Canto I

A flowing river,   with torrents strong

‘gainst rocks and stones   through hills and valleys,

the water black   like ice shining

in night starless   clouds hovering over:

the loud stream rushes   ‘tween mountain peaks

and in a green valley   cleaves into two,

and flowing separates,   again meeting

forming an isle  ‘midst waters torrential.

Once ‘twas green   a stronghold mighty

of elven arms,   swords shining

and shields blazing   of Gnomes valiant,

foes of Morgoth   bright and fierce.

A tower tall   iron crownéd,

‘twas beautiful once,   white and high,

but now in shadow   and darkness cloaked:

a citadel feared,   the Isle of Werewolves.

His dark abode   there Thû had made

haunting the valley.   A fortress of stone

iron crownéd,   the house of torment

the Lord of Wolves   the vale filled

with haunting terror.   The stones groan

lamenting their fall.   Mists of horror

o’ershadow the tower,   vast dark-pinioned.

Thû’s flaming eyes   rove the land

over rock and hollow   all things piercing,

uncloaking, demasking.   His wolves prowl in wait

white teeth gleaming   like pearléd ivory,

hungry, slavering,   filling with horror

and terror unmasked   the haunted valley.

Lo! In dungeons vile,   black pits deep

‘midst stones engraved   with Thû’s horror

to the wall chainéd   lie two companions

choked with desperation,   iron bonds biting,

devouring flesh   on bleeding wrists.

Only two are left   of the twelve travellers

on a dark quest,   valiant but hopeless;

for on the road were overtaken    by Thû’s roving eyes

and brought to his seat.   None would betray

their lord belovéd,   and were thrown in dungeons.

One by one a pair of eyes   kindle in the darkness;

the silent wolves   would inward creep,

devouring the men,   rending their limbs

with slavering sating   the blood-thirsty lust

for human flesh;   with bones crushing

pools of blood   reek a halitus noisome.

Only two now remain:   King Finrod Felagund

fairest of Elves   fulfilling his oath whatever betide

to Beren son of Barahir.    Now hopeless they lie

in gloom and desperation.    A light in the darkness

like two pale lamps   appears in the dungeon:

Beren’s doom draws nigh.   A great dark wolf

has come at last   to rend his flesh

and steal his life.   Closer is draws.

The quiet tread   of its loathsome feet

echoes on the stones.   And there Beren sits helpless,

awaiting his torment,   the searing pain.

Closer it draws.   Suddenly King Finrod

with a surge of strength,   with power unnatural

descended of old   from the Elves of Valinor,

bursts his heavy bonds   from the walls of stone

and locks in combat   with the great wolf,

snarling and biting,   howling in pain

with his last strength he fought   his oath to fulfill

to the bitter end.   With his hands and teeth

he tore at the wolf   while the horror unfolding

Beren watch helpless   held by his bonds

in a corner by the wall.

                                                The yammering ceases,

the wolf shudders   and in death lies still.

Beren watches in sorrow   as Finrod lies before him

with mortal wounds gaping   and Beren’s heart is torn

with sorrow wrenching   when Finrod speaks his final words:

‘To the Timeless Halls   beyond Western Sea

and tall mountains of Aman   I go to long awaited rest.

It will be some time   before I walk again

among my Elven kindred.   But Beren, I fear

that in death or life   not again shall we meet,

for sundered is    the fate of our kindreds.

Farewell!’ Thus he passed:   Finrod Felagund,

of the Gnomes most belovéd,   the fair and faithful

in dark Tol-in-Gaurhoth   whose tall strong walls

he himself had built.   And to this grey world

of tears and war   he returns not.

Into dark despair fell Beren,   and mourned.

But lo! A song he hears   of enchanting beauty,

innocence sweet and strong   of shining stars

and nightingales singing   in green woods and leas!

From whence did it come?   With receding strength

he answers and sings   calling out to the darkness

of Valacirca,   the Sickle that Varda

in the stars placed   to adumbrate the fall

of the Dark One,   long awaited.

Then his strength is spent   from torture and sorrow.

In a dark swoon he falls   on the floor of the dungeon.