Preface

'I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama...'

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (1981), no. 131

The Lay of Leithian is Tolkien’s largest and most complex incomplete work. It exists in two versions, one stemming from the earlier part of the twentieth century, the second from the middle. The first version was abandoned approximately four-fifths of the way through the tale, the later about one-fifth of the way in. Both were written in close proximity to his two masterworks, the first version written during the period directly preceding the writing of The Hobbit, the second during the period immediately following the completion of The Lord of the Rings. Thus the work stems from that period of Tolkien’s output when he was at his greatest command as a story-teller. Much of the poem is of striking beauty, especially the recommenced version – the version written in the 1950’s, and although the work is written in octosyllabic couplets, Tolkien was frequently able, to an astonishing degree, to avoid a kind of sing-song quality so typical of poems wrtten in that form.

The poem is formally published in essentially two editions in The History of Middle-Earth, Vol. III: The Lays of Beleriand, one as the work stood in approximately 1931 or so and another as it likely stood in the early to mid 1950s. There was good reason to do so: The History of Middle-Earth is essentially a vast compendium of manuscript studies which track the evolution of Tolkien’s incessantly transforming mythology, his Legendarium as he called it, and the names, places and events of that mythology were constantly changing and shifting, sometimes mercurially. The intent of those editions was to further the discussion at hand: the lost and incomplete works of Tolkien and how they relate to one another. But as the study reveals there are not just two versions of the poem, but many versions, with layers of emendations and alterations made to the various surviving manuscript and typescript sources. No edition is available, however, which takes all of the latest of Tolkien’s own alterations and puts them in one place, as a complete work. The intent of this site is to provide such an edition for either those curious or those fanatic.

The intent of the site is also to provide a text that might be suitable for public presentation. If one were to read the work as a children’s tale, use it as the basis for a performance or production, to give it a public reading or present it in radio dramatizations, all of these ideas fall under the purview of the intent of this site. Because of Tolkien’s prolific and imaginative use of caesura throughout the poem the Lay reads extremely well when read aloud - that is, if it is read right: in other words following the flow of the text rather than belaboring the form. When doing so the Lay will sound more like it should - like Homer (or perhaps even Shakespeare) rather than octosyllabic couplets. It is classic epic poetry of the highest standard, where the poet has only used the form for the sake of convention but has attempted to truly stretch the medium by various means. Tolkien does this very well and follows, rather knowingly, in the footsteps of the great masters that preceded him.

Since it is so difficult to follow the tormented textual history of the tale without reading absolutely everything in The History of Middle-Earth part of the intent of this site is also to provide a sounding board for discussion concerning the myth. There is some excellent writing in the variant texts among the manuscript and typescript sources, and it would be a shame, I think, to discard it simply for the sake of keeping a strict regimen. I've sought, therefore, to integrate what I think is the best into the given text below. The text may be read in lieu of the chapter in The Silmarillion that gives the complete tale. In order to adapt the work to this latter version of Tolkien’s mythology some alterations and additions were made to the poem (all noted below). The primary intent, however, is to keep the work presented here 'Tolkienized': to make it sound like Tolkien; to retain as much of his better writing as possible; to have it match the latest vision of the mythology (within reason)¹, incorporating his latest thinking on the subject, both philosophical, theological and philological; to give the tale life and have it breathe as a 'complete' work.

The title of the poem, The Lay of Leithian, Tolkien translated from his Sindarin, Elvish tongue as 'Release from Bondage' without any substantive explanation. The meaning of the title, however, is likely found at one of the key moments in the poem, the point at which one of the Silmarils, the magical gems of Fëanor, is cut from the crown of Morgoth by Beren:


Behold! the hope of Elvenland
the fire of Fëanor, Light of Morn
before the sun and moon were born,
thus out of bondage came at last,
from iron to mortal hand it passed.²


This moment is also central to the over-arching story-line of The Silmarillion, in which the gem is used to bring hope to the scattered peoples of Middle-Earth and is ultimately set in the heavens by the mariner Eärendil as a sign of their coming salvation. The name of the poem is therefore likely an attempt to underscore the importance of the Lay relative to other tales from the first age. Though honor, bravery and vengeance drive the Elven hosts forward to war with Morgoth, it is only love that can overcome all obstacles to wrest a Silmaril from his crown.

The Lay is also important in the much larger themes of Tolkien's Legendarium - those that tie together the three ages of Tolkien's mythical world. In The Lord of the Rings Aragorn, heir of the throne of Gondor, was said to be the walking likeness of Elendil, the head of the Faithful during the downfall of Númenor and essentially the central character of the tales from the Second Age. Arwen, the Elvish Princess Aragorn weds, is said to be the image of Lúthien returned to earth. Thus, with their wedding at the end of The Return of the King, we have Estel, 'Hope' (Aragorn’s Elvish name), in the image of Faith wed to the centrality of Love: hope, faith and love – the central tenants of Tolkien’s Catholic faith.

End Notes

1. That is to say setting aside major reconstruction – for example, those texts written during his latest period where the myths of the creation of the sun and the moon were to be gutted and expunged from the Legendarium. See Morgoth’s Ring, Myths Transformed, texts I-IV.
return to text


2. The Lays of Beleriand, p. 362
return to text

[discuss what you mean by your use of the words "canon" and "alliteration"]

Prologue

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Of their lives was made the Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, which is the longest save one of the songs concerning the world of old. Here follows their tale and what remains of the Lay.

*

End Notes

The text is taken from the first paragraph, chapter nineteen of The Silmarillion, p. 158. The last sentence is altered slightly. The paragraph originally read:

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Of their lives was made the Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, which is the longest save one of the songs concerning the world of old; but here the tale is told in fewer words and without song.

Canto I

A king there was in days of old:
ere Men yet walked upon the mould
his power was reared in caverns' shade,
his hand was over glen and glade.
Of leaves his crown, his mantle green,	(5)
his silver lances long and keen;
the starlight in his shield was caught,
ere moon was made or sun was wrought.
In after-days, when to the shore
of Middle-earth from Valinor	(10)
the Elven-hosts in might returned,
and banners flew and beacons burned,
when kings of Eldamar went by
in strength of war, beneath the sky
then still his silver trumpets blew	(15)
when sun was young and moon was new.
Afar then in Beleriand,
in Doriath's beleaguered land,
King Thingol sat on guarded throne
in many-pillared halls of stone:	(20)
there beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
and metal wrought like fishes' mail,
buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
and gleaming spears were laid in hoard:
all these he had and counted small,	(25)
for dearer than all wealth in hall,
and fairer than are born to Men,
a daughter had he, Lúthien.
Such lissom limbs no more shall run
on the green earth beneath the sun;	(30)
so fair a maid no more shall be
from dawn to dusk, from sun to sea.
Her robe was blue as summer skies,
but grey as evening were her eyes;
her mantle sewn with lilies fair,	(35)
but dark as shadow was her hair.
Her feet were swift as bird on wing,
her laughter merry as the spring;
the slender willow, the bowing reed,
the fragrance of a flowering mead,	(40)
the light upon the leaves of trees,
the voice of water, more than these
her beauty was and blissfulness,
her glory and her loveliness.
She dwelt in the enchanted land	(45)
while elven-might yet held in hand
the woven woods of Doriath:
none ever thither found the path
unbidden, none the forest-eaves
dared pass, or stir the listening leaves.	(50)
To North there lay a land of dread,
Dungortheb where all ways were dead
in hills of shadow bleak and cold;
beyond was Deadly Nightshade's hold
in Taur-nu-Fuin's fastness grim,	(55)
where sun was sick and moon was dim.
To South the wide earth unexplored;
to West the ancient Ocean roared,
unsailed and shoreless, wide and wild;
to East in peaks of blue were piled,	(60)
in silence folded, mist-enfurled,
the mountains of the outer world.
Thus Thingol in his dolven hall
amid the Thousand Cavers tall
of Menegroth as king abode:	(65)
to him there led no mortal road.
Beside him sat his deathless queen,
fair Melian, and wove unseen
nets of enchantment round his throne,
and spells were laid on tree and stone:	(70)
sharp was his sword and high his helm,
the king of beech and oak and elm.
When grass was green and leaves were long,
when finch and mavis sang their song,
there under bough and under sun	(75)
in shadow and in light would run
fair Lúthien the elven-maid,
dancing in dell and grassy glade.
When sky was clear and stars were keen,
then Daeron with his fingers lean,	(80)
as daylight melted into eve,
a trembling music sweet would weave
of flutes of silver, thin and clear
for Lúthien, the maiden dear.
There mirth there was and voices bright;	(85)
there eve was peace and morn was light;
there jewel gleamed and silver wan
and gold on graceful fingers shone,
and elanor and niphredil
bloomed in the grass unfading still,	(90)
while the endless years of Elven-land
rolled over far Beleriand,
until a day of doom befell,
as still the elven-harpers tell.

*

End Notes

42 originally more then these

52 originally Dungorthin. Altered to match the later mythology, but also as per Tolkien's own emendation noted, p. 348, The Lays of Beleriand.

80 originally Dairon

88 originally and red gold on white fingers shone. Regarding this change, see note to Canto II, lines 203-305, below.

Canto II

Far in the Northern hills of stone
in caverns black there was a throne
by flame encircled; there the smoke
in coiling columns rose to choke
the breath of life, and there in deep	(5)
and gasping dungeons lost would creep
to hopeless death all those who strayed
by doom beneath that ghastly shade.
A king there sat, most dark and fell
of all that under heaven dwell.	(10)
Than earth or sea, than moon or star
more ancient was he, mightier far
in mind abysmal that the thought
of Eldar or of Men, and wrought
of strength primeval; ere the stone	(15)
was hewn to build the world, alone
he walked in darkness, fierce and dire,
burned, as he wielded it, by fire.
He 'twas that laid in ruin black
the Blessed Realm and fled then back	(20)
to Middle-earth anew to build
beneath the mountains mansions filled
with misbegotten slaves of hate:
death's shadow brooded at his gate.
His hosts he armed with spears of steel	(25)
and brands of flame, and at their heel
the wolf walked and the serpent crept
with lidless eyes. Now forth they leapt,
his ruinous legions, kindling war
in field and frith and woodland hoar.	(30)
Where long the golden elanor
had gleamed amid the grass they bore
their banners black, where finch had sung
and harpers silver harps had wrung
now dark the ravens wheeled and cried	(35)
amid the reek, and far and wide
the swords of Morgoth dripped with red
above the hewn and trampled dead.
Slowly his shadow like a cloud
rolled from the North, and on the proud	(40)
that would not yield his vengeance fell;
to death or thralldom under hell
all things he doomed: the Northern land
lay cowed beneath his ghastly hand.
But still there lived in hiding cold	(45)
the Bëoring, Barahir the bold,
of land bereaved and lordship shorn
who once a prince of Men was born,
and now an outlaw lurked and lay
in the hard heath and woodland grey.	(50)
Twelve men beside him still there went,
still faithful when all hope was spent.
Their names are yet in elven-song
remembered, though the years are long
since doughty Dagnir and Ragnor,	(55)
Radhruin, Dairuin and Gildor,
Gorlim Unhappy, and Urthel,
and Arthad and Hathaldir fell;
since the black shaft with venomed wound
took Belegund and Baragund,	(60)
the mighty sons of Bregolas;
since he whose doom and deeds surpass
all tales of Men was laid on bier,
fair Beren son of Barahir.
For these it was, the chosen men	(65)
of Bëor's house, who in the fen
of reedy Serech stood at bay
about King Finrod in the day
of his defeat, and with their swords
thus saved of all the Elven-lords	(70)
the fairest; and his love they earned.
And he, escaping south, returned
to Nargothrond his mighty realm,
where still he wore his crownëd helm;
but they to their northern homeland rode,	(75)
dauntless and few, and there abode
unconquered still, defying fate,
pursued by Morgoth's sleepless hate.
Such deeds of daring there they wrought
that soon the hunters that them sought	(80)
at rumour of their coming fled.
Though price was set upon each head
to match the weregild of a king,
no soldier could to Morgoth bring
news even of their hidden lair;	(85)
for where the highland brown and bare
above the darkling pines arose
of steep Dorthonion to the snows
and barren mountain-winds, there lay
a tarn of water, blue by day,	(90)
by night a mirror of dark glass
for stars of Elbereth that pass
above the world into the West.
Once hallowed, still that place was blest:
no shadow of Morgoth, and no evil thing	(95)
yet thither came; a whispering ring
of slender birches silver-grey
stooped on its margin, round it lay
a lonely moor, and the bare bones
of ancient Earth like standing stones	(100)
thrust through the heather and the whin;
and there by houseless Aeluin
the hunted lord and faithful men
under the grey stones made their den.
Gorlim Unhappy, Angrim's son,	(105)
as the tale tells, of these was one
most fierce and hopeless. He to wife,
while fair was the fortune of his life,
took the fair maiden Eilinel:
dear love they had ere evil fell.	(110)
To war he rode; from war returned
to find his fields and homestead burned,
his house forsaken roofless stood,
empty amid the leafless wood;
and Eilinel, fair Eilinel,	(115)
was taken, whither none could tell,
to death or thraldom far away.
Black was the shadow of that day
for ever on his heart, and doubt
still gnawed him as he went about	(120)
in wilderness wandering, or at night
oft sleepless, thinking that she might
ere evil came have timely fled
into the woods: she was not dead,
she lived, she would return again	(125)
to seek him, and would deem him slain.
Therefore, at whiles, he left the lair,
and secretly, alone, would peril dare,
and come to his old house at night,
broken and cold, without fire or light,	(130)
and naught but grief renewed would gain,
watching and waiting there in vain.
In vain, or worse - for many spies
had Morgoth, many lurking eyes
well used to pierce the deepest dark;	(135)
and Gorlim's coming they would mark
and would report. There came a day
when once more Gorlim crept that way,
down the deserted weedy lane
at dusk of autumn sad with rain	(140)
and cold wind whining. Lo, a light
at window fluttering in the night
amazed he saw; and drawing near,
between faint hope and sudden fear,
he looked within. 'Twas Eilinel!	(145)
Though changed she was, he knew her well.
With grief and hunger she was worn,
her tresses tangled, raiment torn;
her gentle eyes with tears were dim,
as soft she wept: 'Gorlim, Gorlim!	(150)
Thou canst not have forsaken me.
Then slain, alas, thou slain must be!
And I must linger cold, alone,
and loveless as a barren stone!'
One cry he gave - and then the light	(155)
blew out, and in the wind of night
wolves howled; and on his shoulder fell
suddenly the griping hands of hell.
There Morgoth's servants fast him caught
and he was cruelly bound, and brought	(160)
to Sauron, captain of the host,
the lord of werewolf and of ghost,
most foul and fell of all who knelt
at Morgoth's throne. In might he dwelt
on Gaurhoth Isle; but now had ridden	(165)
with strength abroad, by Morgoth bidden
to find the rebel Barahir.
He sat in dark encampment near,
and thither his butchers dragged their prey.
There now in anguish Gorlim lay:	(170)
with bond on neck, on hand and foot,
to bitter torment he was put,
to break his will and him constrain
to buy with treason end of pain.
But naught to them would he reveal	(175)
of Barahir, nor break the seal
of faith that on his tongue was laid;
until, at last, a pause was made,
and one came softly to his stake,
a darkling form that stooped, and spake	(180)
to him of Eilinel, his wife.
'Wouldst thou,' he said, 'forsake thy life,
who with few words might win release
for her, and thee, and go in peace,
and dwell together far from war,	(185)
friends of the King? What wouldst thou more?'
And Gorlim, now long worn with pain,
yearning to see his wife again
(whom well he weened was also caught
in Sauron's net), allowed the thought	(190)
to grow, and faltered in his troth.
Then straight, half willing and half loath,
they brought him to the seat of stone
where Sauron sat. He stood alone
before that dark and dreadful face,	(195)
and Sauron said: 'Come, mortal base!
What do I hear? That thou wouldst dare
to barter with me? Well, speak fair!
What is thy price?' And Gorlim low
bowed down his head, and with great woe,	(200)
word on slow word, at last implored
that merciless and faithless lord
that he might free depart, to spare
him to find Eilinel the Fair
and dwell with her and cease from war	(205)
against the King. He craved no more.
Then Sauron smiled, and said: 'Thou thrall!
The price thou askest is but small
for treachery and shame so great!
I grant it surely! Well, I wait.	(210)
Come! Speak now swiftly and speak true!'
Then Gorlim wavered, and he drew
half back; but Sauron's daunting eye
there held him, and he dared not lie:
as he began, so must he wend	(215)
from first false step to faithless end:
he all must answer as he could,
betray his lord and brotherhood,
and cease, and fall upon his face.
Then Sauron laughed aloud. 'Thou base,	(220)
thou cringing worm! Stand up,
and hear me! And now drink the cup
that I have sweetly blent for thee!
Thou fool: a phantom thou didst see
that I, I Sauron, made to snare	(225)
thy lovesick wits. Naught else was there.
Cold 'tis with Sauron's wraiths to wed!
Thy Eilinel, she is long since dead,
dead, food of worms, less low than thou.
And yet thy boon I grant thee now:	(230)
to Eilinel thou soon shalt go,
and lie in her bed, no more to know
of war - or manhood. Have thy pay!'
And Gorlim then they dragged away,
and cruelly slew him; and at last	(235)
in the dank mould his body cast
where Eilinel long since had lain
in the burned woods by butchers slain.
Thus Gorlim died and evil death,
and cursed himself with dying breath,	(240)
and Barahir at last was caught
in Morgoth's snare; for set at naught
by treason was the ancient grace
that guarded long that lonely place,
Tarn Aeluin: now all laid bare	(245)
were secret paths and hidden lair.

*

End Notes

46 originally Bëor's son, Barahir the bold. Changed as per Tolkien's emendation to the amanuensis typescript (Christopher Tolkien's 'D' text), noted on p. 348, The Lays of Beleriand. The change was made there to bring the text into alignment with the later version of the genealogy of the House of Bëor, where Bëor is no longer Barahir's father.

68 originally about King Inglor

109 originally took the white maiden Eilinel

115 originally and Eilinel, white Eilinel. Concerning this change and the one noted above, see note to lines 203-205, below.

203-205 originally read:

that he might free depart, and might
again find Eilinel the White
and dwell with her, and cease from war

Professor Tolkien was, both fortunately and unfortunately, a product of his own era and culture. There is much throughout the poem that seems to implicitly equate 'white' with beauty. Such notions run contrary to modern sensibilities. Since part of the intent of this edition is to provide a text engaging to a wider audience, perhaps for public reading or performance, passages of this sort are here altered to keep the poem palatable for current consumption. These changes are made casually throughout but all are noted below.

Canto III

Dark from the North now blew the cloud;
the winds of autumn cold and loud
hissed in the heather; sad and grey
Aeluin's mournful water lay.
'Son Beren,' then said Barahir,	(5)
'Thou knowest the rumour that we hear
of strength from the Gaurhoth that is sent
against us; and our food nigh spent.
On thee the lot falls by our law
to go forth now alone to draw	(10)
what help thou canst from the hidden few
that feed us still, and what is new
to learn. Good fortune go with thee!
In speed return, for grudgingly
we spare thee from our brotherhood,	(15)
so small: and Gorlim in the wood
is long astray or dead. Farewell!'
As Beren went, still like a knell
resounded in his heart that word,
the last of his father that he heard.	(20)
Through moor and fen, by tree and briar
he wandered far: he saw the fire
of Sauron's camp, he heard the howl
of hunting Orc and wolf a-prowl,
and turning back, for long the way,	(25)
benighted in the forest lay.
In weariness he then must sleep,
fain in a badger-hole to creep,
and yet he heard (or dreamed it so)
nearby a marching legion go	(30)
with clink of mail and clash of shields
up towards the stony mountain-fields.
He slipped then into darkness down,
until, as man that waters drown
strives upwards gasping, it seemed to him	(35)
he rose through slime beside the brim
of sullen pool beneath dead trees.
Their livid boughs in a cold breeze
trembled, and all their black leaves stirred:
each leaf a black and croaking bird	(40)
whose neb a gout of blood let fall.
He shuddered, struggling thence to crawl
through winding weeds, when far away
he saw a shadow faint and grey
gliding across the dreary lake.	(45)
Slowly it came, and softly spake:
"Gorlim I was, but now a wraith
of will defeated, broken faith,
traitor betrayed. Go! Stay not here!
Awaken, son of Barahir,	(50)
and haste! For Morgoth's fingers close
upon thy father's throat; he knows
your trysts, your paths, your secret lair.'
Then he revealed the devil's snare
in which he fell, and failed; and last	(55)
begging forgiveness, wept, and passed
out into darkness. Beren woke,
leapt up as one by sudden stroke
with fire of anger filled. His bow
and sword he seized, and like the roe	(60)
hotfoot o'er rock and heath he sped
before the dawn. Ere the next night fled
to Aeluin at last he came,
as the red sun eastward rose in flame;
but Aeluin was red with blood,	(65)
red were the stones and trampled mud.
Black in the birches sat a-row
the raven and the carrion crow;
wet were their nebs, and dark the meat
that dripped beneath their griping feet.	(70)
There Beren laid his father's bones
in haste beneath a cairn of stones;
no graven rune nor word he wrote
o'er Barahir, but thrice he smote
the topmost stone, and thrice aloud	(75)
he cried his name. 'Thy death,' he vowed,
'I will avenge. Yea, though my fate
should lead at last to Angband's gate.'
And then he turned, and did not weep:
too dark his heart, the wound too deep.	(80)
Out into night, as cold as stone,
loveless, friendless, he strode alone.
Of hunter's lore he had no need
the trail to find. With little heed
his ruthless foe, secure and proud,	(85)
marched north away with blowing loud
of brazen horns their lord to greet,
trampling the earth with grinding feet.
Behind them bold but wary went
now Beren, swift as hound on scent,	(90)
until, beside a darkling well
where Rivil rises from the fell
down into Serech's reeds to flow,
he found the slayers, found his foe.
From hiding on the hillside near	(95)
he marked them all: though less than fear,
too many for his sword and bow
to slay alone. Then, crawling low
as snake in heath, he nearer crept.
There many weary with marching slept,	(100)
but captains, sprawling on the grass,
drank and from hand to hand let pass
their booty, begrudging each small thing
raped from dead bodies. One a ring
held up, and laughed: 'Now, mates,' he cried	(105)
'here's mine! And I'll not be denied,
though few be like it in the land.
It came from this now severed hand
of that same Barahir I slew,
the robber-knave. If tales be true,	(110)
he had it of some elvish lord
for the rogue-service of his sword.
No help it gave to him - he's dead!
They're parlous, elvish rings, 'tis said;
still for the gold I'll keep it, yea,	(115)
and so eke out my worthless pay.
Old Sauron bade me bring it back,
and yet, methinks, he has no lack
of weightier treasures in his hoard:
the greater the greedier the lord!	(120)
So mark ye, mates, ye all shall swear
the hand of Barahir was bare!'
And as he spoke an arrow sped
from tree behind, and forward dead
choking he fell with barb in throat;	(125)
with leering face the earth he smote.
Forth, then, as wolfhound grim there leapt
Beren among them. Two he swept
aside with sword; caught up the ring;
slew one who grasped him; with a spring	(130)
back into shadow passed, and fled
before their yells of wrath and dread
of ambush in the valley rang.
Then after him like wolves they sprang,
howling and cursing, gnashing teeth,	(135)
hewing and bursting through the heath,
shooting wild arrows, sheaf on sheaf,
at trembling shade or shaken leaf.
In fateful hour was Beren born:
he laughed at dart and wailing horn;	(140)
fleetest of foot of living men
tireless on fell and light on fen,
elf-wise in wood, he passed away,
defended by his hauberk grey
of dwarvish craft in Nogrod made,	(145)
where hammers rang in cavern's shade.
As fearless Beren was renowned:
when men most hardy upon ground
were reckoned folk would speak his name,
foretelling that his after-fame	(150)
would even golden Hador pass
or Barahir and Bregolas;
but sorrow now his heart had wrought
to fierce despair, no more he fought
in hope of life or joy or praise,	(155)
but seeking so to use his days
only that Morgoth deep should feel
the sting of his avenging steel,
ere death he found and end of pain:
his only fear was thraldom's chain.	(160)
Danger he sought and death pursued,
and thus escaped the doom he wooed,
and deeds of breathless daring wrought
alone, of which the rumour brought
new hope to many a broken man.	(165)
They whispered 'Beren,' and began
in secret swords to whet, and soft
by shrouded hearths at evening oft
songs they would sing of Beren's bow,
of Dagmor his sword: how he would go	(170)
silent to camps and slay the chief,
or, trapped in his hiding, past belief
would slip away, and under night
by mist or moon or by the light
of open day would come again.	(175)
Of hunters hunted, slayers slain
they sang, of Gorgol the Butcher hewn,
of ambush in Ladros, fire in Drûn,
of thirty in one battle dead,
of wolves that yelped like curs and fled,	(180)
yea, Sauron himself with wound in hand.
Thus one alone filled all that land
with fear and death for Morgoth's folk;
his comrades were the beech and oak
who failed him not, and wary things	(185)
with fur and fell and feathered wings
that silent wander, or dwell alone
in hill and wild and waste of stone
watched o'er his ways, his faithful friends.
Yet seldom well and outlaw ends;	(190)
and Morgoth was a king more strong
than all the world has since in song
recorded: dark athwart the land
reached out the shadow of his hand,
at each recoil returned again;	(195)
two more were sent for one foe slain.
New hope was cowed, all rebels killed;
quenched were the fires, the songs were stilled,
tree felled, heath burned, and through the waste
marched the black host of Orcs in haste.	(200)
Almost they closed their ring of steel
round Beren; hard upon his heel
now trod their spies; within their hedge
of all aid shorn, upon the edge
of death at bay he stood aghast	(205)
and knew that he must die at last,
or flee the land of Barahir,
his land beloved. Beside the mere
beneath a heap of nameless stones
must crumble those once mighty bones,	(210)
forsaken by both son and kin,
bewailed by reeds of Aeluin.
In winter's night the houseless North
he left behind, and stealing forth
the leaguer of his watchful foe	(215)
he passed - a shadow on the snow,
a swirl of wind, and he was gone,
the ruin of Dorthonion,
Tarn Aeluin and its water wan,
never again to look upon.	(220)
No more shall hidden bowstring sing,
no more his shaven arrows wing,
no more his hunted head shall lie
upon the heath beneath the sky.
The Northern stars, whose silver fire	(225)
of old Men named the Burning Briar,
were set behind his back, and shone
o'er land forsaken: he was gone.
Southward he turned, and south away
his long and lonely journey lay,	(230)
while ever loomed before his path
the dreadful peaks of Gorgorath.
Never had foot of man most bold
yet trod those mountains steep and cold,
nor climbed upon their sudden brink,	(235)
whence, sickened, eyes must turn and shrink
to see their southward cliffs fall sheer
in rocky pinnacle and pier
down into shadows that were laid
before the sun and moon were made.	(240)
In valleys woven with deceit
and washed with waters bitter-sweet
dark magic lurked in gulf and glen;
but out away beyond the ken
of mortal sight the eagle's eye	(245)
from dizzy towers that pierced the sky
might grey and gleaming see afar,
as sheen on water under star,
Beleriand, Beleriand,
the borders of the Elven-land.	(250)

*

End Notes

Here, in the recommenced version of the Lay, Canto II was broken into two separate Cantos, what is here called Canto III being contained entirely within the original Canto II. Consequently, the numbering of this edition of the Lay of Leithian will hereafter be one off from the original.

61-64 originally read:

hotfoot o'er rock and heath he sped
before the dawn. Ere day was dead
to Aeluin at last he came,
as the red sun westward sank in flame;

Altered to match The Silmarillion, p. 159:

Then Beren awoke, and sped through the night, and came back to the lair of the outlaws on the second morning.

70 was originally followed by the lines:

One croaked: "Ha, ha, he comes too late!'
'Ha, ha!' they answered, 'ha! too late!'

In the version given in The Silmarillion the crows do not explicitly speak, so the lines have been removed.

103 originally their booty, grudging each small thing

108 originally For I 'twas wrenched it from the hand. Changed to match The Silmarillion, pp. 159-161, and also the version of events given in The Grey Annals. There the captain has both ring and Barahir's severed hand. More alterations could be made to the text to accommodate the details of the tale given there, but are not necessary. I would prefer to leave the recommenced version of the lay altered as little as possible.

116 originally and so eke out my niggard pay

Canto IV

There long ago in Elder-days
ere voice was heard or trod were ways,
the haunt of silent shadows stood
in starlit dusk, Nan Elmoth wood.
In Elder-days that long are gone	(5)
a light amid the shadows shone,
a voice was in the silence heard:
the sudden singing of a bird.
There Melian came, the Lady grey,
and dark and long her tresses lay	(10)
beneath her silver girdle-seat
and down unto her silver feet.
The nightingales with her she brought,
to whom their song herself she taught,
who sweet upon her gleaming hands	(15)
had sung in the immortal lands.
Thence wayward wandering on a time
from Lórien she dared to climb
the everlasting mountain-wall
of Valinor, at whose feet fall	(20)
the surges of the Shadowy Sea.
Out away she went then free,
to Lórien's gardens no more
returning, but on mortal shore,
a glimmer ere the dawn she strayed,	(25)
singing her spells from glade to glade.
A bird in dim Nan Elmoth wood
trilled, and to listen Thingol stood
amazed; then far away he heard
a voice more fair than fairest bird,	(30)
a voice as crystal clear of note
as thread of silver glass remote.
Of folk and kin no more he thought;
of errand that the Eldar brought
from Cuiviénen far away,	(35)
of lands beyond the Seas that lay
no more he recked, forgetting all,
drawn only by that distant call
'till deep in dim Nan Elmoth wood
lost and beyond recall he stood.	(40)
And there he saw her, fair and fay:
Ar-Melian, the Lady grey,
as silent as the windless trees,
standing with mist about her knees,
and in her face remote the light	(45)
of Lórien glimmered in the night.
No word she spoke; but pace by pace,
a halting shadow, towards he face
forth walked, the silver-mantled king,
tall Elu Thingol. In the ring	(50)
of waiting trees he took her hand.
One moment face to face they stand
alone, beneath the wheeling sky,
while starlit years on earth go by
and in Nan Elmoth wood the trees	(55)
grow dark and tall. The murmuring seas
rising and falling on the shore
and Ulmo's horns he heeds no more.
But long his people sought in vain
their lord, 'till Ulmo called again,	(60)
and then in grief they marched away,
leaving the woods. To havens grey
upon the western shore, the last
long shore of mortal lands, they passed,
and thence were borne beyond the Sea	(65)
in Aman, the Blessed Realm, to be
by evergreen Ezellohar
in Valinor, in Eldamar.
Thus Thingol sailed not on the seas
but dwelt amid the land of trees,	(70)
and Melian he loved, divine,
whose voice was potent as the wine
the Valar drink in golden halls
where flower blooms and fountain falls;
but when she sang it was a spell,	(75)
and no flower stirred nor fountain fell.
A king and queen thus lived they long,
and Doriath was filled with song,
and all the Elves that missed their way
and never found the western bay,	(80)
the gleaming walls of their long home
by the grey seas and the white foam,
who never trod the golden land
where the towers of the Valar stand,
all these were gathered in their realm	(85)
beneath the beech and oak and elm.
In later days, when Morgoth fled
from wrath and raised once more his head
and Iron Crown, his mighty seat
beneath the smoking mountain's feet	(90)
founded and fortified anew,
then slowly dread and darkness grew:
the Shadow of the North that all
the Folk of Earth would hold in thrall.
The lords of Men to knee he brings,	(95)
the kingdoms of the Exiled Kings
assails with ever-mounting war:
in their last havens by the shore
they dwell, or strongholds walled with fear
defend upon his borders drear,	(100)
'till each one falls. Yet reigned there still
in Doriath beyond his will
the Grey King and immortal Queen.
No evil in their realm is seen;
no power their might can yet surpass:	(105)
there still is laughter and green grass,
there leaves are lit by the bright sun,
and many marvels are begun.
There went now in the Guarded Realm
beneath the beech, beneath the elm,	(110)
there lightfoot ran now on the green
the daughter of the king and queen:
of Arda's eldest children born
in beauty of their elven-morn
and only child ordained by birth	(115)
to walk in raiment of the Earth
from Those descended who began
before the world of Elf and Man.
Beyond the bounds of Arda far
still shone the Legions, star on star,	(120)
memorials of their labour long,
achievement of Vision and of Song;
and when beneath their ancient light
on Earth below was cloudless night,
music in Doriath awoke,	(125)
and there beneath the branching oak,
or seated on the beech-leaves brown,
Daeron the dark with ferny crown
played on his pipes with elvish art
unbearable by mortal heart.	(130)
No other player has there been,
no other lips of fingers seen
so skilled, 'tis said in elven-lore:
not Maglor, son of Fëanor,
forgotten harper, singer doomed,	(135)
who, young when Laurelin yet bloomed,
to endless lamentation passed
when gem in tombless sea he cast,
nor any other harper fair
nor piper whose reeds did stir the air.	(140)
But Daeron in his heart's delight
now lived and played by starlit night,
until one summer-eve befell,
as still the elven harpers tell.
Then merrily his piping trilled;	(145)
the grass was soft, the wind was stilled,
the twilight lingered faint and cool
in shadow-shapes upon a pool
beneath the boughs of sleeping trees
standing silent. About their knees	(150)
a mist of hemlocks glimmered pale,
and ghostly moths on lace-wings frail
went to and fro. Beside the mere
quickening, rippling, rising clear
the piping called. Then forth she came,	(155)
as sheer and sudden as a flame
of ambient light the shadows cleaving,
her maiden-bower on bare feet leaving;
and as when summer stars arise
radiant into darkened skies,	(160)
her living light on all was cast
in fleeting silver as she passed.
There now she stepped with elven pace,
bending and swaying in her grace,
as half-reluctant; then began	(165)
to dance, to dance: in mazes ran
bewildering, and a mist of white
was wreathed about her whirling flight.
Wind-ripples on the water flashed,
and trembling leaf and flower were plashed	(170)
with diamond-dews, as ever fleet
and fleeter went her wingéd feet.
Her long hair as a cloud was streaming
about her arms uplifted, gleaming,
as slow above the trees the Moon	(175)
in glory of the plenilune
arose, and on the open glade
its light serene and clear was laid.
Then suddenly her feet were stilled,
and through the woven wood there thrilled,	(180)
half wordless, half in elven-tongue,
her voice upraised in blissful song
that once of nightingales she learned
and in her living joy had turned
to heart-enthralling loveliness,	(185)
unmarred, immortal, sorrowless.
Ir Ithil ammen Eruchín
menel-vîr síla díriel
si loth a galadh lasto dîn!
A Hîr Annûn gilthoniel,	(190)
le linnon im Tinúviel!
Oh elven-fairest Lúthien
what wonder moved thy dances then?
That night what doom of Elvenesse
enchanted did thy voice possess?	(195)
Such marvel shall there no more be
on Earth or west beyond the Sea,
at dusk or dawn, by night or noon
or neath the mirror of the moon!
On Neldoreth was laid a spell;	(200)
the piping into silence fell,
for Daeron cast his flute away,
unheeded on the grass it lay,
in wonder bound as stone he stood
heart-broken in the listening wood.	(205)
And still she sang above the night,
as light returning into light
upsoaring from the world below
when suddenly there came a slow
dull tread of heavy feet on leaves,	(210)
and from the darkness on the eaves
of the bright glade a shape came out
with hands agrope, as if in doubt
or blind, and as it stumbling passed
under the moon a shadow cast	(215)
bended and darkling. Then from on high
as lark falls headlong from the sky
the song of Lúthien fell and ceased;
but Daeron form the spell released
awoke to fear, and cried in woe:	(220)
'Flee Lúthien, ah Lúthien, go!
An evil walks the wood! Away!'
Then forth he fled in his dismay
ever calling her to follow him,
until far off his cry was dim.	(225)
'Flee, Lúthien!', and 'Lúthien!'
from hiding Daeron called again;
'A stranger walks the woods! Away!'
But Lúthien would wondering stay;
fear had she never felt or known,	(230)
'till fear then seized her, all alone,
seeing that shape with shagged hair
and shadow long that halted there.
Then sudden she vanished like a dream
in dark oblivion, a gleam	(235)
in hurrying clouds, for she had leapt
among the hemlocks tall, and crept
under a mighty plant with leaves
all long and dark, whose stem in sheaves
upheld an hundred umbels fair.	(240)
Her slender arms and shoulders bare
her raiment pale, and in her hair
the wild white roses glimmering there,
all lay like spattered moonlight hoar
in gleaming pools upon the floor.	(245)
Then stared he wild in dumbness bound
at silent trees, deserted ground;
he blindly groped across the glade
to the dark trees' encircling shade,
and, while she watched with veiléd eyes,	(250)
touched her soft arm in sweet surprise.
Like startled moth from deathlike sleep
in sunless nook or bushes deep
she darted swift, and to and fro
with cunning that elvish dancers know	(255)
about the trunks of trees she twined
a path fantastic. Far behind
enchanted, wildered and forlorn
Beren came blundering, bruised and torn:
Esgalduin the elven-stream,	(260)
in which amid tree-shadows gleam
the stars, flowed strong before his feet.
Some secret way she found, and fleet
passed over and was seen no more,
and left him forsaken on the shore.	(265)
'Darkly the sundering flood rolls past.
To this my long way comes at last -
a hunger and a loneliness,
enchanted waters pitiless.'
Forlorn he leaned against a tree.	(270)
Wildered, wayworn, gaunt was he,
with body sick, his heart gone cold,
grey in his hair, his youth turned old;
for those that tread that lonely way
a price of woe and anguish pay.	(275)
Now all his journey's lonely fare,
the hunger and the haggard care,
the awful mountains' stones he stained
with blood of weary feet, and gained
only a land of ghosts, and fear	(280)
in dark ravines imprisoned sheer -
there mighty spiders wove their webs,
old creatures foul with birdlike nebs
that span their traps in dizzy air,
and filled it with clinging black despair,	(285)
and there they lived, and the sucked bones
lay white beneath on the dank stones -
now all these horrors like a cloud
faded from mind. The waters loud
falling from pineclad heights no more	(290)
he heard, those waters grey and frore
that bittersweet he drank and filled
his mind with madness - all was stilled.
He recked not now the burning road,
the paths demented where he strode	(295)
endlessly... and ever new
horizons stretched before his view,
as each blue ridge with bleeding feet
was climbed, and down he went to meet
battle with creatures old and strong	(300)
and monsters in the dark, and long,
long watches in the haunted night
while evil shapes with baleful light
in clustered eyes did crawl and snuff
beneath his tree - not half enough	(305)
the price he deemed to come at last
to that pale moon when day had passed,
to those clear stars of Elvenesse,
and that brief vision of loveliness.
From outside, far Beleriand,	(310)
thus one alone came to that land
and passed the spells that Melian laid
in wood and glen, on grove and glade -
driven by doom, as was foretold
by Melian in days of old.	(315)
A summer waned, an autumn glowed,
and Beren in the woods abode,
as wild and wary as a faun
that sudden wakes at rustling dawn,
and flits from shade to shade, and flees	(320)
the brightness of the sun, yet sees
all stealthy movements in the wood.
The murmurous warmth in weathers good,
the hum of many wings, the call
of many a bird, the pattering fall	(325)
of sudden rain upon the trees,
the windy tide in leafy seas,
the creaking of the boughs, he heard;
but not the song of sweetest bird
brought joy or comfort to his heart,	(330)
a wanderer dumb who dwelt apart;
who sought unceasing, near in vain,
to hear and see those things again:
a song more fair than nightingale,
a wonder in the moonlight pale;	(335)
yet, fleeting, only a glimpse he sees
as fluttered leaves neath golden trees.
An autumn waned, a winter laid
the withered leaves in grove and glade;
the beeches bare were gaunt and grey,	(340)
and red their leaves beneath them lay.
From cavern pale the moist moon eyes
the white mists that from earth arise
to hide the morrow's sun and drip
all the grey day from each twig's tip.	(345)
By dawn and dusk he seeks her still;
by noon and night in valleys chill,
nor hears a sound but the slow beat
on sodden leaves of his own feet.
The wind of winter winds his horn;	(350)
the misty veil is rent and torn.
The wind dies; the starry choirs
leap in the silent sky to fires
whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer
through domes of frozen crystal clear.	(355)
A sparkle through the darkling trees,
a piercing glint of light he sees,
and there she dances all alone
upon a treeless knoll of stone!
Her mantle blue with jewels white	(360)
caught all the rays of frosted light.
She shone with cold and wintry flame,
as dancing down the hill she came,
and passed his watchful silent gaze,
a glimmer as of stars ablaze.	(365)
And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet,
and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,
shrilled as she wayward passed along.
A frozen brook to bubbling song
awoke and laughed; but Beren stood	(370)
still bound enchanted in the wood.
Her starlight faded and the night
closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.
Thereafter on a hillock green
he saw far off the elven-sheen	(375)
of shining limb and jewel bright
often and oft on moonlit night;
and Daeron's pipe awoke once more,
and soft she sang as once before.
Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,	(380)
and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.
A night there was when winter died;
then all alone she sang and cried
and danced until the dawn of spring,
and chanted some wild magic thing	(385)
that stirred him, 'till at last it broke
the bonds that held him, and he woke
from dreaming deep and cold despair.
He strayed out into the night air,
and the hillock green he stepped upon -	(390)
but the elven sheen was sudden gone,
the hill abandoned: she had fled
away; but now his feet were sped,
and as she went he swiftly came
and called her with the tender name	(395)
of nightingales in elven tongue,
that all the woods now sudden rung:
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!',
and clear his voice was as a bell;
its echoes wove a binding spell:	(400)
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
His voice such love and longing filled
one moment stood she, fear was stilled,
one moment without fear or shame,
one moment only: Beren came,	(405)
and as she stood there shimmering
her grey eyes danced a-glimmering.
In Doriath bound in a spell
then doom fell on Tinúviel,
and Beren caught that elven maid	(410)
fair Lúthien, whom love delayed.
In elven dell that maiden fair
about him cast her shadowy hair,
and under morrowless moonlit skies
he kissed her trembling starlit eyes.	(415)
In hour charmed there soft a kiss
she placed upon his muted lips.
Ah, Lúthien! Ah, Lúthien,
more fair than any child of Men!
Oh, loveliest maid of Elvenesse,	(420)
what madness doth thee now possess?
Ah, lissom limbs and shadowy hair
and chaplet of white snowdrops there;
oh, starry diadem and bright
soft hands beneath the pale moonlight!	(425)
She left his arms and slipped away
just at the breaking of the day.

*

End Notes

Tolkien wrote two versions of the Lay of Leithian, one during the earlier part of the 20th century and another towards the middle. Concerning these, Christopher Tolkien wrote in his preface to the recommenced version in The Lays of Beleriand:

When my father began the Lay of Leithian again from the beginning, he did not at first intend much more, perhaps, than a revision, an improvement of individual lines and short passages, but all on the original plan and structure. This, at least, is what he did with Canto I; and he carried out the revisions on the old B typescript. But with Canto II he was quickly carried into a far more radical reconstruction, and was virtually writing a new poem on the same subject and in the same metre as the old.

This Canto marks the transition from the recommenced version of the Lay to the earlier version. It was here that the new poem Tolkien was composing ended, about halfway through the Canto. Generally speaking, the recommenced version of the Lay consists of higher quality writing than the original; it is also much closer to the final version of the mythology, especially when taking Tolkien’s later emendations of the poem into account. Consequently the text from this point forward will be subject to greater changes. In the recommenced version I’ve attempted to alter as little as possible and to leave most of the original writing untouched, but there are a couple of difficult problems presented here, in this Canto, where the transition from one version of the poem to another takes place. The latter part of the Canto is marked for revision, but was never substantially altered. Other sections present unique problems as well. As such, they raise questions that are difficult to resolve. Should these sections be left completely untouched? If not, how much should they be altered, and to what degree would such alterations constitute an excessive intrusion upon the text? I’ve grappled with these questions as best I could. The text I've presented is an attempt to resolve these conflicts given the general intent of the edition as outlined in the Preface above. All alterations and choices between different variant texts are noted below.


23 originally to gardens of the Gods no more. On the whole, I have sought for a more ‘elvish’ interpretation of the text in this edition, following the convention of Tolkien’s later works. There the Valar are never referred to as ‘gods’ by the Eldar, save in rare circumstance or in communication with men, whom, in their limited understanding of those beings, mistake them for deities. In this edition I’ve retained its use only in jest (e.g.: Canto V) or delusion (e.g.: Canto XIV), but never as a serious reference to the Valar.

31-32 not altered, but note that the lines are a variant of the last two lines in the second stanza of part II of The Trees of Kortirion, Narquelion:

Winding amid the green with clear cold note
Like a thin strand of silver glass remote.

Tolkien considered Kortirion for inclusion in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil but thought it ‘too long and too ambitious’ for that collection (it’s one of my favorite poems of his. See The Book of Lost Tales, vol. I, pp. 32 ff.). So here Tolkien has borrowed from himself, from one of his better poems, for use in the recommenced version of the Lay.


69-86 taken, verbatim, from the original version of the poem as given, p. 173, The Lays of Beleriand (Christopher's B(2) text). This was Tolkien's later intent, as noted p. 351, The Lays of Beleriand.

87-191 taken from the re-written typescript copy noted on pp. 351-2, The Lays of Beleriand. A couple of alterations are noted below.

107 originally by the white sun. Changed to bright to alliterate with by and begun.

134 originally save Maelor, son of Fëanor. Maelor was altered to Maglor in the typescript. Save was changed to not to match The Silmarillion, p. 183:

And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. He it was that made music for the dance and song of Lúthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music. He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Fëanor.

138 originally and in the tombless sea was cast. Changed to match The Silmarillion Chapter 24, p. 261.

139-140 added, again to match The Silmarillion, p. 183. See note to line 134, above.

142 originally yet lived

148 originally upon the pool

157-158 originally:

of peerless white the shadows cleaving,
her maiden-bower on white feet leaving;

Altered for reasons outlined in the note to lines 203-205, Canto II, above, the bs in ambient and bare alliterating with bower, the l in light with those in cleaving and leaving, et. c.


191-225 taken from the manuscript sources noted on pp. 351-5, The Lays of Beleriand.

226 ff. taken from the primary text of the Lay as given in The Lays of Beleriand, pp. 176, lines 609 ff. There are a large number of alterations I've made to that text for a variety of reasons, all noted below.

227 originally Dairon

241 originally and her white arms and shoulders bare

270-309 taken, with some alterations (noted below), from lines 549-596 of the text given on pp. 175-176, The Lays of Beleriand. This section of the poem precedes the point I've used for the transition from the recommenced version to the original. It was likely intended to be discarded in the re-write of the Canto, as Christopher Tolkien argues on p. 351 of The Lays of Beleriand. Its omission was apparently due to C. S. Lewis's suggestion:

The artificial insertion of Beren's journey in its present place - where it appears as retrospect not as direct narrative, though defensible, belongs to a kind of art more sophisticated than that of the Geste...

Lewis also notes, however, that the passage contains some excellent writing and says that it is 'truly worthy of the Geste.' One could argue then on either side for its inclusion (as Lewis did himself, in an attempt to convince Tolkien to place it elsewhere).

According to The Silmarillion, p. 161:

It is told in the Lay of Leithian that Beren came stumbling into Doriath grey and bowed as with many years of woe, so great had been the torment of the road.

The passage in question is the only one from the surviving manuscripts of the Lay which describes Beren's travails in Dungortheb in the kind of detail explicitly required by this reference in The Silmarillion. Consequently, in order to stay true to the final version of the myth, I feel compelled to break with the tradition of the Geste here and include it. The original passage was intended to underscore Beren's first impression of Lúthien. I've attempted to include it in an appropriate place to do the same.

For the excerpt from C. S. Lewis's commentary on the Lay of Leithian, see The Lays of Beleriand, p. 322.


270-275 was taken, mid-sentence, from the passage noted above, lines 549-554. It originally began:

and faint he leaned against a tree.
Forwandered, wayworn, gaunt was he,
his body sick and heart gone cold,

Here I've altered the first line to begin the stanza and subsequent lines for the sake of alliteration with that line and the line following it. Thus, the ls in forlorn and leaned alliterate with that in wildered, the ws in wildered and wayworn with that in was, the hs in his and heart with that in hair.


276-309 taken from a little later on in the passage noted above, lines 563-596 in the original. The first line originally read Then all his journey's lonely fare. Other alterations are noted below.

308 originally Elfinesse. This specific change is one of many identical emendations Tolkien later made to this word throughout the original text. Alterations to this word are made casually in the remainder of the poem below. All are noted.

309 originally The hearts-ease and the loveliness. Tolkien later revised line 268 above (line 651 in the original) from a heartache to a hunger (see C. S. Lewis's commentary on the Lay of Leithian, p. 324, The Lays of Beleriand). For this reason I've discarded the original here and replaced it with and that brief vision, the v in Elvenesse alliterating with that in vision and loveliness.

310-315 added, to match The Silmarillion, p. 161:

...and none know how he found a way, and so came by paths that no Man nor Elf else ever dared to tread to the borders of Doriath. And he passed through the mazes that Melian wove about the kingdom of Thingol, even as she had foretold; for a great doom lay upon him.

Nowhere in any version of the Lay of Leithian is this very important aspect of the story, and of Beren's doom, explicitly stated. I've therefore sought to do so here, where it seemed most opportune.


316 ff. are now taken from where I had left off in the flow of the original poem above, at line 269. That would be line 653 on p. 177 of The Lays of Beleriand.

332 originally who sought unceasing and in vain. Altered to match The Silmarillion, p. 162:

And he saw her afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill...

.

336-337 added, again to match The Silmarillion, p. 162. See note to line 332 above.

378 originally Dairon

382 ff. contain a large number of alterations. The penultimate stanza of the original Canto 3, encompassing approximately lines 382-411 above (lines 717-745 in The Lays of Beleriand), C. S. Lewis severely criticized in his commentary on the Lay. Tolkien almost consistently took such criticisms to heart and reworked the majority of passages Lewis would argue against. The bottom of the stanza Tolkien marked with the word 'revise', but only roughly corrected the last few lines (see C. S. Lewis's commentary on the Lay of Leithian, pp. 324-325, The Lays of Beleriand). A strong argument can be made, then, that the passage was intended for revision. No substantial revision was forth coming, however: Tolkien abandoned work on the Canto at this point, never to return to it. I've therefore taken more liberties here than I have elsewhere in the Lay, attempting to take Lewis's critique into account.

Lewis notes in his commentary that about half the passage 'as it stands, is seriously corrupt, though the beauty... ...can still be discerned.' The original version of line 390 specifically he was very critical of, calling it 'intolerable bathos and prose in a passage of such tension.' The criticism seems particularly apt when comparing this section of the Canto with Tolkien's two other poems that deal with the subject of Beren and Lúthien's meeting, Light as Leaf on Lindentree and Aragorn's song in The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 1, Chapter XI. Both poems are of striking beauty, and do not suffer from the problems Lewis noted in his critique. Lewis's 'bathos,' however, has its beginnings a few lines earlier, at lines 386-389, where the change in mood in the original comes too suddenly:

that stirred him, till it sudden broke
the bonds that held him, and he woke
to madness sweet and brave despair.
He flung his arms to the night air,
and out he danced unheeding, fleet,
enchanted, with enchanted feet.

These lines have been altered above, where I've striven for something more subtle and less alarming. The last two have been removed altogether. (Regarding their removal, see the comparison of different sources of the tale of Beren and Lúthien in the discussion below.)

The four lines that follow in the original I've also removed and replaced with an alteration of an earlier version in lines 390-391. The removed lines read:

He sped towards the hillock green,
the lissom limbs, the dancing sheen;
he leapt upon the grassy hill
his arms with loveliness to fill:

The early variant of lines 390-391 read:

the hillock green he leapt upon
the elfin loveliness was gone

These are the two lines of 'intolerable bathos and prose' that Lewis singled out (see p. 325, The Lays of Beleriand). I've replaced leapt with stepped and reworked the preceding and following lines for greater alliterations on rs and ns. The lines that follow have been altered for similar reasons. They originally read:

his arms were empty, and she fled;
away, away her white feet sped.
But as she went he swiftly came

Line 396 gave in the original of nightingales in elvish tongue. I've replaced elvish with elven to increase the preponderance of ns in the line. Lines 402-405 contain the brief alteration Tolkien made after reviewing Lewis's critique. There I've retained most of Tolkien's alteration and included one of Lewis's suggested lines that Tolkien dropped in his rough revision (line 404) so that lines 404-405 are now a full rhyming couplet (Tolkien in his revision had dropped a line, producing half a couplet - most likely unintentionally). Tolkien's original emendation read:

His voice such love and longing filled
one moment stood she, fear was stilled;
one moment only; like a flame
he leaped towards her as she stayed
and caught and kissed that elfin maid.

(See The Lays of Beleriand, pp. 180-181, 325) The last line of Lewis's suggestion originally read exactly as the last line given in Tolkien's:

and caught and kissed that elfin maid.

but the abruptness of the line stands in marked contrast to the two shorter poems, noted above, which handle the events depicted here much more gracefully. Lewis's 'intolerable bathos and prose in a passage of such tension' seems just as applicable here. Aragorn's song and Light as Leaf, and that part of the tale depicting these events given in The Silmarillion, are of a more subtle character. They paint a picture more nuanced, more opaque and vague, yet still filled with detail. The two poems, in particular, are substantially more enchanting in character.

We have four substantive works from Tolkien, then, regarding Beren and Lúthien's first moments together (I will set aside the version of the tale told in The Book of Lost Tales as an incipient work and truly archaic). These works can be split into two groups: two early poems, the Lay and Light as Leaf, and two later works, Aragorn's song and The Silmarillion. The former are, in essence, non-canon works, stemming from the earlier part of the twentieth century. The latter are mid-century, canon works. In addition to these 'primary' works a few other texts should be noted as well. First is The Grey Annals, a late work from which some of the text from The Silmarillion is derived, published as part of The War of the Jewels. Second, as noted in the Preface there are a number of other texts from which the text for the The Silmarillion was also derived. These various sources, excluding The Grey Annals, will be assumed to be superseded by the complete text given in The Silmarillion since that work bears more of a weight in the arena of canon because of its early publication date. Finally, there exists a text which would likely have an important bearing on the topic at hand yet remains unaccessible to me since it is not yet published. This text is the unpublished prose version of the tale, noted on p. 295 of The Lost Road. It is a long prose 'saga', apparently similar in nature to the tales of Túrin or Túor given in Unfinished Tales. It follows very closely the recommenced version of the Lay. This prose text extends to the point in the tale where Dairon betrays to Thingol Beren's presence in Doriath, thus through the section now under discussion. Unfortunately I cannot currently take this text into consideration.

Regardless, the more recent works noted above are the main concern here, since they are taken to be the primary canon version of events. From The Silmarillion, p. 162, we have:

Then the spell of silence fell from Beren, and he called to her, crying Tinúviel; and the woods echoed the name. Then she halted in wonder, and fled no more, and Beren came to her. But as she looked on him, doom fell upon her, and she loved him; yet she slipped from his arms and vanished from his sight even as the day was breaking.

From Aragorn's song, p. 194 of The Fellowship of the Ring, we have:

Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinúviel! Tinúviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell	(5)
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinúviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,	(10)
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinúviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair	(15)
And arms like silver glimmering.

Against these more recent works we can contrast the older tradition, found here in the Lay, but more beautifully rendered in the earliest poem on Beren and Lúthien, Light as Leaf on Lindentree. (See The Lays of Beleriand, pp. 120 ff., specifically p. 122, or pp. 108 ff., lines 451 ff. of The Lay of the Children of Húrin. Light as Leaf was originally published in The Gryphon (Leeds University), New Series, Vol. VI, no. 6, June 1925, p. 217.):

And longing filled his voice that called
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
And longing sped his feet enthralled
Behind her wayward shimmering.
She heard as echo of a spell	(5)
His lonely voice that longing called
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
One moment paused she glimmering.
And Beren caught that elfin maid
And kissed her trembling starlit eyes,	(10)
Tinúviel whom love delayed
In the woods of evening morrowless.
Till moonlight and till music dies
Shall Beren by the elfin maid
Dance in the starlight of her eyes	(15)
In the forest singing sorrowless.

All other versions of the legend seem to imply that Lúthien's love falls upon her as Beren comes towards her, not after she is in his arms. This is never explicitly stated, however, in any of those versions. This stands in marked contrast to the Lay, in which love comes upon her after she is kissed: from lines 744-747 of the primary text given in The Lays of Beleriand, pp. 180-181, we have:

he leaped towards her as she stayed
and caught and kissed that elfin maid.

As love there woke in sweet surprise
the starlight trembled in her eyes

Another important discrepancy between the older and newer works surrounds Beren's dancing (noted above). It is present in the earlier versions of the story but absent from the later. From the the sixth stanza of Light as Leaf we have:

She danced upon a hillock green
Whose grass unfading kissed her feet,
While Dairon's fingers played unseen
O'er his magic flute a-flickering;
And out he danced, unheeding, fleet,
In the moonlihgt to the hillock green:
No impress found he of her feet
That fled him swiftly flickering.

The theme of Beren's dancing is recurrent in Light as Leaf. The fifth line, And out he danced, unheeding, fleet, is an exact duplicate of another found in the third stanza:

There magic took his weary feet,
And he forgot his loneliness,
And out he danced, unheeding, fleet,
et c.

This stands in marked contrast to the later tradition, in which Beren's dancing has disapeared completely. From Aragorn's song, stanzas six and seven (partial), we have:

When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling

Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinúviel! Tinúviel!
et c.

From The Silmarillion, p. 162, we have:

There came a time near dawn on the eve of spring, and Lúthien danced upon a green hill; and suddenly she began to sing. Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world; and the song of Lúthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet had passed.

Then the spell of silence fell from Beren, and he called to her, crying Tinúviel; et c.

Thus it is likely that the presence of his dancing in the Lay is due to its use as a recurrent theme in Light as Leaf. It is also absent from the initial tale as told in The Book of Lost Tales and from the version given in The Grey Annals. Since it is completely missing from the rest of the tradition of the tale, I've removed its use here and discarded the two lines that originally followed lines 388-389.

A similar dynamic surrounds the word caught, which appears in the earlier versions, but never in the later. It is never stated in those later versions, however, that Lúthien is not caught. In Light as Leaf the events surrounding the moment when Lúthien is caught are unstated: veiled in uncertainty. Much is left to the imagination. It is one of the notable aspects of that poem that lends to it such charm. All of these subtleties are in marked contrast to the Lay, which handles the flow of events much less elegantly.

To bring the Lay into accordance with the later canon, and in an attempt to capture the subtleties outlined above, the last lines of the stanza in question have been changed and a handful inserted. Almost all of the lines are taken from one of the two other poems cited above and are typically altered to some degree. The first two lines of the following stanza have been removed as well. The flow of events outlined, or hinted at, in the canon works I've attempted to capture here, and the mood and ambiance set in all of these other works I've striven to imitate as well, with the intent of painting a picture much more opaque, as Tolkien consistently did elsewhere.

Line 405 is altered from the original, the last couple words taken from line 6 of the first excerpt of Aragorn's song given above. Lines 406-407 are variations on lines 8 and (less so) 4 of the first excerpt from Light as Leaf. Lines 408-409 are adaptations of lines 5 and 7, respectively, of Aragorn's song (409, nearly verbatim). Line 410 is taken, verbatim, from line 9 of Light as Leaf. Line 411 is a variation of line 11 from the same. Line 412 is an adaptation of line 13 from Aragorn's song. Line 413 is taken, verbatim, from line 15 of the same. In line 414 I've combined words from three different lines in both Aragorn's song and Light as Leaf to give the passage an ambiance similar to these two other works, while line 415 is taken, nearly verbatim, from line 10 in Light as Leaf.

The last two lines of the stanza are added to wrap up the stanza and provide the kiss so essential for the beginning of Canto V. The imperfect rhyme here is intentional. There are several important occurrences in the poem where the poetic form is broken specifically and intentionally for dramatic effect. Always they are at moments of extreme expressions: expressions of love, of fear, of beauty, of power and so forth. It is as though the intensity of these moments is enough to break out of the poem itself. Examples include Beren's farewell to Lúthien (Canto V, lines 417-420), the fear of the captives before the throne of Sauron (Canto VIII, lines 178-183), the struggle between Finrod and Sauron in their songs of power (Canto VIII, lines 250-255) or Lúthien's song (here in Canto IV, lines 187-191, above). The first kiss should provide enough dramatic tension to break the poetic form, as do these other examples - especially when taken in light of the beginning of Canto V. I've therefore provided in the last line a break from pure rhyme.

Altogether, lines 717 ff. of Christopher's B(2) text, given as the primary text in The Lays of Beleriand, pp. 179-180, originally read:

A night there was when winter died;
then all alone she sang and cried
and danced until the dawn of spring,
and chanted some wild magic thing
that stirred him, till it sudden broke
the bonds that held him, and he woke
to madness sweet and brave despair.
He flung his arms to the night air,
and out he danced unheeding, fleet,
enchanted, with enchanted feet.
He sped towards the hillock green,
the lissom limbs, the dancing sheen;
he leapt upon the grassy hill
his arms with loveliness to fill:
his arms were empty, and she fled;
away, away her white feet sped.
But as she went he swiftly came
and called her with the tender name
of nightingales in elvish tongue,
that all the woods now sudden rung:
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!',
and clear his voice was as a bell;
its echoes wove a binding spell:
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
His voice such love and longing filled
one moment stood she, fear was stilled;
one moment only; like a flame
he leaped towards her as she stayed
and caught and kissed that elfin maid.

As love there woke in sweet surprise
the starlight trembled in her eyes
A! Lúthien! A! Lúthien!
more fair than any child of Men;
et c.

420 originally Elfinesse

421 originally what madness does

424-425 originally

oh, starry diadem and white
pale hands beneath the pale moonlight!