The Lost Road and Other Writings. Christopher Tolkien

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