The Book Of Lost Tales: Part I Part 6

The elms their full sail now have crowded on

40.

Ready to the winds, like masts amid the vale Of mighty ships too soon, too soon, to sail To other days beyond these sunlit seas.

II.

Narquelion*

Alalminr! Green heart of this Isle Where linger yet the Faithful Companies!

45.

Still undespairing here they slowly file Down lonely paths with solemn harmonies: The Fair, the first-born in an elder day, Immortal Elves, who singing on their way Of bliss of old and grief, though men forget,

50.

Pa.s.s like a wind among the rustling trees, A wave of bowing gra.s.s, and men forget Their voices calling from a time we do not know, Their gleaming hair like sunlight long ago.

A wind in the gra.s.s! The turning of the year.

55.

A shiver in the reeds beside the stream, A whisper in the trees-afar they hear, Piercing the heart of summer's tangled dream, Chill music that a herald piper plays Foreseeing winter and the leafless days.

60.

The late flowers trembling on the ruined walls Already stoop to hear that elven-flute.

Through the wood's sunny aisles and tree-propped halls Winding amid the green with clear cold note Like a thin strand of silver gla.s.s remote.

65.

The high-tide ebbs, the year will soon be spent; And all your trees, Kortirion, lament.

At morn the whetstone rang upon the blade, At eve the gra.s.s and golden flowers were laid To wither, and the meadows bare.

70.

Now dimmed already comes the tardier dawn, Paler the sunlight fingers creep across the lawn.

The days are pa.s.sing. Gone like moths the nights When white wings fluttering danced like satellites Round tapers in the windless air.

75.

Lammas is gone. The Harvest-moon has waned.

Summer is dying that so briefly reigned.

Now the proud elms at last begin to quail, Their leaves uncounted tremble and grow pale, Seeing afar the icy spears

80.

Of winter march to battle with the sun.

When bright All-Hallows fades, their day is done, And borne on wings of amber wan they fly In heedless winds beneath the sullen sky, And fall like dying birds upon the meres.

III.

Hrvion*

85.

Alas! Kortirion, Queen of Elms, alas!

This season best befits your ancient town With echoing voices sad that slowly pa.s.s, Winding with waning music faintly down The paths of stranded mist. O fading time,

90.

When morning rises late all h.o.a.r with rime, And early shadows veil the distant woods!

Unseen the Elves go by, their shining hair They cloak in twilight under secret hoods Of grey, their dusk-blue mantles gird with bands

95.

Of frosted starlight sewn by silver hands.

At night they dance beneath the roofless sky, When naked elms entwine in branching lace The Seven Stars, and through the boughs the eye Stares down cold-gleaming in the high moon's face.

100.

O Elder Kindred, fair immortal folk!

You sing now ancient songs that once awoke Under primeval stars before the Dawn; You dance like shimmering shadows in the wind, As once you danced upon the shining lawn 105.

Of Elvenhome, before we were, before You crossed wide seas unto this mortal sh.o.r.e.

Now are your trees, old grey Kortirion, Through pallid mists seen rising tall and wan, Like vessels vague that slowly drift afar 110.

Out, out to empty seas beyond the bar Of cloudy ports forlorn; Leaving behind for ever havens loud, Wherein their crews a while held feasting proud In lordly ease, they now like windy ghosts 115.

Are wafted by cold airs to friendless coasts, And silent down the tide are borne.

Bare has your realm become, Kortirion, Stripped of its raiment, and its splendour gone.

Like lighted tapers in a darkened fane 120.

The funeral candles of the Silver Wain Now flare above the fallen year.

Winter is come. Beneath the barren sky The Elves are silent. But they do not die!

Here waiting they endure the winter fell 125.

And silence. Here I too will dwell; Kortirion, I will meet the winter here.

IV.

Mettany*

I would not find the burning domes and sands Where reigns the sun, nor dare the deadly snows, Nor seek in mountains dark the hidden lands 130.

Of men long lost to whom no pathway goes; I heed no call of clamant bell that rings Iron-tongued in the towers of earthly kings.

Here on the stones and trees there lies a spell Of unforgotten loss, of memory more blest 135.

Than mortal wealth. Here undefeated dwell The Folk Immortal under withered elms, Alalminr once in ancient realms.

I conclude this commentary with a note on my father's use of the word Gnomes for the Noldor, who in the Lost Tales are called Noldoli. He continued to use it for many years, and it still appeared in earlier editions of The Hobbit.

In a draft for the final paragraph of Appendix F to The Lord of the Rings he wrote: I have sometimes (not in this book) used 'Gnomes' for Noldor and 'Gnomish' for Noldorin. This I did, for whatever Paracelsus may have thought (if indeed he invented the name) to some 'Gnome' will still suggest knowledge.* Now the High-elven name of this people, Noldor, signifies Those who Know; for of the three kindreds of the Eldar from their beginning the Noldor were ever distinguished both by their knowledge of things that are and were in this world, and by their desire to know more. Yet they in no way resembled the Gnomes either of learned theory or popular fancy; and I have now abandoned this rendering as too misleading. For the Noldor belonged to a race high and beautiful, the elder Children of the world, who now are gone. Tall they were, fair-skinned and grey-eyed, and their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod...