7. Daeron's Song

Now high overhead the dying light dimmed
As evening awakening stole the soft brilliance
That had streamed from the stone. The crystalline quartz
Whose folded facets had glinted and glittered
Till day grew old
- now faded from view -
- like a love gone cold. -

In Gonnmar's gardens bright lamps were lit
Whose glimmering glow like a starry sea
Illumined the land as faint but fluorescent
As dim yet luminescent
- as the new moon's thin -
- yet shining crescent. -

The Gonnmarim gathered in quiet crowds
Though children chattered, pranced and played:
Amazingly many, bright-eyed, bold.
The adults' eyes, though, haunted, hard,
Were filled with savage battle-lore
- from ancient, hopeless -
- years of war. -

He paused, then passed where lamps were lit
And streamers burst from ribboned trees.
She stopped. Morfindel, faced away from her
Was speaking swiftly. Across, arms crossed,
Was Corùwen. Her eyes moved on.
She shadowed Daeron's passage through
The light
- in quiet study -
- as a wild thing might. -

Through the crowd he came to the King and Queen.
On a dais where Daeron bowed before them
He stood yet silent, harp in hand,
A figure carved in living stone:
- unmoving, hard -
- and set alone. -

He moved: A motion sudden, small,
A flicker, fingers stirring strings.
Each tone intense, precise and pure
Impaled their hearts with sudden thrill
- that held them tense, -
- intent, and still. -

He sang of starlight on tangled trees
In Melian's maze, the depths of Doriath
Guarded and green. He sang of silence
That spread from branch to root
- a solitude shattered -
- by the sigh of a flute. -

In his song it seemed that a phantom formed
That glided glimmering, shining, shimmering,
Fragile, fine as waving wings.
So Lúthien, lithe, in dreamlike dance,
Emerged, evoked by Daeron's art:
- a virgin maiden -
- veiled and set apart. -

His words now wove not song but spell
That held the heart and ears and eyes,
Revealing visions: Gaily graceful,
- Beautiful, bright -
- Her hair about her swirling -
- dark as night. -

His song swept on. She stood, she sang;
His pipe pursued her soaring song
As high as heaven's silent stars.
Through all the wood her clear voice trilled
- And all was silent, -
- Listening, stilled. -

The grassy glade was wreathed and wrapped
In muffling mist. A footstep fell.
The singer stopped. So Daeron sang.
His eyes were bright
- as he sang of a shape -
- that emerged from the night. -

'A stranger stalks the forest! Flee!'
The wild words echoed through the wood.
The flutist fled, but Lúthien looked
And watching wondered
- what strangeness through -
- the forest blundered. -

And with those words his chanting changed
As a stream over stones may plunge in a pool
And stop: a stallion with hammering hooves
That turns at bay
- teeth bared at a wolf-pack -
- to drive them away. -

He sang ever softer of the madness of a maid
Mad with desire, mad for a man.
He spoke of the spell that Elven beauty brings
To mortals doomed to die,
- condemned to relinquish -
- earth and sea and sky. -

He sang of silence, song suspended,
Grief and anger penned in pain.
The music mad, he whispered words:
Of lovers' laughter -
- Too blissful to heed -
- Or care what comes after. -

His features fixed he cried of a king
He was sworn to serve: Whose daughter disobedient
Lived a lie: Elu his lord,
Father of the maid
- whom his love betraying -
- his hot words betrayed. -

Now see the song with vivid vision!
The king confronting Lúthien's lover,
Who holds her hand without shadow or shame!
How can her heart be so bound to a man
That they would wed
- Though she lives forever, -
- And he soon is dead! -

'I'll not bestow blessings on fanciful frenzies
'For my daughter's too dear to be wed on a whim!
'I too seek a treasure as perfect and precious
As my daughter's hand:
- A gem from the crown -
- of Morgoth I demand!' -

The harp rang out hard and cold and clear,
Its music moving ruthless, relentless,
Soft as sorrow, dark as death.
The passion and pain of those long-distant days
- Were mysteries locked -
- In Daeron's gaze. -

Nèhaléni listened with wide-open eyes,
Hands gripped together, trembling, tense.
The song proceeding, she shifted, unsure;
Leaned forward frowning. The music might move her
Yet brought her no pleasure,
- Instead, her face flushed-
- and she fought for composure. -

And suddenly standing she stumbling turned,
Poised among passions: Grief, fear and fury,
Anger and shame. As a deer may dodge
The hunter's hound, her eyes sought the singer,
Her face the floor.
- And swift as a whisper -
- She stood there no more. -