of deep Ocean
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to the Longobards, in the land dwelling
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that of old they held amid the isles of the North,
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a ship came sailing, shining-timbered
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without oar and mast, eastward floating.
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The sun behind it sinking westward
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with flame kindled the fallow water.
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Wind was wakened. Over the world’s margin
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clouds greyhelméd climbed slowly up
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wings unfolding wide and looming,
|
10
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|
as mighty eagles moving onward
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to eastern Earth omen bearing.
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Men there marvelled, in the mist standing
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of the dark islands in the deeps of time:
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laughter they knew not, light nor wisdom;
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shadow was upon them, and sheer mountains
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stalked behind them stern and lifeless,
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evilhaunted. The East was dark.
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The ship came shining to the shore driven
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and strode upon the strand, till its stem rested
|
20
|
|
on sand and shingle. The sun went down.
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The clouds overcame the cold heavens.
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In fear and wonder to the fallow water
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sadhearted men swiftly hastened
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to the broken beaches the boat seeking,
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gleaming-timbered in the grey twilight.
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They looked within, and there laid sleeping
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a boy they saw breathing softly:
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his face was fair, his form lovely,
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|
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his limbs were white, his locks raven
|
30
|
|
golden-braided. Gilt and carven
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|
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with wondrous work was the wood about him.
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In golden vessel gleaming water
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stood beside him; strung with silver
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a harp of gold neath his hand rested;
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his sleeping head was soft pillowed
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on a sheaf of corn shimmering palely
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as the fallow gold doth from far countries
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|
west of Angol. Wonder filled them.
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The boat they hauled and on the beach moored it
|
40
|
|
high above the breakers; then with hands lifted
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|
|
from the bosom its burden. The boy slumbered.
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|
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On his bed they bore him to their bleak dwellings
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darkwalled and drear in a dim region
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between waste and sea. There of wood builded
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|
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high above the houses was a hall standing
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|
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forlorn and empty. Long had it stood so,
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no noise knowing, night nor morning,
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|
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no light seeing. They laid him there,
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|
|
under lock left him lonely sleeping
|
50
|
|
in the hollow darkness. They held the doors.
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|
Night wore away. New awakened
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as ever on earth early morning;
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day came dimly. Doors were opened.
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Men strode within, then amazed halted;
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fear and wonder filled the watchmen.
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The house was bare, hall deserted;
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|
no form found they on the floor lying,
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|
|
but by bed forsaken the bright vessel
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|
|
dry and empty in the dust standing.
|
60
|
|
The guest was gone. Grief o’ercame them.
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|
|
In sorrow they sought him, till the sun rising
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|
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over the hills of heaven to the homes of men
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|
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light came bearing. They looked upward
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and high upon a hill hoar and treeless
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the guest beheld they: gold was shining
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in his hair, in hand the harp he bore;
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|
|
at his feet they saw the fallow-golden
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|
|
cornsheaf lying. Then clear his voice
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|
|
a song began, sweet, unearthly,
|
70
|
|
words in music woven strangely,
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|
|
in tongue unknown. Trees stood silent
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and men unmoving marvelling hearkened.
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Middle-earth
|
