Of Finrod and Bëor by losselen

Canto III: Of Finrod's song of Valinor

III.

Of Finrod's song of Valinor

A song he sang of Eldamar,    
of Sunless years in Valinor,
and mead that flowed in halls afar
of music falling evermore,
of golden rains on golden eaves
that fell on grasses slumberless
in silver glades where long the leaves
grew under starlights numberless.
He sang of branching streets of white
beneath a roof of woven green
entwined in beechen boughs; and light
of Mindon Eldaliéva keen
that wavered high, to and fro,
from towering spire onto the Bay,
and beneath there bathed in silver glow
in ageless year and ageless days
like living marble there still grew,
a White Tree, Galathilion.
And silver leaves and crystal dews
fell in Elven-Tirion.

He sang of Calacirya’s reach
athwart the everlasting walls
above the pearls on sparkling beach
above the shining Tirion-halls;
and clouds about the snowy knees
of Taniquetil sheer and far;
and mist upon the dusky wreaths
of bright and scarlet Fumellar
in Lórien, in meadow-beds
where singing flocked the nightingale
on drooping boughs of yews, and fed
the falling rains to runnels pale;
and havens by the roaring Sea
where argent flew the wings of mew
and shadows on the eastern lee
of Túna when there still yet grew
the ever-changing Trees, of gold
and silver were their branching boughs
in Valmar, in the days of old,
ere spoken were the dooméd vows,
when countless fell the Elven-years
that passed before the Sun or Moon
were seen above the Shadowmere
in the first mortal night and noon.
And as if caught a tolling bell
in sounding air within his song,
as if a bird call, as if a spell,
as if the leagues were not so long
from the pearly shoals of Elvenhome
to the darkling stones of Hither-lands;
a sudden love in the heart did roam
straining to hear from distant strands
the piercing cry of unknown bird
echoing in jeweléd cities far
as few Men would have ever heard,
in Valinor, where no mortals are.

So listening fast did Bëor wake
arisen from these dreaming chords,
and wonder of them stirred as ache
as image cleaved from Elven words.
And in that hour did Men behold
Finrod the fairest Elven-lord
his flaxen hair a gleam of gold,
a beryl set upon his sword.
And slow he plucked the roughmade string
its music in his Elven-hands
more fair than birds in sudden spring
sing in the woods of Eastern lands.
And beauty they had never seen
as like which shone upon his glance,
and ageless grace was in his mien
that held their hearts in love entranced.
For in his face still shone the Trees
that flowered once in Valinor,
with golden crown and silver wreath
and likes of they will never more
in all of Arda again be known
No more the singing Laurelin
her blooms of red like embers thrown
from golden branches flamed within;
and Telperion the everwhite    
on slender limbs his leaves of green
will dance no more with fain delight
and never wave in breezes keen,
bestirred from high by blessed hands    
from high above in Valinor,
down and east to Outer Lands
across the Shadow Seas. No more
their shining boles, their silver, gold,
a rain of dews like falling stars
that fell before the world was old
before the darkening, ere the mar.
Not til the mending of the world
the utter end in ages long
shall they rebloom in Music furled
as some still sing in Elven song.