Читать книгу The Lays of Beleriand онлайн | страница 14

Then the fame of the fights on the far marcheswere carried to the court of the King of Doriath,and tales of Túrin were told in his halls,415and how Beleg the ageless was brother-in-armsto the black-haired boy from the beaten people.Then the king called them to come before himever and anon when the Orc-raids waned;to rest them and revel, and to raise awhile420the secret songs of the sons of Ing.On a time was Túrin at the table of Thingol –there was laughter long and the loud clamourof a countless company that quaffed the mead,amid the wine of Dor-Winion that went ungrudged425in their golden goblets; and goodly meatsthere burdened the boards, neath the blazing torchesset high in those halls that were hewn of stone.There mirth fell on many; there minstrels cleardid sing to them songs of the city of Tûn430neath Tain-Gwethil, towering mountain,where the great gods sit and gaze on the worldfrom the guarded shores of the gulf of Faërie.Then one sang of the slaying at the Swanships’ Havenand the curse that had come on the kindreds since:435all silent sat and soundless harkened,and waited the words save one alone –the Man among Elves that Morwin bore.Unheeding he heard or high feastingor lay or laughter, and looked, it seemed,440to a deep distance in the dark without,and strained for sounds in the still spaces,for voices that vanished in the veils of night.He was lithe and lean, and his locks were wild,and woodland weeds he wore of brown445and grey and green, and gay jewelor golden trinket his garb knew not.

An Elf there was – Orgof – of the ancient racethat was lost in the lands where the long marchesfrom the quiet waters of Cuiviénen450were made in the mirk of the midworld’s gloom,ere light was lifted aloft o’er earth;but blood of the Gnomes was blent in his veins.He was close akin to the King of Doriath –a hardy hunter and his heart was brave,455but loose his laughter and light his tongue,and his pride outran his prowess in arms.He was fain before all of fine raimentand of gems and jewels, and jealous of suchas found favour before himself.460Now costly clad in colours gleaminghe sat on a seat that was set on highnear the king and queen and close to Túrin.When those twain were at table he had taunted him oft,lightly with laughter, for his loveless ways,465his haggard raiment and hair unshorn;but Túrin untroubled neither turned his headnor wasted words on the wit of Orgof.But this day of the feast more deep his gloomthan of wont, and his words men won harder;470for of twelve long years the tale was fullsince on Morwin his mother through a maze of tearshe looked the last, and the long shadowsof the forest had fallen on his fading home;and he answered few, and Orgof nought.475Then the fool’s mirth was filled the more,to a keener edge was his carping whettedat the clothes uncouth and the uncombéd hairof Túrin newcome from the tangled forest.He drew forth daintily a dear treasure,480a comb of gold that he kept about him,and tendered it to Túrin; but he turned not his eyes,nor deigned to heed or harken to Orgof,who too deep drunken that disdain should quell him:‘Nay, an thou knowest not thy need of comb,485nor its use,’ quoth he, ‘too young thou leftestthy mother’s ministry, and ’twere meet to gothat she teach thee tame thy tangled locks –if the women of Hithlum be not wild and loveless,uncouth and unkempt as their cast-off sons.’490