THE NARRATIVE IN THE LAY OF LEITHIAN TO ITS TERMINATION
This substantial portion of the poem takes up from the last line of Canto VII in The Lay of Leithian (‘But none would yield, and none would tell’, p. 132), and the opening of Canto VIII corresponds to the very compressed account in the Quenta (p. 133) of the confinement of Lúthien in Nargothrond, imposed on her by Celegorm and Curufin and from which she was rescued by Huan, whose origin is told. A line of asterisks in the text of the Lay marks the start of a further Canto; Canto IX at line 329; Canto X at line 619; Canto XI at line 1009; Canto XII at line 1301; Canto XIII at line 1603; and Canto XIV, the last, at line 1939.
Hounds there were in Valinor
with silver collars. Hart and boar,
the fox and hare and nimble roe
there in the forests green did go.
5Oromë was the lord divine
of all those woods. The potent wine
went in his halls and hunting song.
The Gnomes anew have named him long
Tavros, the God whose horns did blow
10over the mountains long ago;
who alone of Gods had loved the world
before the banners were unfurled
of Moon and Sun; and shod with gold
were his great horses. Hounds untold
15baying in woods beyond the West
of race immortal he possessed:
grey and limber, black and strong
white with silken coats and long,
brown and brindled, swift and true
20as arrow from a bow of yew;
their voices like the deeptoned bells
that ring in Valmar’s citadels,
their eyes like living jewels, their teeth
like ruel-bone. As sword from sheath
25they flashed and fled from leash to scent
for Tavros’ joy and merriment.
In Tavros’ friths and pastures green
had Huan once a young whelp been.
He grew the swiftest of the swift
30and Oromë gave him as a gift
to Celegorm, who loved to follow
the great god’s horn o’er hill and hollow.
Alone of hounds of the Land of Light,
when sons of Fëanor took to flight
35and came into the North, he stayed
beside his master. Every raid
and every foray wild he shared,
and into mortal battle dared.
Often he saved his Gnomish lord
40from Orc and wolf and leaping sword.
A wolf-hound, tireless, grey and fierce
he grew; his gleaming eyes would pierce
all shadows and all mist, the scent
moons old he found through fen and bent,
45through rustling leaves and dusty sand;
all paths of wide Beleriand
he knew. But wolves, he loved them best;
he loved to find their throats and wrest
their snarling lives and evil breath.
50The packs of Thû him feared as death.
No wizardry, nor spell, nor dart,
no fang, nor venom devil’s art
could brew had harmed him; for his weird
was woven. Yet he little feared
55that fate decreed and known to all:
before the mightiest he should fall,
before the mightiest wolf alone
that ever was whelped in cave of stone.
Hark! afar in Nargothrond,
60far over Sirion and beyond,
there are dim cries and horns blowing,
and barking hounds through the trees going.
The hunt is up, the woods are stirred.
Who rides to-day? Ye have not heard
65that Celegorm and Curufin
have loosed their dogs? With merry din
they mounted ere the sun arose,
and took their spears and took their bows.
The wolves of Thû of late have dared
70both far and wide. Their eyes have glared
by night across the roaring stream
of Narog. Doth their master dream,
perchance, of plots and counsels deep,
of secrets that the Elf-lords keep,
75of movements in the Gnomish realm
and errands under beech and elm?
Curufin spake: ‘Good brother mine,
I like it not. What dark design
doth this portend? These evil things
80we swift must end their wanderings!
And more, ’twould please my heart full well
to hunt a while and wolves to fell.’
And then he leaned and whispered low
that Orodreth was a dullard slow;
85long time it was since the king had gone,
‘At least thy profit it would be
to know whether dead he is or free;
to gather thy men and thy array.
90“I go to hunt” then thou wilt say,
and men will think that Narog’s good
ever thou heedest. But in the wood
things may be learned; and if by grace,
by some blind fortune he retrace
95his footsteps mad, and if he bear
a Silmaril—I need declare
no more in words; but one by right
is thine (and ours), the jewel of light;
another may be won—a throne.
100The eldest blood our house doth own.’
Celegorm listened. Nought he said,
but forth a mighty host he led;
and Huan leaped at the glad sounds,
the chief and captain of his hounds.
105Three days they ride by holt and hill
the wolves of Thû to hunt and kill,
and many a head and fell of grey
they take, and many drive away,
till nigh to the borders in the West
110of Doriath a while they rest.
There were dim cries and horns blowing,
and barking dogs through the woods going.
The hunt was up. The woods were stirred,
and one there fled like a startled bird,
115and fear was in her dancing feet.
She knew not who the woods did beat.
Far from her home, forwandered, pale,
she flitted ghostlike through the vale;
ever her heart bade her up and on
120but her limbs were worn, her eyes were wan.
The eyes of Huan saw a shade
wavering, darting down a glade
like a mist of evening snared by day
and hasting fearfully away.
125He bayed, and sprang with sinewy limb
to chase the shy thing strange and dim.
On terror’s wings, like a butterfly
pursued by a sweeping bird on high,
she fluttered hither, darted there,
130now poised, now flying through the air—
in vain. At last against a tree
she leaned and panted. Up leaped he.
No word of magic gasped with woe,
no elvish mystery she did know
135or had entwined in raiment dark
availed against that hunter stark,
whose old immortal race and kind
no spells could ever turn or bind.
Huan alone that she ever met
140she never in enchantment set
nor bound with spells. But loveliness
and gentle voice and pale distress
and eyes like starlight dimmed with tears
tamed him that death nor monster fears.
145Lightly he lifted her, light he bore
his trembling burden. Never before
had Celegorm beheld such prey:
‘What hast thou brought, good Huan say!
Dark-elvish maid, or wraith, or fay?
150Not such to hu
nt we came today.’
‘’Tis Lúthien of Doriath,’
the maiden spake. ‘A wandering path
far from the Wood-elves’ sunny glades
she sadly winds, where courage fades
155and hope grows faint.’ And as she spoke
down she let slip her shadowy cloak,
and there she stood in silver and white.
Her starry jewels twinkled bright
in the risen sun like morning dew;
160the lilies gold on mantle blue
gleamed and glistened. Who could gaze
on that fair face without amaze?
Long did Curufin look and stare.
The perfume of her flower-twined hair
165her lissom limbs, her elvish face,
smote to his heart, and in that place
enchained he stood. ‘O maiden royal,
O lady fair, wherefore in toil
and lonely journey dost thou go?
170What tidings dread of war and woe
in Doriath have betid? Come tell!
For fortune thee hath guided well;
friends thou hast found,’ said Celegorm,
and gazed upon her elvish form.
175In his heart him thought her tale unsaid
he knew in part, but nought she read
of guile upon his smiling face.
‘Who are ye then, the lordly chase
that follow in this perilous wood?’
180she asked; and answer seeming-good
they gave. ‘Thy servants, lady sweet,
lords of Nargothrond thee greet,
and beg that thou wouldst with them go
back to their hills, forgetting woe
185a season, seeking hope and rest.
And now to hear thy tale were best.’
So Lúthien tells of Beren’s deeds
in northern lands, how fate him leads
to Doriath, of Thingol’s ire,
190the dreadful errand that her sire
decreed for Beren. Sign nor word
the brothers gave that aught they heard
that touched them near. Of her escape
and the marvellous mantle she did shape
195she lightly tells, but words her fail
recalling sunlight in the vale,
moonlight, starlight in Doriath,
ere Beren took the perilous path.
‘Need, too, my lords, there is of haste!
200No time in ease and rest to waste.
For days are gone now since the queen
Melian whose heart hath vision keen,
looking afar me said in fear
that Beren lived in bondage drear.
205The Lord of Wolves hath prisons dark,
chains and enchantments cruel and stark,
and there entrapped and languishing
doth Beren lie—if direr thing
hath not brought death or wish for death’:
210then gasping woe bereft her breath.
To Celegorm said Curufin
apart and low: ‘Now news we win
of Felagund, and now we know
wherefore Thû’s creatures prowling go’,
215and other whispered counsels spake,
and showed him what answer he should make.
‘Lady,’ said Celegorm, ‘thou seest
we go a-hunting roaming beast,
and though our host is great and bold,
220’tis ill prepared the wizard’s hold
and island fortress to assault.
Deem not our hearts and wills at fault.
Lo! here our chase we now forsake
and home our swiftest road we take,
225counsel and aid there to devise
for Beren that in anguish lies.’
To Nargothrond they with them bore
Lúthien, whose heart misgave her sore.
Delay she feared; each moment pressed
230upon her spirit, yet she guessed
they rode not as swiftly as they might.
Ahead leaped Huan day and night,
and ever looking back his thought
was troubled. What his master sought,
235and why he rode not like the fire,
why Curufin looked with hot desire
on Lúthien, he pondered deep,
and felt some evil shadow creep
of ancient curse o’er Elfinesse.
240His heart was torn for the distress
of Beren bold, and Lúthien dear,
and Felagund who knew no fear.
In Nargothrond the torches flared
and feast and music were prepared.
245Lúthien feasted not but wept.
Her ways were trammelled; closely kept
she might not fly. Her magic cloak
was hidden, and no prayer she spoke
was heeded, nor did answer find
250her eager questions. Out of mind,
it seemed, were those afar that pined
in anguish and in dungeons blind
in prison and in misery.
Too late she knew their treachery.
255It was not hid in Nargothrond
that Fëanor’s sons her held in bond,
who Beren heeded not, and who
had little cause to wrest from Thû
the king they loved not and whose quest
260old vows of hatred in their breast
had roused from sleep. Orodreth knew
the purpose dark they would pursue:
King Felagund to leave to die,
and with King Thingol’s blood ally
265the house of Fëanor by force
or treaty. But to stay their course
he had no power, for all his folk
the brothers had yet beneath their yoke,
and all yet listened to their word.
270Orodreth’s counsel no man heard;
their shame they crushed, and would not heed
the tale of Felagund’s dire need.
At Lúthien’s feet there day by day
and at night beside her couch would stay
275Huan the hound of Nargothrond;
and words she spoke to him soft and fond:
‘O Huan, Huan, swiftest hound
that ever ran on mortal ground,
what evil doth thy lords possess
280to heed no tears nor my distress?
Once Barahir all men above
good hounds did cherish and did love;
once Beren in the friendless North,
when outlaw wild he wandered forth,
285had friends unfailing among things
with fur and fell and feathered wings,
and among the spirits that in stone
in mountains old and wastes alone
still dwell. But now nor Elf nor Man,
290none save the child of Melian,
remembers him who Morgoth fought
and never to thraldom base was brought.’
Nought said Huan; but Curufin
thereafter never near might win
295to Lúthien, nor touch that maid,
but shrank from Huan’s fangs afraid.
Then on a night when autumn damp
was swathed about the glimmering lamp
of the wan moon, and fitful stars
300were flying seen between the bars
of racing cloud, when winter’s horn
already wound in trees forlorn,
lo! Huan was gone. Then Lúthien lay,
fearing new wrong, till just ere day,
305when all is dead and breathless still
and shapeless fears the sleepless fill,
a shadow came along the wall.
Then something let there softly fall
her magic cloak beside her couch.
310Trembling she saw the great hound crouch
beside her, heard a deep voice swell
as from a tower a far slow bell.
Thus
Huan spake, who never before
had uttered words, and but twice more
315did speak in elven tongue again:
‘Lady beloved, whom all Men,
whom Elfinesse, and whom all things
with fur and fell and feathered wings
should serve and love—arise! away!
320Put on thy cloak! Before the day
comes over Nargothrond we fly
to Northern perils, thou and I.’
And ere he ceased he counsel wrought
for achievement of the thing they sought.
325There Lúthien listened in amaze,
and softly on Huan did she gaze.
Her arms about his neck she cast—
in friendship that to death should last.
******
In Wizard’s Isle still lay forgot
330enmeshed and tortured in that grot
cold, evil, doorless, without light,
and blank-eyed stared at endless night
two comrades. Now alone they were.
The others lived no more, but bare
335their broken bones would lie and tell
how ten had served their master well.
To Felagund then Beren said:
‘’Twere little loss if I were dead,
and I am minded all to tell,
340and thus, perchance, from this dark hell
thy life to loose. I set thee free
from thine old oath, for more for me
hast thou endured than e’er was earned.’