II. POEMS EARLY ABANDONED. During his time at the University of Leeds my father embarked on five distinct poetical works concerned with the matter of the mythology; but three of these went no further than the openings. This chapter treats each of them in turn. (i) The Flight of the Noldoli. There do not seem to be any certain indications of the date of this brief poem in alliterative verse in relation to The Children of Hurin (though it is worth noticing that already in the earliest of the three texts of The Flight of the Noldoli Feanor's son Cranthir is so named, whereas this form only arose by emendation of Cranthor in the typescript text of the Lay (line 1719)). However, both from its general air and from various details it can be seen that it comes from the same time; and since it seems unlikely that (on the one hand) my father would have embarked on a new poem in alliterative verse unless he had laid the other aside, or that (on the other) he would have returned to this mode once he was fully engaged on a long poem in rhyming couplets, I think it very probable that The Flight of the Noldoli comes from the earlier part of 1925 (see PP. 3, 81). Each of the three manuscripts of the poem (A, B, and C) is differently titled: A has The Flight of the Gnomes as sung in the Halls of Thingol; B (pencilled in later) Flight of the Gnomes; C The Flight of the Noldoli from Valinor. A has emendations that are taken up in the text of B, and B has emendations taken up in C; almost all are characteris- tic metrical/verbal rearrangements, as for example in line 17: A in anguish mourning, emended to the reading of B; B and in anguish mourn, emended to the reading of C; C mourning in anguish. As generally in this book, earlier variants that have no bearing on names or story are not cited. Each text ends at the same point, but three further lines are roughly written in the margin of A (see note to line 146). I give now the text of the third version, C. THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOLI FROM VALINOR. A! the Trees of Light, tall and shapely, gold and silver, more glorious than the sun, than the moon more magical, o'er the meads of the Gods their fragrant frith and flowerladen gardens gleaming, once gladly shone. 5 In death they are darkened, they drop their leaves from blackened branches bled by Morgoth and Ungoliant the grim the Gloomweaver. In spider's form despair and shadow a shuddering fear and shapeless night 10 she weaves in a web of winding venom that is black and breathless. Their branches fail, the light and laughter of their leaves are quenched. Mirk goes marching, mists of blackness, through the halls of the Mighty hushed and empty, 15 the gates of the Gods are in gloom mantled. Lo! the Elves murmur mourning in anguish, but no more shall be kindled the mirth of Cor in the winding ways of their walled city, towercrowned Tun, whose twinkling lamps 20 are drowned in darkness. The dim fingers of fog come floating from the formless waste and sunless seas. The sound of horns, of horses' hooves hastening wildly in hopeless hunt, they hear afar, 25 where the Gods in wrath those guilty ones through mournful shadow, now mounting as a tide o'er the Blissful Realm, in blind dismay pursue unceasing. The city of the Elves is thickly thronged. On threadlike stairs 30 carven of crystal countless torches stare and twinkle, stain the twilight and gleaming balusters of green beryl. A vague rumour of rushing voices, as myriads mount the marble paths, 35 there fills and troubles those fair places wide ways of Tun and walls of pearl. Of the Three Kindreds to that clamorous throng are none but the Gnomes in numbers drawn. The Elves of Ing to the ancient halls 40 and starry gardens that stand and gleam upon Timbrenting towering mountain that day had climbed to the cloudy-domed mansions of Manwe for mirth and song. There Bredhil the Blessed the bluemantled, 45 the Lady of the heights as lovely as the snow in lights gleaming of the legions of the stars, the cold immortal Queen of mountains, too fair and terrible too far and high for mortal eyes, in Manwe's court 50 sat silently as they sang to her. The Foam-riders, folk of waters, Elves of the endless echoing beaches, of the bays and grottoes and the blue lagoons, of silver sands sown with moonlit, 55 starlit, sunlit, stones of crystal, paleburning gems pearls and opals, on their shining shingle, where now shadows groping clutched their laughter, quenched in mourning their mirth and wonder, in amaze wandered 60 under cliffs grown cold calling dimly, or in shrouded ships shuddering waited for the light no more should be lit for ever. But the Gnomes were numbered by name and kin, marshalled and ordered in the mighty square 65 upon the crown of Cor. There cried aloud the fierce son of Finn. Flaming torches he held and whirled in his hands aloft, those hands whose craft the hidden secret knew, that none Gnome or mortal 70 hath matched or mastered in magic or in skill. 'Lo! slain is my' sire by the sword of fiends, his death he has drunk at the doors of his hall and deep fastness, where darkly hidden the Three were guarded, the things unmatched 75 that Gnome and Elf and the Nine Valar can never remake or renew on earth, recarve or rekindle by craft or magic, not Feanor Finn's son who fashioned them of yore - the light is lost whence he lit them first, 80 the fate of Faerie hath found its hour Thus the witless wisdom its reward hath earned of the Gods' jealousy, who guard us here to serve them, sing to them in our sweet cages, to contrive them gems and jewelled trinkets, 85 their leisure to please with our loveliness, while they waste and squander work of ages, nor can Morgoth master in their mansions sitting at countless councils. Now come ye all, who have courage and hope! My call harken 90 to flight, to freedom in far places! The woods of the world whose wide mansions yet in darkness dream drowned in slumber, the pathless plains and perilous shores no moon yet shines on nor mounting dawn 95 in dew and daylight hath drenched for ever, far better were these for bold footsteps than gardens of the Gods gloom-encircled with idleness filled and empty days. Yea! though the light lit them and the loveliness 100 beyond heart's desire that hath held us slaves here long and long. But that light is dead. Our gems are gone, our jewels ravished; and the Three, my Three, thrice-enchanted globes of crystal by gleam undying 105 illumined, lit by living splendour ...
Januszek66