| ‘Is it dauntless Hurin,’ quoth Delu-Morgoth, | |
| ‘stout steel-handed, who stands before me, | |
| a captive living as a coward might be? | |
| Knowest thou my name, or need’st be told | |
| what hope he has who is haled to Angband – | 55 |
| the bale most bitter, the Balrogs’ torment?’ | |
| ‘I know and I hate. For that knowledge I fought thee | |
| by fear unfettered, nor fear I now,’ | |
| said Thalion there, and a thane of Morgoth | |
| on the mouth smote him; but Morgoth smiled: | 60 |
| ‘Fear when thou feelest, and the flames lick thee, | |
| and the whips of the Balrogs thy white flesh brand. | |
| Yet a way canst win, an thou wishest, still | |
| to lessen thy lot of lingering woe. | |
| Go question the captives of the accursed people | 65 |
| I have taken, and tell me where Turgon is hid; | |
| how with fire and death I may find him soon, | |
| where he lurketh lost in lands forgot. | |
| Thou must feign thee a friend faithful in anguish, | |
| and their inmost hearts thus open and search. | 70 |
| Then, if truth thou tellest, thy triple bonds | |
| I will bid men unbind, that abroad thou fare | |
| in my service to search the secret places | |
| following the footsteps of these foes of the Gods.’ | |
| Then Thalion was thrust to Thangorodrim, | |
| that mountain that meets the misty skies | |
| on high o’er the hills that Hithlum sees | |
| blackly brooding on the borders of the north. | 95 |
| To a stool of stone on its steepest peak | |
| they bound him in bonds, an unbreakable chain, | |
| and the Lord of Woe there laughing stood, | |
| then cursed him for ever and his kin and seed | |
| with a doom of dread, of death and horror. | 100 |
| There the mighty man unmovéd sat; | |
| but unveiled was his vision, that he viewed afar | |
| all earthly things with eyes enchanted | |
| that fell on his folk – a fiend’s torment. | |
| Lo! the lady Morwin in the Land of Shadows | 105 |
| waited in the woodland for her well-beloved; | |
| but he came never from the combat home. | |
| No tidings told her whether taken or dead, | |
| or lost in flight he lingered yet. | |
| Laid waste his lands, and his lieges slain, | 110 |
| and men unmindful of his mighty lordship | |
| dwelt in Dorlómin and dealt unkindly | |
| with his widowed wife; and she went with child, | |
| who a son must succour now sadly orphaned, | |
| Túrin Thaliodrin of tender years. | 115 |
| Then in days of blackness was her daughter born, | |
| and was naméd Nienor, a name of tears | |
| that in language of eld is Lamentation. | |
| Then her thoughts turnéd to Thingol the Elf-king, | |
| and the dancer of Doriath, his daughter Tinúviel, | 120 |
| whom the boldest of the brave, Beren Ermabwed, | |
| had won to wife. He once had known | |
| firmest friendship to his fellow in arms, | |
| Thalion Erithámrod – so thought she now, | |
| and said to her son, ‘My sweetest child, | 125 |
| our friends are few, and thy father comes not. | |
| Thou must fare afar to the folk of the wood, | |
| where Thingol is throned in the Thousand Caves. | |
| If he remember Morwin and thy mighty sire | |
| he will fain foster thee, and feats of arms | 130 |
| he will teach thee, the trade of targe and sword, | |
| and Thalion’s son no thrall shall be – | |
| but remember thy mother when thy manhood nears.’ | |
| Heavy boded the heart of Húrin’s son, | |
| yet he weened her words were wild with grief, | 135 |
| and he denied her not, for no need him seemed. | |
| Lo! henchmen had Morwin, Halog and Gumlin, | |
| who were young of yore ere the youth of Thalion, | |
| who alone of the lieges of that lord of Men | |
| steadfast in service staid beside her: | 140 |
| now she bade them brave the black mountains, | |
| and the woods whose ways wander to evil; | |
| though Túrin be tender and to travail unused, | |
| they must gird them and go; but glad they were not, | |
| and Morwin mourned when men saw not. | 145 |
| Came a summer day when sun filtered | |
| warm through the woodland’s waving branches. | |
| Then Morwin stood her mourning hiding | |
| by the gate of her garth in a glade of the woods. | |
| At the breast she mothered her babe unweaned, | 150 |
| and the doorpost held lest she droop for anguish. | |
| There Gumlin guided her gallant boy, | |
| and a heavy burden was borne by Halog; | |
| but the heart of Túrin was heavy as stone | |
| uncomprehending its coming anguish. | 155 |
| He sought for comfort, with courage saying: | |
| ‘Quickly will I come from the courts of Thingol; | |
| long ere manhood I will lead to Morwin | |
| great tale of treasure, and true comrades’ – | |
| for he wist not the weird woven by Bauglir, | 160 |
| nor the sundering sorrow that swept between. | |
| The farewells are taken: their footsteps are turned | |
| to the dark forest: the dwelling fadeth | |
| in the tangled trees. Then in Túrin leapt | |
| his awakened heart, and he wept blindly, | 165 |
| calling ‘I cannot, I cannot leave thee. | |
| O Morwin, my mother, why makest me go? | |
| Hateful are the hills where hope is lost. | |
| O Morwin, my mother, I am meshed in tears. | |
| Grim are the hills, and my home is gone.’ | 170 |
| And there came his cries calling faintly | |
| down the dark alleys of the dreary trees, | |
| and one who wept weary on the threshold | |
| heard how the hills said ‘my home is gone.’ | |
| The ways were weary and woven with deceit | 175 |
| o’er the hills of Hithlum to the hidden kingdom | |
| deep in the darkness of Doriath’s forest; | |
| and never ere now for need or wonder | |
| had children of Men chosen that pathway, | |
| and few of the folk have followed it since. | 180 |
| There Túrin and the twain knew torment of thirst, | |
| and hunger and fear and hideous nights, | |
| for wolfriders and wandering Orcs | |
and the Things
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