. Outer Lands has a rather negative connotation, adopted by the Eldar of Tirion no doubt to signify the cold, dark and primitive lands whence they came. I use the terms synonymously.

I could have chosen any number of paintings of Middle-earth, but I chose this one by Ted Nasmith depicting the valley of Rivendell because I like Rivendell as a place, and I like the painting. It is one of those places I always wanted to live!

More Lay of Leithian...


I thought instead of going to a '62 Rite High Mass in Hatfield this morning that I'd take a much needed sojourn in the Great Lands instead. Let us return to the gest of Beren and Lúthien. Canto V of The Lay of Leithian does not cover a narrative of any significant length, merely the mourning of Tinúviel, the treachery of Dairon [Daeron], the building of the Tree-house in great Hirilorn and finally the escape of Tinúviel (and one could add, perhaps, the repentence and wandering of Dairon, something which survives into The Silmarillion), and even appears to be at variance with the narrative of The Silmarillion on at least one point (the ''curse of silence'' for example - whence came this?), and so I shall skip to Canto VI instead, which speaks of the wandering of Beren.

Now Beren came unto the pools,
wide shallow meres where Sirion cools
his gathered tide beneath the stars,
ere chafed and sundered by the bars
of reedy banks and mighty fen
he feeds and drenches, plunging then
into vast chasms underground,
where many miles his way is wound.
Umboth-Muilin [Aelin-uial], Twilight Meres,
those great wide waters grey as tears
the Elves then named. Through driving rain
from thence across the Guarded Plain
the Hills of the Hunters Beren saw
with bare tops bitten bleak and raw
by western winds; but in the mist
of streaming rans that flashed and hissed
into the meres he knew there lay
beneath those hills the cloven way
of Narog, and the watchful halls
of Felagund beside the falls
of Ingwil [Ringwil] tumbling from the wold.
An everlasting watch they hold,
the Gnomes of Nargothrond renowned,
and every hill is tower-crowned,
where wardens sleepless peer and gaze
guarding the plain and all the ways
between Narog swift and Sirion pale;
and archers whose arrows never fail
there range the woods, and secret kill
all who creep thither against their will.


Yet now he thrusts into that land
bearing the gleaming ring on hand
of Felagund, and oft doth cry:
''Here comes no wandering Orc or spy,
but Beren son of Barahir
who once to Felagund was dear.''


So ere he reached the eastward shore
of Narog, that doth foam and roar
o'er boulders black, those archers green
came round him. When the ring was seen
they bowed before him, though his plight
was poor and beggarly. Then by night
they led him northward, for no ford
nor bridge was built where Narog poured
before the gates of Nargothrond,
and friend nor foe might pass beyond.


To northward, where that stream yet young
more slender flowed, below the tongue
of foam-splashed land that Ginglith pens
when her brief golden torrent ends
and joins the Narog, there they wade.
Now swiftest journey thence they made
to Nargothrond's sheer terraces
and dim gigantic palaces.


They came beneath a sickle moon
to doors there darkly hung and hewn
with posts and lintels of pondrous stone
and timbers huge. Now open thrown
were gaping gates, and in they strode
where Felagund on throne abode.


Fair were the words of Narog's king
to Beren, and his wandering
and all his feuds and bitter wars
recounted soon. Behind closed doors
they sat, while Beren told his tale
of Doriath; and words him fail
recalling Lúthien dancing fair
with wild white roses in her hair,
remembering her elven voice that rung
while stars in twilight round her hung.
He spake of Thingol's marvellous halls
by enchantment lit, where fountain falls
and ever the nightingale doth sing
to Melian and to her king.
The quest he told that Thingol laid
in scorn on him; how for love of maid
more fair than ever was born to Men,
of Tinúviel, of Lúthien,
he must essay the burning waste,
and doubtless death and torment taste.
(The History of Middle-earth, Volume III, The Lays of Beleriand).