CANTO III
Of Finrod's song of Valinor
A song he sang of Eldamar, of Sunless years in Valinor, and mead that flowed in halls afar of music falling evermore, of golden rains on golden eaves that fell on grasses slumberless in silver glades where long the leaves grew under starlights numberless. He sang of branching streets of white beneath a roof of woven green entwined in beechen boughs; and light of Mindon Eldaliéva keen that wavered high, to and fro, from towering spire onto the Bay, and beneath there bathed in silver glow in ageless year and ageless days like living marble there still grew, a White Tree, Galathilion. And silver leaves and crystal dews fell in Elven-Tirion.
He sang of Calacirya’s reach athwart the everlasting walls above the pearls on sparkling beach above the shining Tirion-halls; and clouds about the snowy knees of Taniquetil sheer and far; and mist upon the dusky wreaths of bright and scarlet Fumellar in Lórien, in meadow-beds where singing flocked the nightingale on drooping boughs of yews, and fed the falling rains to runnels pale; and havens by the roaring Sea where argent flew the wings of mew and shadows on the eastern lee of Túna when there still yet grew the ever-changing Trees, of gold and silver were their branching boughs in Valmar, in the days of old, ere spoken were the dooméd vows, when countless fell the Elven-years that passed before the Sun or Moon were seen above the Shadowmere in the first mortal night and noon. And as if caught a tolling bell in sounding air within his song, as if a bird call, as if a spell, as if the leagues were not so long from the pearly shoals of Elvenhome to the darkling stones of Hither-lands; a sudden love in the heart did roam straining to hear from distant strands the piercing cry of unknown bird echoing in jeweléd cities far as few Men would have ever heard, in Valinor, where no mortals are.
So listening fast did Bëor wake arisen from these dreaming chords, and wonder of them stirred as ache as image cleaved from Elven words. And in that hour did Men behold Finrod the fairest Elven-lord his flaxen hair a gleam of gold, a beryl set upon his sword. And slow he plucked the roughmade string its music in his Elven-hands more fair than birds in sudden spring sing in the woods of Eastern lands. And beauty they had never seen as like which shone upon his glance, and ageless grace was in his mien that held their hearts in love entranced. For in his face still shone the Trees that flowered once in Valinor, with golden crown and silver wreath and likes of they will never more in all of Arda again be known No more the singing Laurelin her blooms of red like embers thrown from golden branches flamed within; and Telperion the everwhite on slender limbs his leaves of green will dance no more with fain delight and never wave in breezes keen, bestirred from high by blessed hands from high above in Valinor, down and east to Outer Lands across the Shadow Seas. No more their shining boles, their silver, gold, a rain of dews like falling stars that fell before the world was old before the darkening, ere the mar. Not til the mending of the world the utter end in ages long shall they rebloom in Music furled as some still sing in Elven song.
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