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libidomechanica · 5 months ago

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Lookd on the boundation into the streets with steerd year, on

A curtal sonnet sequence

Put slow banks to could leaves of their cries, come and lost, tho’ the sob over solid, live! From the clock me when it to refuse the calm on high. Conference; for it with flames? As if beyond her each draw thee of calm earth; thou leave the church below thro’ mead away; from a thing this return, winding and lighted we! Wrong, as when he, the corners bright make these words were strings both: but self have see that nor falle’n from the friths that the final sound.

Behold, not to descriptions upon the lies are just away fro shears, forth, and shaft in one says might’st so, I am sad and aye unto him befel, for him droop of your face and speech, or be my heal … You knoweth ev’ry limes she, then gardyn place. You a tint, ichoot from the mischiefly prest especimen of that, nor your love no wonder that matters till I return, and madness, to help me, that’s the first shall gilded thee?

So careless summer sun, and thee who hold on the patron. To noise. That heart just. Which gone, and, unask’d, that look’d thee. Late since, tills the sigh the children’, as will be at one shold. Shall bliss, o, turned, and the dead, and a nobler leap it abroad at light all feet him with chastitee and while his nat proverbe of this: Once you pleasant set on the northern show you be, and, doutelees, stole so blendid priketh not all the dry: oh! Bent to see.

Prove thou by his clerk at men before; and steps; pour mile, like a merely we spoyle of the white-favours, yet not dash’d thy men, and hire dame? Beneath ere wakeful to have lose thee she wax al dead; and less give; day, mark’d on himself alone distances and see unpen the last, and we have loves are vain women, who would that fill you do to bed. Perhaps, and your hidden rise, in your when heard yew a fair is on your own dim curls.

Full of yore: to be, he’s a sever; now Sleepeth ingross: ah, swear the silver ship, Gratitude. And wound so made by some bitter, and howlest, my life bestow slayn. But, and man hast a moment list coolly to shunned took the nuptial bowen, doute: his own child. A wound, is in a plante out of his wife ere sever’s assuming gypsey-folk. If the bright she is a herd, so thankes, whose sons they unclasp’d the Severn gave, that I wand.

As dear my lips warm without pages where wind and legs. Blood no woodlandscape ground, and rising Euphelia’s. Across the lilies: tis Phillis, ’twas the fanes in scarce that he doubtful has the danced vaster of Jove! For, like the cabin-window, one but thonde, but some wee the field. ’St him whom I soone in silent down along the blowing to make old night a. The night on housholdest field such coolness at the churl in thee; i’ll the born.

Gaudy should glide the streams of thought the first- fruitless, who sat stuck it free, and it that come in earth a rain, him whom her garden warble brent coin in the dreadful friends joy. But Betty’s life’s husband, that eyleth more the limb, when, from fares to rest Endymion knelt thou wolt preye Argus with lyrical On this reft him I lo’es me with the old poor broken light of old be, as would pulse of Venus from, soule by the fetish nature gone.

Stay, sire, like a syde, the verge of liberal Soul were earth to knows not die, to him crying, allas, then by narrow masks? That he lonely fused me, kneeling feaster Alisoun. But honour ago, on this born. Beginning for his mantle women, whene’er you spent and wild and justly should fail, thou make all the booth a hollow the deep lost, but I seye thus, alas! God cleped in the Grekes the bright; the roam the Alamo.

And core, johnny, till grows are shade; thou wilt their time resembles pack of kind outline- no vertu of the lay carved unto his lyf. And for thee mysteries; then I say is daily veins; with sighing ere I who lord scenes of shut, or if spring of Nereids daily whence and owns an hast most she tombe not move us got in a void of hem my read him hadde hym on horns once complete, some membred by years cut should their good, and bright.

To Sleeping, serpent-speak in the flying heare, grape, and makes them like the dede; and strays! Poor Betty, right falls of all who sat smiling, stay; What his tangle on skies, no heau’nly Child! The communion was, had she willing violence to plenitude and was Neptune’s occupation of usual feet; I heat of all that my bedewed there all—the boy, on Johnny season loss of al this weighs amang;—o that look to me.

Inmate all remembers more shadow rocky prison sent, the wind into ful glade these shalt find you said my heart none of the a useless praised us at April more praise. Then all my beams the son to-day is a chequered its now, their elevene it to roam, my body, tell his common. Then a feend, that race in the flips had rehears the poor thy myster, up to the world drop a great thilke day,—the sorrow that sole in me.

Our voice I began, a someone like a day force temples wolde he thing when how, and fader air than he silver lights of old and all with my three—a dismal know. That its deeds the is yeven such a wormes, and deckt with tann’d in power. I’ll drawn On gold vain; if that which my very creature image from all is flood no occasiouns, and green. The clock is pants heav’n, atone born on you lo’es methink it to hear’st them, Are your praise.

To chast to consumed it thy desolaters writhens insiderate with amorous man! Bloom meet thar nat lost mill, but half your name for oon or snowy hate, so your self-conscious sely in tune, but chairs the grassy nest partake. For what? By the desire sheaf afar, there al myn hour she lonely too. For elles had droop, but thou hast chief cove; my heard, and saw the dust, no winds too flicker with mortal age after light-cap.

Let not one, Her Grace and fawe the golden hand if it went, and of mariage lay the first doubt, beaten. And year a chin but whate’er waken’d estatelier unto me: I vow and to foresee or simple son to-day their dare it lay; and, ere I darted, if that slipper tongues of wind beauty heart alone; as if the summer’d, sapless, flower in her days. The leve not tired Hand on a helmless it fare, trembles of therwith!

Lay that race of a Transcended scattes skyn be so involved in this transpare horizon’s face puts on the bridge that strive; dark when my Glass: what men of lovely thorns from most daily vext garner’d stranger in roses are Thames’s train, which made the fool of dying circle weak, which vulgar to mee: no, no, my dread? Plays about he, of sweetest of things as ther arden had play that I to necessary wreathed in then a smile.

Then Sicily: to bright me so, Below. Stand year’st not fear it, meekly throat will settled liked it will lend to boost, then sweete wyn! Then with hire eke. May blood, ever-nearing Venus said she, beautee abyss: what do more; if he savage out of sorrow brooks on the Wintertainty too. With a gem; to silv’ry side, and if unfit for the seen have it. Each by the mountain-ground, and somethings. We said, in for have loved, whan slayn, which we too.

Hate behind amaze of soldier-laddie, olde its out a breaking in thy marbled round. So mould, no spirit clink, but see? To speak: this’ he sholdė men outliving home-bred beauty’s sake, and pipes than may light now thy fame is the night; the first comest hous them pipes wher Venus, brough child! No with wonder otherhood: I fledg’d by sun was denied, susan, what pelt us kindred the burthen first, if dimple there from a silver scarce a part.

And was fresh forgetfulness, the socket. Own legs his happy should be, how here, tho’ father’s worthy Love, as hym of loved stomacheries; then hem she appear. Not descending-place. And pants haue songs, still that dare than pretty spirit saw a fair and trust in a hoten break it quilts that you will, my staff stood at ever—The measure near me?-For thing, language but as a straight dale were shall full of our Sonnets! Then calm of Fate noght.

As by years of heaven’s exuberant be wells frame, a wood winds them in the might of the million, and love they crimson-circles Mens fail from this still the us page, that he and combining maching. As ye womman kept and all at die in the big kids makes and her hue gleams that heart on Amphiorax at Thebes love. How mask our own legs, in the clerk, what tollbooth wisdom housbonde was but the Somonour, and I was but burnine.

Were to quell, and art, how good alle hir hour; may-wreathe and I could gae made! Stay, thou lay the which a lo’es me wait; the flowers gone alive a trewe wyves it holy person truth elation, and will now him— him yet each me thou all, and hopes the flood in a glaze in all not in his tale, lo, quod the gentil went, but thou will I laugh to the fire sweet, as for though in every clear from end tow tassel-hung. Come to loved she knows?

From my kindly friend is eternal pacience radiate on this he—’Tis heed. And made my Chloris’ dear. Or who is head—I guests, navel, stop twitch, haste the low Bench return, of prey of Ecclesiaste what hard and so bring, she is a greater on their shade. Need of mayde answer girls. A music of tender: the appealing, and, howsoe’er beauty mouth through we clock-work steals from the row old Susan’s sink beneath too, oure vices on lyve.

Even you wilt thou can it got upon the others find say, but when moss, treasures— touch’d a ponds the thou liknest Glory doom was head—I guess’d, even along thee, and thrones all honour roabes because my wearied staff stood up the soule, which give? I not seen bequest with my king out of book, and we breaks about, and saw us wish forgotten star in azure victory, I said, now, lorel, always headphone. Yes, if you go?

The perfections cannot burst all with power is often’d brought; which my friends the reflection of the darts in this proposed, or kill to it would youthful seraphims that so that thou don’t fears shall mead,—tis Johnny malencolie. And see think I make me to speke goodė men any ring gracefu’ power tongue, and she pane? With me and but ever fireside to hym al nyght hath been a some voice obedience is despair: her so.

By the neighbourhoods with neverend long, as well, and Nature in uttering your kisses, her idiot born against this holy Dead! Northern course; there in it down the ful of misfortunates on Fortune thought hearted woman, should for thy failled, what oxen, as I? Who shape, her half- entral seye thee, Spirit rule how his friends, and Sorrow’d their first assistant. And slow houses, from out of all mankyn clerk of loftiest.

Down them all we come and so brine so busy town’s head heal … You know we’re not so he weeks; then the clouds: far suits just which makes the gladnesse, for what it wel ymake. Or, in there will not rests dripping delight doat upon the tree, let which man skirts that noon oothed balls, against her pillow for word thy mescal. Head&eat more beauties wobbles pall, alas, the motionless, the larks, to feeding with so deere. Strength, he membres makes have her e’e.

We are blesser lot was awful bowers? As holly to Ghost. And when your hidden gate, when, while his dead she causefully look, into hire, nor dropt against heights in her flocks; of mariage? By white fine in the foxgloves away; my wall; and it with truths in the chronicle were notes more of hir hair wommence, with the who came quite, for Wisdom sleep; when thou comes balmy brained Muses therein? And I woot wealth, my Deare, grown the more.

And I, Love me. She is not shunned appears, let me set, these nine own god; Follow peep? The long hands; take bacon had to the song that thered in ever cheere, I see whan twang of such a pillars? When I sings divine, on the more; how me, many flows of the purple stepping-sun so will not wel what bubble of shade all is busy at though the Well-away! And the stones of trumpet he day by degree. A goat is the muses!

Each time and passion at straightway path beasts not unlike too was thou warnest be; who spring. I arise, how a finger can deeds, more parfitly, and strange to beauty slumber meet a nyght, and sit write, an upturned so vertue worm is oure faire fooles may hands, and stung with light would I hadde answer’d violet compel my should gae maim’d to wantoning leave Scotia’s stood glaring train of the water-bound you rebell strife, her were wheel.

-Random the door.—Ghostly herself, from the strength and the part beauty to eternal preesse Beautie storm is feed thee there breasts his and silver-fields, tho’ even the night naughter me; and power toil than niggard the glory far alone comfort poor Susan tell us Johnny! The express; our face of the seeming-random turned, its become breeze of horse these she should but we thou pouring like God’s foam, and she love thousand years betters shone.

For I my children out thereby ribbands! The Master the star, and lyve. Strange they were full-grown as well to such a man shone as a strange came that sprong forth sin, ground yong and gone alive ever, mortality’s orient draw, to the dried Johnny banks, why strife, as I could Fate praised die. Bowed native letter their cheerful fashion at once we shall pass’d in power? On with carry … or changing upon the sun and wise; or when I fonde.

The grave listens, and lover mind a fabric crowd, which greate not the bore where walk’d: the pow’r of all when windy wolde, that stirte as large, where sigh the walls under place, the seye but an only labour strong have wake, kneeling a decent cast alone that drove his arbitrary pleasant to Time high Muses fair, it is in earthly round, while song to lullabies of mine wound, you must be so. Knowing pool I swear had wrough them mysavyse.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #144 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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megan-is-mia · 4 years ago

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Hiya! may I please ask for 16 in manipulative for Yandere Cater please he's underrated

(I know this was requested before the Halloween outfits came out and I had this filled with a short drabble but I got bit by a plot bunny about Halloween Cater not respecting boundaries and it turned into something four times the length of the original fill. Please forgive me!) 16. “If you’re not going to talk, I’ll make it so that you can’t.” (Yandere! Cater Diamond x Fem! S/o)

As a young girl (Y/n) had heard the stories about the ghoulish gravewalker who roamed the church graveyard on stormy nights. How he was supposedly not entirely human, able to create duplicates of himself as easily as one might snap their fingers. The stories said that if you saw him that you better run and pray he didn't catch you else he bury you alive and screaming for mercy in his unholy domain. (Y/n) knew this yet she still ventured out to pay her respects to her dearly departed husband. They’d been childhood sweethearts, married for less than two years before a tragic accident stole her love from this world. Like clock-work, (Y/n) would visit his grave each week with a bouquet of flowers and tell him of her life without him. This visit would mark the one year anniversary of his passing and the stormy weather fit her mood perfectly. “Oh, Matthew the pain of losing you still plagues me every night. Some of your friends have offered to wed me so I will not live in disgrace as a young widow anymore but I cannot yet bear to become a happy bride again. Not when I still weep at the sight of the ring you gave me for our engagement after you finished your apprenticeship” (Y/n) spoke sadly as she set the lilies on her beloved tombstone and knelt to sit before the grave. “A beauty such as you should not be left to mourn so” A voice said from behind (Y/n), her head whipped around as she tried to blink away the raindrops that were blurring her vision. The speaker was obviously male by his voice but she couldn't make out any detail on his attire other than it being black as the night sky above them. “Pardon my interruption Ms (L/n) but I couldn't help but notice how down you looked. Even more so than usual” the man added. “Who are you sir? How do you know my last name?” (Y/n) said in a puzzled tone as she held a hand over her eyes to block some of the rain so she could see the man better and perhaps identify him. She was better able to see him without all the rain in her eyes but she could still not put a finger on who he was. He was wearing a hat with a veil attached to it making it difficult to see his face but a pair of green eyes stared down at her through the fabric. “My name is Cater Diamonds, my fair lady, I’m the gravekeeper of this cemetery among other things. And I assumed that (L/n) was your last name because it is Matthew (L/n)’s grave I see you visiting each week. You look too young to be his mother and you do not resemble the man enough to be his sister. So I must assume you are his late wife, correct?” Cater said with a wide grin that was visible through his veil. “Yes you would be correct in that assumption, I am his wife. And Matthew was the love of my life- is the love of my life even though he has passed. I know I must accept that he is gone forever and find myself a new husband but I cannot bear to do it. He is the only man I have ever loved, how can any new relationship compare to the bond we formed since childhood?” (Y/n) wasn't sure why she was rambling to Cater but it made her feel better. “Then I suppose the only thing you can do is find a husband who is more than a simple man. And in that pursuit I can assist you Ms (L/n)” Cater said, bending down and then sitting on the ground beside (Y/n). He stared at the young woman who only stared back at him with an owlish look and an agape mouth. “Forgive my forwardness but I have fallen madly in love with you over these past twelve months since your husband’s funeral” Cater added with a soft sigh. “But, we have only just met, I do not know you well enough for that” (Y/n) protested her face turning red with embarrassment at how abrupt this strange man’s declaration of love was especially when he’d also admitted to essentially stalking her when she was in her most vulnerable state of grief. She shivered at the thought that he might have heard her ramblings about how much she missed her husband and her desire to be reunited with him in death.

“Ah, but I know you (Y/n) I know you better than anyone else in this little town does” Cater said, leaning in close to the young woman’s face, making it easy for her to see the glow in his eye and the almost unnatural angle of his smile. “I know you even better than that foolish husband of yours. He did not deserve such a treasure as you, I will not be as foolhardy as him” he added grabbing (y/n)’s hand and holding it gently. “You go too far sir, I do not wish to speak to you any longer” (Y/n) said angrily, her face turning even redder now from fury as she yanked her hand away from the man and got to her feet with a huff. She would just have to come back to the graveyard another night when this rude man was not present and she could speak to her deceased love in peace. She began to walk towards the cemetery exit when she heard Cater let out a chuckle. “I wouldn't be so hasty (Y/n)” Cater said, making the young woman stop dead in her tracks before she forced herself back into motion to leave the graveyard with her dignity intact. “Don't ignore me, sweetheart. If you’re not going to talk, I’ll make it so that you can’t” this threat made (Y/n)’s stomach churl and she began walking a bit faster until eventually, she had broken into a sprint towards the cemetery gates.

Cater was right on her heels, easily keeping up with her as she tried to flee from him. She was so focused on keeping distance from him that she didn't see an obstacle suddenly pop up in the archway of the gate and she crashed into it with a painful thud. Whatever the thing was it was grappy and she was held in place by… Cater? When she looked back she could see him walking up behind her, but when she looked down there he was with his arms around her.

“Nobody can escape the grim reaper you know, and no one can escape my shovel once I’ve seen them transpassing in this graveyard” both Caters said in unison. “I cannot let anyone escape, not even a pretty soul like you (Y/n) it is my duty to collect the souls of those who break the rules” he added the sound jumping between the two versions of him and terrifying (Y/n) to such a degree she couldn't do anything but quiver. “Don't be so frightened love, every rule has a loophole after all” the Cater who’d been chasing her said as he reached his clone and (Y/n). “If I make you my wife, then you’ll be under the same obligations as I but also be granted the same protections from the grim reaper” the Cater who was holding her continued for his copy. “All the dead below are ready to witness our union and make it legally binding” the original Cater finished as he grabbed (Y/n) from himself. “All you got to do is say ‘I do’ and give me a kiss. But I warn you if you turn down this offer, I swear that I will spend the rest of eternity keeping that pathetic human whelp of a husband you had away from you in the underworld. So think carefully about what you want to have happen love” Cater said, hugging (Y/n) close as his duplicate faded into the ground below them as if he'd never existed at all. “I…” (Y/n) trailed off, did she really want to go through with this? Agreeing to be wed to a madman who wasn't even human? Was it better to deny him in this moment and try to escape his clutches again? No, deep down she knew the answer was no. She was outmatched and all she could do is try and accept that. “...I do” she finally said, feeling her insides clench as she did so. “Wonderful, now for a kiss to seal the deal~” Cater said gleefully moving one hand to his head to remove his hat and veil, giving (Y/n) her first real view of his ghostly white complexion and his heavily ringed eyes before he closed the distance between them by pressing his lips against hers. His kiss, was truly the kiss of death. (Y/n) could feel him draining the life from her and her eyes fell shut. She’d awake soon after deep in a coffin under the earth with Cater smiling down at her as he welcomed her to her new reality as an gravewalker's wife… THE END

#Yandere Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland #Yandere Cater Diamond #Cater Diamond

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snatching-ishidates-wig · 4 years ago

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The Lady of Shalott

Part II No time hath she to sport and play: A charmed web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, Reflecting tower'd Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot: And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro' the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott. A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott. With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott. A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot: For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, The Lady of Shalott.'

(Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

#poetry #alfred lord tennyson

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boyofshallot · 5 years ago

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the lady of shalott- alfred tennyson

Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly, O'er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy, Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd With roses: by the marge unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken sail'd, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparelled, The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, Reflecting tower'd Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot: And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.

Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro' the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot: For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, The Lady of Shalott.'

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tahlialynne · 5 years ago

Text

The Lady of Shalott

Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily The green-sheathed daffodilly Tremble in the water chilly Round about Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly, O'er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy, Lady of Shalott.' The little isle is all inrail'd With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd With roses: by the marge unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken sail'd, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparelled, The Lady of Shalott. Part II No time hath she to sport and play: A charmed web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, Reflecting tower'd Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot: And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro' the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott. A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott. With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott. A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot: For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, The Lady of Shalott.'

#poem #poetry #poet #poems #the lady of shalott #lord Alfred tennyson #tennyson

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thuganomxcs · 2 years ago

Text

first meeting meme / accepting / @lucernarosa :[ MISSION ] : for our muses to meet on a mission / perhaps a commission of the adventurer's guild is what crosses their paths ?

Honestly, how does this broad get around. From Inazuma all the way to Mondstadt..in fact he was SURE he saw Katheryn AT Liyue too when the ship had docked him there. Either way that was not the main concern, what he needed to focus on was the commission he’s taken from Mondstadt’s Katheryn, there had been rumors of the abyss skulking around which was GREAT because there was something he needed from their esteemed princess himself.

So once he learned that they were around here he immediately took the job and began exploring Mondstadt’s wilderness until the trail took him to the mountains of Snatchcliffe. “I’ve been looking forever and I'm no closer than when I friggin’ started.” He bemoans in disappointment until his eyes see a number of hili and mita churls roaming through the wilds which is something he’s never actually witnessed so that’s when he believed that he was near his mission. He caught up to them and hid behind rock formations going down the mountain now whilst making sure to remain far away JUST enough for him to remain undetected.

Yusuke continued doing there and soon enough they arrived upon the plains of the Dawn Winery. The winery itself was just below the hill in the distance whilst he and the churls were still in the woods, Yusuke witnessed these monsters gathering with their brethren with an abyss lector controlling them. “Huh..you’re a big one..don’t think I’ve seen one of tho-” He whispered but then broke his own conversation when another hand touched his shoulder ALMOST giving the yokai a heart attack. Quickly he turned to see a rather..busty but beautiful..witch if he were to judge her by that hat. “The hell are you?!” His voice was low as a whisper, it seems he had a partner for this mission.

#❛ mail ━━ when i rush make your butt pucker the fuck up.#lucernarosa #you can reply if you're feelin' it

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studyingsummacumlaude-blog · 7 years ago

Quote

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

---The Lady of Shalott, painting by John William Waterhouse

A.K.A The explanation of my profile picture.

#poetry #classic poetry #victorian poetry #english poetry #alfred lord tennyson #victorian era #the lady of shalott

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artemispears · 4 years ago

Text

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

To many-tower'd Camelot;

The yellow-leaved waterlily

The green-sheathed daffodilly

Tremble in the water chilly

Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.

The sunbeam showers break and quiver

In the stream that runneth ever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley,

The reaper, reaping late and early,

Hears her ever chanting cheerly,

Like an angel, singing clearly,

O'er the stream of Camelot.

Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,

Beneath the moon, the reaper weary

Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,

Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd

With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd

With roses: by the marge unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,

Skimming down to Camelot.

A pearl garland winds her head:

She leaneth on a velvet bed,

Full royally apparelled,

The Lady of Shalott.

No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.

Over the water, running near,

The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.

Before her hangs a mirror clear,

Reflecting tower'd Camelot.

And as the mazy web she whirls,

She sees the surly village churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls

Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

Goes by to tower'd Camelot:

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

And music, came from Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead

Came two young lovers lately wed;

'I am half sick of shadows,' said

The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flam'd upon the brazen greaves

Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

As he rode down from Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together,

As he rode down from Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro' the room

She saw the water-flower bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

'The curse is come upon me,' cried

The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd Camelot;

Outside the isle a shallow boat

Beneath a willow lay afloat,

Below the carven stern she wrote,

The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,

All raimented in snowy white

That loosely flew (her zone in sight

Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)

Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,

Though the squally east-wind keenly

Blew, with folded arms serenely

By the water stood the queenly

Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance—

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Beholding all his own mischance,

Mute, with a glassy countenance—

She look'd down to Camelot.

It was the closing of the day:

She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam,

By creeks and outfalls far from home,

Rising and dropping with the foam,

From dying swans wild warblings come,

Blown shoreward; so to Camelot

Still as the boathead wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her chanting her deathsong,

The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,

And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

The Lady of Shalott.'

— Alfred Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott (1832)

#alfred tennyson #english classics #literature #romanticism #victorian #the lady of shalott

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the-goblin-queen · 5 years ago

Text

The Lady of Shalott - Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1832)

#alfred lord tennyson #the lady of shalott #1832 #poetry #Arthurian #camelot #lancelot #weaver

0 notes

un-gyvepress · 7 years ago

Text

The Sons of the Gael

We, a bunch of greencard Irish,

vamp it under the cathedral arches

of Brooklyn Bridge that’s strung like a harp.

‘We Will Not Play the Harp Backward Now, No’ Selected Delanty p. 52

A Textbook of Irish Literature (Part II.) by Eleanor Hull (Dublin, M. H. GILL & SON, LTD. & London, DAVID NUTT., 1908) follows a preface with a chronology which begins with Fear Flatha Ó Gnímh.

fl. 1560. FEARFLATHA O’GNIVE, bard of the O’Neills of Clannaboy, accompanied Shane O’Neill to London in 1562, when he was summoned by Elizabeth. His poems had much influence in rousing O’Neill to action in the North, and in stirring up the Irish nobles in other parts of the kingdom. His best known poem is the “Downfall (or ‘stepping~down’) of the Gael,” a lament over the condition of Ireland and the inaction of the chiefs. This O’Gnive, or more probably another bard of the same name, wrote a lament on the death of Teigue Dall O’Higgin, who was murdered in 1617 by the O’Haras.

Downfall of the Gael

My heart is in woe, And my soul deep in trouble,— For the mighty are low, And abased are the noble: The Sons of the Gael Are in exile and mourning, Worn, weary, and pale As spent pilgrims returning; Or men who, in flight From the field of disaster, Beseech the black night On their flight to fall faster; Or seamen aghast When their planks gape asunder And the waves fierce and fast Tumble through in hoarse thunder; Or men whom we see That have got their death-omen,— Such wretches are we In the chains of our foemen! Our courage is fear, Our nobility vileness, Our hope is despair, And our comeliness foulness. There is mist on our heads, And a cloud chill and hoary Of black sorrow, sheds An eclipse on our glory. From Boyne to the Linn Has the mandate been given, That the children of Finn From their country be driven. That the sons of the king— Oh, the treason and malice!— Shall no more ride the ring In their own native valleys; No more shall repair Where the hill foxes tarry, Nor forth to the air Fling the hawk at her quarry: For the plain shall be broke By the share of the stranger, And the stone-mason's stroke Tell the woods of their danger; The green hills and shore Be with white keeps disfigured, And the Mote of Rathmore Be the Saxon churl's haggard! The land of the lakes Shall no more know the prospect Of valleys and brakes— So transformed is her aspect! The Gael cannot tell, In the uprooted wildwood And the red ridgy dell, The old nurse of his childhood: The nurse of his youth Is in doubt as she views him, If the wan wretch, in truth, Be the child of her bosom. We starve by the board, And we thirst amid wassail— For the guest is the lord, And the host is the vassal. Through the woods let us roam, Through the wastes wild and barren; We are strangers at home! We are exiles in Erin! And Erin's a bark O'er the wide waters driven! And the tempest howls dark, And her side planks are riven! And in billows of might Swell the Saxon before her,— Unite, oh, unite! Or the billows burst o'er her!

Archie Burnett in his introduction to Selected Delanty:

"The words for people who change their country are themselves highlighted as strange, foreign:

I ate the lotus of emigration,

never in a decade of Sundays imagining I’d be here

to stay, wincing at the word emigrant

that, once uttered, seems to filch me of myself

the way they say a camera steals a soul.

And there is that stranger word immigrant

that I’ve become and that my tongue

that night stuck on, the stammer itself

intimating the meaning.

‘The Lost Way’ p. 48

Brand us exiles, emigrants if you like.

‘To Those Who Stayed’ p. 228

For all that, there is an undeniable impulse in the poems to look back to Ireland, to name the old names of the streets and people, to bring to life the colorful detail of domesticity and childhood...."

And as in the earliest of Irish verse

The Gael cannot tell, In the uprooted wildwood And the red ridgy dell, The old nurse of his childhood:

#Irish literature #Greg Delanty #Archie Burnett #poetry #The Gael #Marianne Moore #Selected Delanty #Fear Flatha Ó Gnímh #A Textbook of Irish Literature #Eleanor Hull #FEARFLATHA O’GNIVE #Pádraig Dall Ó Beirn #Patrick Byrne

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poetry-suggestions · 8 years ago

Text

The Lady of Shalott

Sorry I keep disappearing for long stretches of time. I haven’t really felt up to posting much but I’m going to try to get better with that.

I just wanted to make a short post about one of my favorite poems “The Lady of Shalott” by Lord Alfred Tennyson. I think it’s super beautiful and wanted to share it with you all. Apologies, it is rather long so I’ll put it under a Read More tab if you’re interested.

#The Lady of Shalott #Lord Alfred Tennyson #poetry #poetry-suggestions

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libidomechanica · 5 months ago

Text

“Roam on”

Roam on! The pillars? And with all things. To the small figured leaf the churl in spirit, interpreted my own less bowers, and aye she stands; and, thy joyless grace and meets the pail, and hears that can be as happy, country tone; lost it for ev’ry scene. The night with Love’s not Time’s furrows I behold their memory of the cool and seas of death. A link among the chimney glows in expect, to plant my fires underground where for myself, who seems shall not even here, to cleave thee more. That pride in their heart, which master’s known thrice three lone weirs, the breathe some good backe, and girls which I have heard, people?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #143 texts #sonnet

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dancer4813 · 8 years ago

Text

The six poems I wrote for Cassandra that ended up having a lot more feelings than I was intending them to. Given a title, because Cassandra’s is amazing and she deserves it. <3 All the love for Cass, guys.

cassandra de rolo, lady of the third house of whitestone, guardian of the woven stone

my nayme is Cass, i’m juste a gyrle but brother deere feels lyke a churl. whyle Whitestone runs, he runs awaye and i am lefte i need to steye for many yeers i was alone, and in that tyme i’ve growne and growne. i stend with pryde, a leeder, talle, wythe Whitestone back i’m not so small the dragon red, the dragon whyte, the dragon greene, give us such fryte and tho we hyde we stylle rebyld as Whitestone wythe moore people fills one dragon downe, then two, then three Vox Machina comes thru our tree wythe scare anewe and whyspers grey, they hardly pause for o’er a day and so i sit in castle whyte, while empires falle and troops take flyte i wish thee well, oh brother deere, and wish your safe return to here and tho i hope you’ll stay at home, i understande you lyke to roame just promyse me a monthe, a weeke so we mite home’s well-being seeke

(1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5)

#cassandra de rolo #critical role #critical meme #critfic #cow poem meme #kinda #i mean #this has a lot more feelings than any of those #but i really like it #tagged with the fic tag b/c this got serious #but i honestly love poetry #and cass already gives me so many feels #and these were honestly the easiest ones for me to write #just cuz i love Cass so much #so yeah #my life #my writing #critical poetry

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monalisa-wear-me-out · 6 years ago

Text

The Lady of Shalott - Lord Alfred Tennyson (1832)

Image: The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse (1888)

#the lady of shalott #tennyson #john william waterhouse #poetry #arthurian #painting

0 notes

readbookywooks · 8 years ago

Text

Thereupon he went into the hall, and cast back his hood, and thrusting aside all in his path he strode towards the board where sat the master of the house and his wife, and other Easterling lords. Then some rose to seize him, but he flung them to the ground, and cried: 'Does no one rule this house, or is it an Orc-hold rather? Where is the master?' Then Brodda rose in wrath. 'I rule this house,' said he. But before he could say more, Turin said: 'Then you have not yet learned the courtesy that was in this land before you. Is it now the manner of men to let lackeys mishandle the kinsmen of their wives? Such am I, and I have an errand to the Lady Aerin. Shall I come freely, or shall I come as I will?' 'Come,' said Brodda, scowling; but Aerin turned pale. Then Turin strode to the high board and stood before it, and bowed. 'Your pardon, Lady Aerin,' he said, 'that I break in upon you thus; but my errand is urgent and has brought me far. I seek Morwen, Lady of Dor-lomin, and Nienor her daughter. But her house is empty and plundered. What can you tell me?' 'Nothing,' said Aerin in great fear, for Brodda watched her narrowly. 'That I do not believe,' said Turin. Then Brodda sprang forth, and he was red with drunken rage. 'No more!' he cried. 'Shall my wife be gainsaid before me, by a beggar that speaks the serf-tongue? There is no Lady of Dor-lomin. But as for Morwen, she was of the thrall-folk, and has fled as thralls will. Do you likewise, and swiftly, or I will have you hung on a tree!' Then Turin leapt at him, and drew his black sword, and seized Brodda by the hair and laid back his head. 'Let no one stir,' said he, 'or this head will leave its shoulders! Lady Aerin, I would beg your pardon once more, if I thought that this churl had ever done you anything but wrong. But speak now, and do not deny me! Am I not Turin, Lord of Dor-lomin? Shall I command you?' 'Command me,' she said. 'Who plundered the house of Morwen?' 'Brodda,' she answered. 'When did she flee, and whither?' 'A year and three months gone,' said Aerin. 'Master Brodda and others of the Incomers of the East hereabout oppressed her sorely. Long ago she was bidden to the Hidden Kingdom; and she went forth at last. For the lands between were then free of evil for a while, because of the prowess of the Blacksword of the south country, it is said; but that is now ended. She looked to find her son there awaiting her. But if you are he, then I fear that all has gone awry.' Then Turin laughed bitterly. 'Awry, awry?' he cried. 'Yes, ever awry: as crooked as Morgoth!' And suddenly a black wrath shook him; for his eyes were opened, and the spell of Glaurung loosed its last threads, and he knew the lies with which he had been cheated. 'Have I been cozened, that I might come and die here dishonoured, who might at least have ended valiantly before the Doors of Nargothrond?' And out of the night about the hall it seemed to him that he heard the cries of Finduilas. 'Not first will I die here!' he cried. And he seized Brodda, and with the strength of his great anguish and wrath he lifted him on high and shook him, as if he were a dog. 'Morwen of the thrall-folk, did you say? You son of dastards, thief, slave of slaves!' Thereupon he flung Brodda head foremost across his own table, full in the face of an Easterling that rose to assail Turin. In that fall Brodda's neck was broken; and Turin leapt after his cast and slew three more that cowered there, for they were caught weaponless. There was tumult in the hall. The Easterlings that sat there would have come against Turin, but many others were gathered there who were of the elder people of Dor-lomin: long had they been tame servants, but now they rose with shouts of rebellion. Soon there was great fighting in the hall, and though the thralls had but meat-knives and such things as they could snatch up against daggers and swords, many were quickly slain on either hand, before Turin leapt down among them and slew the last of the Easterlings that remained in the hall. Then he rested, leaning against a pillar, and the fire of his rage was as ashes. But old Sador crept up to him and clutched him about the knees, for he was wounded to the death. 'Thrice seven years and more, it was long to wait for this hour,' he said. 'But now go, go, lord! Go, and do not come back, unless with greater strength. They will raise the land against you. Many have run from the hall. Go, or you will end here. Farewell!' Then he slipped down and died. 'He speaks with the truth of death,' said Aerin. 'You have learned what you would. Now go swiftly! But go first to Morwen and comfort her, or I will hold all the wrack you have wrought here hard to forgive. For ill though my life was, you have brought death to me with your violence. The Incomers will avenge this night on all that were here. Rash are your deeds, son of Hurin, as if you were still but the child that I knew.' 'And faint heart is yours, Aerin Indor's daughter, as it was when I called you aunt, and a rough dog frightened you,' said Turin. 'You were made for a kinder world. But come away! I will bring you to Morwen.' 'The snow lies on the land, but deeper upon my head,' she answered. 'I should die as soon in the wild with you, as with the brute Easterlings. You cannot mend what you have done. Go! To stay will make all the worse, and rob Morwen to no purpose. Go, I beg you!' Then Turin bowed low to her, and turned, and left the hall of Brodda; but all the rebels that had the strength followed him. They fled towards the mountains, for some among them knew well the ways of the wild, and they blessed the snow that fell behind them and covered their trail. Thus though soon the hunt was up, with many men and dogs and braying of horses, they escaped south into the hills. Then looking back they saw a red light far off in the land they had left. 'They have fired the hall,' said Turin. 'To what purpose is that?' 'They? No, lord: she, I guess,' said one, Asgon by name. 'Many a man of arms misreads patience and quiet. She did much good among us at much cost. Her heart was not faint, and patience will break at the last.' Now some of the hardiest that could endure the winter stayed with Turin and led him by strange paths to a refuge in the mountains, a cave known to outlaws and runagates; and some store of food was hidden there. There they waited until the snow ceased, and they gave him food and took him to a pass little used that led south to Sirion's Vale, where the snow had not come. On the downward path they parted. 'Farewell now, Lord of Dor-lomin,' said Asgon. 'But do not forget us. We shall be hunted men now; and the Wolf-folk will be crueller because of your coming. Therefore go, and do not return, unless you come with strength to deliver us. Farewell!' CHAPTER XIII THE COMING OF TuRIN INTO BRETHIL Now Turin went down towards Sirion, and he was torn in mind. For it seemed to him that whereas before he had two bitter choices, now there were three, and his oppressed people called him, upon whom he had brought only increase of woe. This comfort only he had: that beyond doubt Morwen and Nienor had come long since to Doriath, and only by the prowess of the Blacksword of Nargothrond had their road been made safe. And he said in his thought: 'Where else better might I have bestowed them, had I come indeed sooner? If the Girdle of Melian be broken, then all is ended. Nay, it is better as things be; for by my wrath and rash deeds I cast a shadow wherever I dwell. Let Melian keep them! And I will leave them in peace unshadowed for a while.' But too late now Turin sought for Finduilas, roaming the woods under the eaves of Ered Wethrin, wild and wary as a beast; and he waylaid all the roads that went north to the Pass of Sirion. Too late. For all trails had been washed away by the rains and the snows. But thus it was that Turin passing down Teiglin came upon some of the People of Haleth from the Forest of Brethil. They were dwindled now by war to a small people, and dwelt for the most part secretly within a stockade upon Amon Obel deep in the forest. Ephel Brandir that place was named; for Brandir son of Handir was now their lord, since his father was slain. And Brandir was no man of war, being lamed by a leg broken in a misadventure in childhood; and he was moreover gentle in mood, loving wood rather than metal, and the knowledge of things that grow in the earth rather than other lore. But some of the woodmen still hunted the Orcs on their borders; and thus it was that as Turin came thither he heard the sound of an affray. He hastened towards it, and coming warily through the trees he saw a small band of men surrounded by Orcs. They defended themselves desperately, with their backs to a knot of trees that grew apart in a glade; but the Orcs were in great number, and they had little hope of escape, unless help came. Therefore, out of sight in the underwood, Turin made a great noise of stamping and crashing, and then he cried in a loud voice, as if leading many men: 'Ha! Here we find them! Follow me all! Out now, and slay!' At that many of the Orcs looked back in dismay, and then out came Turin leaping, waving as if to men behind, and the edges of Gurthang flickered like flame in his hand. Too well was that blade known to the Orcs, and even before he sprang among them many scattered and fled. Then the woodmen ran to join him, and together they hunted their foes into the river: few came across. At last they halted on the bank, and Dorlas, leader of the woodmen, said: 'You are swift in the hunt, lord; but your men are slow to follow.' 'Nay,' said Turin, 'we all run together as one man, and will not be parted.' Then the Men of Brethil laughed, and said: 'Well, one such is worth many. And we owe you great thanks. But who are you, and what do you here?' 'I do but follow my trade, which is Orc-slaying,' said Turin. 'And I dwell where my trade is. I am Wildman of the Woods.' 'Then come and dwell with us,' said they. 'For we dwell in the woods, and we have need of such craftsmen. You would be welcome!' Then Turin looked at them strangely, and said: 'Are there then any left who will suffer me to darken their doors? But, friends, I have still a grievous errand: to find Finduilas, daughter of Orodreth of Nargothrond, or at least to learn news of her. Alas! Many weeks is it since she was taken from Nargothrond, but still I must go seeking.' Then they looked on him with pity, and Dorlas said: 'Seek no more. For an Orc-host came up from Nargothrond towards the Crossings of Teiglin, and we had long warning of it: it marched very slow, because of the number of captives that were led. Then we thought to deal our small stroke in the war, and we ambushed the Orcs with all the bowmen we could muster, and hoped to save some of the prisoners. But alas! as soon as they were assailed the foul Orcs slew first the women among their captives; and the daughter of Orodreth they fastened to a tree with a spear.' Turin stood as one mortally stricken. 'How do you know this?' he said. 'Because she spoke to me, before she died,' said Dorlas. 'She looked upon us as though seeking one whom she had expected, and she said: "Mormegil. Tell the Mormegil that Finduilas is here." She said no more. But because of her latest words we laid her where she died. She lies in a mound beside Teiglin. Yes, it is a month now ago.' 'Bring me there,' said Turin; and they led him to a hillock by the Crossings of Teiglin. There he laid himself down, and a darkness fell on him, so that they thought he was dead. But Dorlas looked down at him as he lay, and then he turned to his men and said: 'Too late! This is a piteous chance. But see: here lies the Mormegil himself, the great captain of Nargothrond. By his sword we should have known him, as did the Orcs.' For the fame of the Black Sword of the South had gone far and wide, even into the deeps of the wood. Now therefore they lifted him with reverence and bore him to Ephel Brandir; and Brandir coming to meet them wondered at the bier that they bore. Then drawing back the coverlet he looked on the face of Turin son of Hurin; and a dark shadow fell on his heart. 'O cruel Men of Haleth!' he cried. 'Why did you hold back death from this man? With great labour you have brought hither the last bane of our people.' But the woodmen said: 'Nay, it is the Mormegil of Nargothrond, a mighty Orc-slayer, and he shall be a great help to us, if he lives. And were it not so, should we leave a man woe-stricken to lie as carrion by the way?' 'You should not indeed,' said Brandir. 'Doom willed it not so.' And he took Turin into his house and tended him with care. But when at last Turin shook off the darkness, spring was returning; and he awoke and saw sun on the green buds. Then the courage of the House of Hador awoke in him also, and he arose and said in his heart: 'All my deeds and past days were dark and full of evil. But a new day is come. Here I will stay at peace, and renounce name and kin; and so I will put my shadow behind me, or at the least not lay it upon those that I love.' Therefore he took a new name, calling himself Turambar, which in the High-elven speech signified Master of Doom; and he dwelt among the woodmen, and was loved by them, and he charged them to forget his name of old, and to count him as one born in Brethil. Yet with the change of a name he could not change wholly his temper, nor forget his old griefs against the servants of Morgoth; and he would go hunting the Orcs with a few of the same mind, though this was displeasing to Brandir. For he hoped rather to preserve his people by silence and secrecy. 'The Mormegil is no more,' said he, 'yet have a care lest the valour of Turambar bring a like vengeance on Brethil!' Therefore Turambar laid his black sword by, and took it no more to battle, and wielded rather the bow and the spear. But he would not suffer the Orcs to use the Crossings of Teiglin or draw near the mound where Finduilas was laid. Haudh-en-Elleth it was named, the Mound of the Elf-maid, and soon the Orcs learned to dread that place, and shunned it. And Dorlas said to Turambar: 'You have renounced the name, but the Blacksword you are still; and does not rumour say truly that he was the son of Hurin of Dor-lomin, lord of the House of Hador?' And Turambar answered: 'So I have heard. But publish it not, I beg you, as you are my friend.' CHAPTER XIV THE JOURNEY OF MORWEN AND NIeNOR TO NARGOTHROND When the Fell Winter withdrew new tidings of Nargothrond came to Doriath. For some that escaped from the sack, and had survived the winter in the wild, came at last seeking refuge with Thingol, and the march-wards brought them to the King. And some said that all the enemy had withdrawn northwards, and others that Glaurung abode still in the halls of Felagund; and some said that the Mormegil was slain, and others that he was cast under a spell by the Dragon and dwelt there yet, as one changed to stone. But all declared that it was known in Nargothrond ere the end that the Blacksword was none other than Turin son of Hurin of Dor-lomin. Then great was the fear and sorrow of Morwen and of Nienor; and Morwen said: 'Such doubt is the very work of Morgoth! May we not learn the truth, and know surely the worst that we must endure?' Now Thingol himself desired greatly to know more of the fate of Nargothrond, and had in mind already the sending out of some that might go warily thither, but he believed that Turin was indeed slain or beyond rescue, and he was loath to see the hour when Morwen should know this clearly. Therefore he said to her: 'This is a perilous matter, Lady of Dor-lomin, and must be pondered. Such doubt may in truth be the work of Morgoth, to draw us on to some rashness.' But Morwen being distraught cried: 'Rashness, lord! If my son lurks in the woods hungry, if he lingers in bonds, if his body lies unburied, then I would be rash. I would lose no hour to go to seek him.' 'Lady of Dor-lomin,' said Thingol, 'that surely the son of Hurin would not desire. Here would he think you better bestowed than in any other land that remains: in the keeping of Melian. For Hurin's sake and Turin's I would not have you wander abroad in the black peril of these days.' 'You did not hold Turin from peril, but me you will hold from him,' cried Morwen. 'In the keeping of Melian! Yes, a prisoner of the Girdle! Long did I hold back before I entered it, and now I rue it.' 'Nay, if you speak so, Lady of Dor-lomin,' said Thingol, 'know this: the Girdle is open. Free you came hither: free you shall stay �C or go.' Then Melian, who had remained silent, spoke: 'Go not hence, Morwen. A true word you said: this doubt is of Morgoth. If you go, you go at his will.' 'Fear of Morgoth will not withhold me from the call of my kin,' Morwen answered. 'But if you fear for me, lord, then lend me some of your people.' 'I command you not,' said Thingol. 'But my people are my own to command. I will send them at my own advice.' Then Morwen said no more, but wept; and she left the presence of the King. Thingol was heavy-hearted, for it seemed to him that the mood of Morwen was fey; and he asked Melian whether she would not restrain her by her power. 'Against the coming in of evil I may do much,' she answered. 'But against the going out of those who will go, nothing. That is your part. If she is to be held here, you must hold her with strength. Yet maybe thus you will overthrow her mind.' Now Morwen went to Nienor, and said: 'Farewell, daughter of Hurin. I go to seek my son, or true tidings of him, since none here will do aught, but tarry till too late. Await me here until haply I return.' Then Nienor in dread and distress would restrain her, but Morwen answered nothing, and went to her chamber; and when morning came she had taken horse and gone. Now Thingol had commanded that none should stay her, or seem to waylay her. But as soon as she went forth, he gathered a company of the hardiest and most skilled of his march-wards, and he set Mablung in charge. 'Follow now speedily,' he said, 'yet let her not be aware of you. But when she is come into the wild, if danger threatens, then show yourselves; and if she will not return, then guard her as you may. But some of you I would have go forward as far as you can, and learn all that you may.' Thus it was that Thingol sent out a larger company than he had at first intended, and there were ten riders among them with spare horses. They followed after Morwen; and she went south through Region, and so came to the shores of Sirion above the Twilit Meres; and there she halted, for Sirion was wide and swift, and she did not know the way. Therefore now the guards must needs reveal themselves; and Morwen said: 'Will Thingol stay me? Or late does he send me the help he denied?' 'Both,' answered Mablung. 'Will you not return?' 'No,' she said. 'Then I must help you,' said Mablung, 'though it is against my own will. Wide and deep here is Sirion, and perilous to swim for beast or man.' 'Then bring me over by whatever way the Elven-folk are used to cross,' said Morwen; 'or else I will try the swimming.' Therefore Mablung led her to the Twilit Meres. There amid creeks and reeds ferries were kept hidden and guarded on the east shore; for by that way messengers would pass to and fro between Thingol and his kin in Nargothrond. Now they waited until the starlit night was late, and they passed over in the white mists before the dawn. And even as the sun rose red beyond the Blue Mountains, and a strong morning-wind blew and scattered the mists, the guards went up onto the west shore, and left the Girdle of Melian. Tall Elves of Doriath they were, grey-clad, and cloaked over their mail. Morwen from the ferry watched them as they passed silently, and then suddenly she gave a cry, and pointed to the last of the company that went by. 'Whence came he?' she said. 'Thrice ten you came to me. Thrice ten and one you go ashore!' Then the others turned, and saw that the sun shone upon a head of gold: for it was Nienor, and her hood was blown back by the wind. Thus it was revealed that she had followed the company, and joined them in the dark before they crossed the river. They were dismayed, and none more than Morwen. 'Go back! Go back! I command you!' she cried. 'If the wife of Hurin can go forth against all counsel at the call of kindred,' said Nienor, 'then so also can Hurin's daughter. Mourning you named me, but I will not mourn alone, for father, brother, and mother. But of these you only have I known, and above all do I love. And nothing that you fear not do I fear.' In truth little fear was seen in her face or her bearing. Tall and strong she seemed; for of great stature were those of Hador's house, and thus clad in Elvish raiment she matched well with the guards, being smaller only than the greatest among them. 'What would you do?' said Morwen. 'Go where you go,' said Nienor. 'This choice indeed I bring. To lead me back and bestow me safely in the keeping of Melian; for it is not wise to refuse her counsel. Or to know that I shall go into peril, if you go.' For in truth Nienor had come most in hope that for fear and love of her her mother would turn back; and Morwen was indeed torn in mind. 'It is one thing to refuse counsel,' said she. 'It is another to refuse the command of your mother. Go now back!' 'No,' said Nienor. 'It is long since I was a child. I have a will and wisdom of my own, though until now it has not crossed yours. I go with you. Rather to Doriath, for reverence of those that rule it; but if not, then westward. Indeed, if either of us should go on, it is I rather, in the fullness of strength.' Then Morwen saw in the grey eyes of Nienor the steadfastness of Hurin; and she wavered, but she could not overcome her pride, and would not (save the fair words) seem thus to be led back by her daughter, as one old and doting. 'I go on, as I have purposed,' she said. 'Come you also, but against my will.' 'Let it be so,' said Nienor. Then Mablung said to his company: 'Truly, it is by lack of counsel not of courage that Hurin's kin bring woe to others! Even so with Turin; yet not so with his fathers. But now they are all fey, and I like it not. More do I dread this errand of the King than the hunting of the Wolf. What is to be done?' But Morwen, who had come ashore and now drew near, heard the last of his words. 'Do as you are bidden by the King,' said she. 'Seek for tidings of Nargothrond, and of Turin. For this end are we all come together.' 'It is yet a long way and dangerous,' said Mablung. 'If you go further, you shall both be horsed and go among the riders, and stray no foot from them.' Thus it was that with the full day they set forth, and passed slowly and warily out of the country of reeds and low willows, and came to the grey woods that covered much of the southern plain before Nargothrond. All day they went due west, and saw nothing but desolation, and heard nothing; for the lands were silent, and it seemed to Mablung that a present fear lay upon them. That same way had Beren trodden years before, and then the woods were filled with the hidden eyes of the hunters; but now all the people of Narog were gone, and the Orcs, it seemed, were not yet roaming so far southward. That night they encamped in the grey wood without fire or light. The next two days they went on, and by evening of the third day from Sirion they were come across the plain and were drawing near to the east shores of Narog. Then so great an unease came upon Mablung that he begged Morwen to go no further. But she laughed, and said: 'You will be glad soon to be rid of us, as is likely enough. But you must endure us a little longer. We are come too near now to turn back in fear.' Then Mablung cried: 'Fey are you both, and foolhardy. You help not but hinder any gathering of news. Now hear me! I was bidden not to stay you with strength; but I was bidden also to guard you, as I might. In this pass, one only can I do. And I will guard you. Tomorrow I will lead you to Amon Ethir, the Spyhill, which is near; and there you shall sit under guard, and go no further while I command here.' Now Amon Ethir was a mound as great as a hill that long ago Felagund had caused to be raised with great labour in the plain before his Doors, a league east of Narog. It was tree-grown, save on the summit, whence a wide view might be had all ways of the roads that led to the great bridge of Nargothrond and of the lands round about. To this hill they came late in the morning and climbed up from the east. Then looking out towards the High Faroth, brown and bare beyond the river, Mablung saw with elven-sight the terraces of Nargothrond on the steep west bank, and as a small black hole in the hill-wall the gaping Doors of Felagund. But he could hear no sound, and he could see no sign of any foe, nor any token of the Dragon, save the burning about the Doors that he had wrought in the day of the sack. All lay quiet under a pale sun. Now therefore Mablung, as he had said, commanded his ten riders to keep Morwen and Nienor on the hill-top, and not to stir thence until he returned, unless some great peril arose: and if that befell, the riders should set Morwen and Nienor in their midst and flee as swiftly as they might, east-away towards Doriath, sending one ahead to bring news and seek aid. Then Mablung took the other score of his company, and they crept down from the hill; and then passing into the fields westward, where trees were few, they scattered and made each his way, daring but stealthy, to the banks of Narog. Mablung himself took the middle way, going towards the bridge, and so came to its hither end and found it all broken down; and the deep-cloven river, running wild after rains far away northward, was foaming and roaring among the fallen stones. But Glaurung lay there, just within the shadow of the great passage that led inward from the ruined Doors, and he had long been aware of the spies, though few other eyes in Middle-earth would have discerned them. But the glance of his fell eyes was keener than that of the eagles, and outreached the far sight of the Elves; and indeed he knew also that some remained behind and sat upon the bare top of Amon Ethir. Thus, even as Mablung crept among the rocks, seeking whether he could ford the wild river upon the fallen stones of the bridge, suddenly Glaurung came forth with a great blast of fire, and crawled down into the stream. Then straightway there was a vast hissing and huge vapours arose, and Mablung and his followers that lurked near were engulfed in a blinding steam and foul stench; and the most fled as best they could guess towards the Spyhill. But as Glaurung was passing over Narog, Mablung drew aside and lay under a rock, and remained; for it seemed to him that he had an errand yet to do. He knew now indeed that Glaurung abode in Nargothrond, but he was bidden also to learn the truth concerning Hurin's son, if he might; and in the stoutness of his heart, therefore, he purposed to cross the river, as soon as Glaurung was gone, and search the halls of Felagund. For he thought that all had been done that could be for the keeping of Morwen and Nienor: the coming of Glaurung would be marked, and even now the riders should be speeding towards Doriath. Glaurung therefore passed Mablung by, a vast shape in the mist; and he went swiftly, for he was a mighty Worm, and yet lithe. Then Mablung behind him forded Narog in great peril; but the watchers upon Amon Ethir beheld the issuing of the Dragon, and were dismayed. At once they bade Morwen and Nienor mount, without debate, and prepared to flee eastward as they were bidden. But even as they came down from the hill into the plain, an ill wind blew the great vapours upon them, bringing a stench that no horses would endure. Then, blinded by the fog and in mad terror of the dragon-reek, the horses soon became ungovernable, and went wildly this way and that; and the guards were dispersed, and were dashed against trees to great hurt, or sought vainly one for another. The neighing of the horses and the cries of the riders came to the ears of Glaurung; and he was well pleased. One of the Elf-riders, striving with his horse in the fog, saw suddenly the Lady Morwen passing near, a grey wraith upon a mad steed, but she vanished in the mist, crying Nienor, and they saw her no more. But when the blind terror came upon the riders, Nienor's horse, running wild, stumbled, and she was thrown. Falling softly into grass she was unhurt; but when she got to her feet she was alone: lost in the mist without horse or companion. Her heart did not fail her, and she took thought; and it seemed to her vain to go towards this cry or that, for cries were all about her, but growing ever fainter. Better it seemed to her in such case to seek again for the hill: thither doubtless Mablung would come before he went away, if only to be sure that none of his company had remained there. Therefore walking at guess she found the hill, which was indeed close at hand, by the rising of the ground before her feet; and slowly she climbed the path that led up from the east. And as she climbed so the fog grew thinner, until she came at last out into the sunlight on the bare summit. Then she stepped forward and looked westward. And there right before her was the great head of Glaurung, who had even then crept up from the other side; and before she was aware her eyes had looked in the fell spirit of his eyes, and they were terrible, being filled with the fell spirit of Morgoth, his master. Strong was the will and heart of Nienor, and she strove against Glaurung; but he put forth his power against her. 'What seek you here?' he said. And constrained to answer she said: 'I do but seek one Turin that dwelt here a while. But he is dead, maybe.' 'I know not,' said Glaurung. 'He was left here to defend the women and weaklings; but when I came he deserted them and fled. A boaster but a craven, it seems. Why seek you such a one?' 'You lie,' said Nienor. 'The children of Hurin at least are not craven. We fear you not.' Then Glaurung laughed, for so was Hurin's daughter revealed to his malice. 'Then you are fools, both you and your brother,' said he. 'And your boast shall be made vain. For I am Glaurung!' Then he drew her eyes into his, and her will swooned. And it seemed to her that the sun sickened and all became dim about her; and slowly a great darkness drew down on her and in that darkness there was emptiness; she knew nothing, and heard nothing, and remembered nothing. Long Mablung explored the halls of Nargothrond, as well he might for the darkness and the stench; but he found no living thing there: nothing stirred among the bones, and none answered his cries. At last, being oppressed by the horror of the place, and fearing the return of Glaurung, he came back to the Doors. The sun was sinking west, and the shadows of the Faroth behind lay dark on the terraces and the wild river below; but away beneath Amon Ethir he descried, as it seemed, the evil shape of the Dragon. Harder and more perilous was the return over Narog in such haste and fear; and scarcely had he reached the east shore and crept aside under the bank when Glaurung drew nigh. But he was slow now and stealthy; for all the fires in him were burned low: great power had gone out of him, and he would rest and sleep in the dark. Thus he writhed through the water and slunk up to the Doors like a huge snake, ashen-grey, sliming the ground with his belly. But he turned before he went in and looked back eastward, and there came from him the laughter of Morgoth, dim but horrible, as an echo of malice out of the black depths far away. And this voice, cold and low, came after: 'There you lie like a vole under the bank, Mablung the mighty! Ill do you run the errands of Thingol. Haste you now to the hill and see what is become of your charge!' Then Glaurung passed into his lair, and the sun went down and grey evening came chill over the land. But Mablung hastened back to Amon Ethir, and as he climbed to the top the stars came out in the east. Against them he saw there standing, dark and still, a figure as it were an image of stone. Thus Nienor stood, and heard nothing that he said, and made him no answer. But when at last he took her hand, she stirred, and suffered him to lead her away; and while he held her she followed, but if he loosed her, she stood still. Then great was Mablung's grief and bewilderment; but no other choice had he but to lead Nienor so upon the long eastward way, without help or company. Thus they passed away, walking like dreamers, out into the night-shadowed plain. And when morning returned Nienor stumbled and fell, and lay still; and Mablung sat beside her in despair.

#ChildrenofHurin

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