The Lord of the Rings. J. R. R. Tolkien

tell us some other tale of the old days,’ begged Sam; ‘a tale about the Elves before the fading time. I would dearly like to hear more about Elves; the dark seems to press round so close.’

      ‘I will tell you the tale of Tinúviel,’ said Strider, ‘in brief – for it is a long tale of which the end is not known; and there are none now, except Elrond, that remember it aright as it was told of old. It is a fair tale, though it is sad, as are all the tales of Middle-earth, and yet it may lift up your hearts.’ He was silent for some time, and then he began not to speak but to chant softly:

       The leaves were long, the grass was green,

       The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,

       And in the glade a light was seen

       Of stars in shadow shimmering.

       Tinúviel was dancing there

       To music of a pipe unseen,

       And light of stars was in her hair,

       And in her raiment glimmering.

       There Beren came from mountains cold,

       And lost he wandered under leaves,

       And where the Elven-river rolled

       He walked alone and sorrowing.

       He peered between the hemlock-leaves

       And saw in wonder flowers of gold

       Upon her mantle and her sleeves,

       And her hair like shadow following.

       Enchantment healed his weary feet

       That over hills were doomed to roam;

       And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,

       And grasped at moonbeams glistening.

       Through woven woods in Elvenhome

       She lightly fled on dancing feet,

       And left him lonely still to roam

       In the silent forest listening.

       He heard there oft the flying sound

       Of feet as light as linden-leaves,

       Or music welling underground,

       In hidden hollows quavering.

       Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,

       And one by one with sighing sound

       Whispering fell the beechen leaves

       In the wintry woodland wavering.

       He sought her ever, wandering far

       Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,

       By light of moon and ray of star

       In frosty heavens shivering.

       Her mantle glinted in the moon,

       As on a hill-top high and far

       She danced, and at her feet was strewn

       A mist of silver quivering.

       When winter passed, she came again,

       And her song released the sudden spring,

       Like rising lark, and falling rain,

       And melting water bubbling.

       He saw the elven-flowers spring

       About her feet, and healed again

       He longed by her to dance and sing

       Upon the grass untroubling.

       Again she fled, but swift he came.

       Tinúviel! Tinúviel!

       He called her by her Elvish name;

       And there she halted listening.

       One moment stood she, and a spell

       His voice laid on her: Beren came,

       And doom fell on Tinúviel

       That in his arms lay glistening.

       As Beren looked into her eyes

       Within the shadows of her hair,

       The trembling starlight of the skies

       He saw there mirrored shimmering.

       Tinúviel the elven-fair,

       Immortal maiden elven-wise,

       About him cast her shadowy hair

       And arms like silver glimmering.

       Long was the way that fate them bore,

       O’er stony mountains cold and grey,

       Through halls of iron and darkling door,

       And woods of nightshade morrowless.

       The Sundering Seas between them lay,

       And yet at last they met once more,

       And long ago they passed away

       In the forest singing sorrowless.

      Strider sighed and paused before he spoke again. ‘That is a song,’ he said, ‘in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it. It tells of the meeting of Beren son of Barahir and Lúthien Tinúviel. Beren was a mortal man, but Lúthien was the daughter of Thingol, a King of Elves upon Middle-earth when the world was young; and she was the fairest maiden that has ever been among all the children of this world. As the stars above the mists of the Northern lands was her loveliness, and in her face was a shining light. In those days the Great Enemy, of whom Sauron of Mordor was but a servant, dwelt in Angband in the North, and the Elves of the West coming back to Middle-earth made war upon him to regain the Silmarils which he had stolen; and the fathers of Men aided the Elves. But the Enemy was victorious and Barahir was slain, and Beren escaping through great peril came over the Mountains of Terror into the hidden Kingdom of Thingol in the forest of Neldoreth. There he beheld Lúthien singing and dancing in a glade beside the enchanted river Esgalduin; and he named her Tinúviel, that is Nightingale in the language of old. Many sorrows befell them afterwards, and they were parted long. Tinúviel rescued Beren from the dungeons of Sauron, and together they passed through great dangers, and cast down even the Great Enemy from his throne, and took from his iron crown one of the three Silmarils, brightest of all jewels, to be the bride-price of Lúthien to Thingol her father. Yet at the last Beren was slain by the Wolf that came from the gates of Angband, and he died in the arms of Tinúviel. But she chose mortality, and to die from the world, so that she might follow him; and it is sung that they met again beyond the Sundering Seas, and after a brief time walking alive once more in the green woods, together they passed, long ago, beyond the confines of this world. So it is that Lúthien Tinúviel alone of the Elf-kindred has died indeed and left the