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The Lord of the Rings Illustrated(115)

By:J. R. R. Tolkien


There he wandered long in a dream of music that turned into running water, and then suddenly into a voice. It seemed to be the voice of Bilbo chanting verses. Faint at first and then clearer ran the words.


Eärendil was a mariner



that tarried in Arvernien;



he built a boat of timber felled



in Nimbrethil to journey in;





her sails he wove of silver fair,



of silver were her lanterns made,



her prow he fashioned like a swan,



and light upon her banners laid.




In panoply of ancient kings,



in chainéd rings he armoured him;



his shining shield was scored with runes



to ward all wounds and harm from him;



his bow was made of dragon-horn,



his arrows shorn of ebony,



of silver was his habergeon,



his scabbard of chalcedony;



his sword of steel was valiant,



of adamant his helmet tall,



an eagle-plume upon his crest,



upon his breast an emerald.




Beneath the Moon and under star



he wandered far from northern strands,



bewildered on enchanted ways



beyond the days of mortal lands.



From gnashing of the Narrow Ice



where shadow lies on frozen hills,



from nether heats and burning waste



he turned in haste, and roving still



on starless waters far astray



at last he came to Night of Naught,



and passed, and never sight he saw



of shining shore nor light he sought.



The winds of wrath came driving him,



and blindly in the foam he fled



from west to east, and errandless,



unheralded he homeward sped.




There flying Elwing came to him,



and flame was in the darkness lit;



more bright than light of diamond



the fire upon her carcanet.



The Silmaril she bound on him



and crowned him with the living light,



and dauntless then with burning brow



he turned his prow; and in the night



from Otherworld beyond the Sea





there strong and free a storm arose,



a wind of power in Tarmenel;



by paths that seldom mortal goes



his boat it bore with biting breath



as might of death across the grey



and long-forsaken seas distressed:



from east to west he passed away.




Through Evernight he back was borne



on black and roaring waves that ran



o’er leagues unlit and foundered shores



that drowned before the Days began,



until he heard on strands of pearl



where ends the world the music long,



where ever-foaming billows roll



the yellow gold and jewels wan.



He saw the Mountain silent rise



where twilight lies upon the knees



of Valinor, and Eldamar



beheld afar beyond the seas.



A wanderer escaped from night



to haven white he came at last,



to Elvenhome the green and fair



where keen the air, where pale as glass



beneath the Hill of Ilmarin



a-glimmer in a valley sheer



the lamplit towers of Tirion



are mirrored on the Shadowmere.




He tarried there from errantry,



and melodies they taught to him,



and sages old him marvels told,



and harps of gold they brought to him.



They clothed him then in elven-white,



and seven lights before him sent,



as through the Calacirian



to hidden land forlorn he went.



He came unto the timeless halls



where shining fall the countless years,



and endless reigns the Elder King



in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;



and words unheard were spoken then



of folk of Men and Elven-kin,





beyond the world were visions showed



forbid to those that dwell therein.




A ship then new they built for him



of mithril and of elven-glass



with shining prow; no shaven oar



nor sail she bore on silver mast:



the Silmaril as lantern light



and banner bright with living flame



to gleam thereon by Elbereth



herself was set, who thither came



and wings immortal made for him,



and laid on him undying doom,



to sail the shoreless skies and come



behind the Sun and light of Moon.




From Evereven’s lofty hills



where softly silver fountains fall



his wings him bore, a wandering light,



beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.



From World’s End then he turned away,



and yearned again to find afar



his home through shadows journeying,



and burning as an island star



on high above the mists he came,



a distant flame before the Sun,



a wonder ere the waking dawn



where grey the Norland waters run.




And over Middle-earth he passed



and heard at last the weeping sore



of women and of elven-maids



in Elder Days, in years of yore.



But on him mighty doom was laid,



till Moon should fade, an orbéd star