Читать книгу The Lays of Beleriand онлайн | страница 26

’Twas a Gnome he beheld on the heaped needles800of a pine-tree pillowed, when peering waryhe crept closer. The covering peltwas loosed from the lamp of living radianceby his side shining. Slumber-shroudedhis fear-worn face was fallen in shade.805Lest in webs woven of unwaking sleep,spun round by spells in those spaces dark,he lie forlorn and lost for ever,the Hunter hailed him in the hushed forest –to the drowsy deeps of his dream profound810fear ever-following came falling loud;as the lancing lightning he leapt to his feetfull deeming that dread and death were upon him,Flinding go-Fuilin fleeing in anguishfrom the mines of Morgoth. Marvelling he heard815the ancient tongue of the Elves of Tûn;and Beleg the Bowman embraced him there,and learnt his lineage and luckless fate,how thrust to thraldom in a throng of captives,from the kindred carried and the cavernous halls820of the Gnomes renowned of Nargothrond,long years he laboured under lashes and flailsof the baleful Balrogs, abiding his time.A tale he unfolded of terrible flighto’er flaming fell and fuming hollow,825o’er the parchéd dunes of the Plains of Drouth,till his heart took hope and his heed was less.‘Then Taur-na-Fuin entangled my feetin its mazes enmeshed; and madness took methat I wandered witless, unwary stumbling830and beating the boles of the brooding pinesin idle anger – and the Orcs heard me.They were camped in a clearing, that close at handby mercy I missed. Their marching roadis beaten broad through the black shadows835by wizardry warded from wandering Elves;but dread they know of the Deadly Nightshade,and in haste only do they hie that way.Now cruel cries and clamorous voicesawoke in the wood, and winged arrows840from horny bows hummed about me;and following feet, fleet and stealthy,were padding and pattering on the pine-needles;and hairy hands and hungry fingersin the glooms groping, as I grovelled fainting845till they cowering found me. Fast they clutched mebeaten and bleeding, and broken in spiritthey laughing led me, my lagging footstepswith their spears speeding. Their spoils were piled,and countless captives in that camp were chained,850and Elfin maids their anguish mourning.But one they watched, warded sleepless,was stern-visaged, strong, and in stature tallas are Hithlum’s men of the misty hills.Full length he lay and lashed to pickets855in baleful bonds, yet bold-heartedhis mouth no mercy of Morgoth sued,but defied his foes. Foully they smote him.Then he called, as clear as cry of hunterthat hails his hounds in hollow places,860on the name renowned of that noblest king –but men unmindful remember him little –Húrin Thalion, who Erithámrod hight,the Unbending, for Orc and Balrogand Morgoth’s might on the mountain yet865he defies fearless, on a fangéd peakof thunder-riven Thangorodrim.’