Of Finrod and Bëor by losselen  

I.

Of Finrod tarrying in Ossiriand

In eastern land was once a wood

dense with elm and ashes grey

that under Ered Luin stood

and in its eaves did Finrod stray.

He walked by flowing river cold and trod the valley’s secret ways

when spring was young upon the mould

in woodlands of the Elder Days.

From guard and friend he turned aside

wearying of the hunt, he rode

across the Gelion's waters wide

and took upon the Dwarven-road.

His quarry gone, his arrows spent,

softly rolled the forest stream

his feet along its waters went,    

and walked as if a waking dream;

unhorsed he wandered neath the trees

he silent passed by walls of stone,

while grasses bended in the breeze:

to Thargelion, he walked alone.

For Finrod was an Elven lord,

a prince returned from Eldamar,

so bright his crown and keen his sword

in Nargothrond beneath the stars.

A thread of jewels like dews upon

a mantle dark wore Finrod king.

His belt was sewn with silver wan

and emeralds were in his ring

as serpents twain, that once was wrought

by Elven-smiths before the Dawn,

when crystal lamps lit forges hot

in the shinning halls of Tirion.

Unsounding soft did Finrod tread

in flowers and in shifting grass,

his singing voice had windless sped

headlong, as clear as chiming glass.

And free was Ossiriand that he

unbound by time had walked upon

like a dreamer deep in reverie

amazed and lost, until the dawn

and night alike had passed him by

and through the flower-meads he led

and still the dark and starry sky

wheeled above his golden head.

For long he walked in grasses strewn    

with thistle-blooms and warblers filled

and silent neath the penilune

Finrod by a clearing stilled.

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II.

Of Finrod spying Men in the woods

The night was cool and Moon was clear,

a wind there gathered under shade,

it shivered on the silver mere

and shook upon the grassy glade.

For summer came and summer flew,

and gold was leaf on many trees

and clear were drops of evening dew

shaken by a sudden breeze

from upturned petals, curling fern;

and up above, remote and far

in the dark and northern sky did turn

Valacirca, star on star,

of all the world ensilvered most,

Varda’s sickle, jewel of jewels,

radiant within the shining host

and doubled in the forest pools.

And lo! he spied between the boles

a light beyond a yonder dale

as campfire leaping over coals

dancing under moonbeams pale.

He wondered whence did come this light

for Wood-land elves he knew who dwelt

there hewed no trees for warmth at night

and trapped and slew for meat or pelt

no bird or beast; for above all    

they loved the living wood and tree,

the auburn of the larches tall,

the rustling of the leafy sea,

pealing rain on the forest floor,

the trembling sway of willow-limb,

these the Green-elves loved and more;

therefore the fire troubled him

and Finrod feared that evil folk

were walking free in Ossiriand.

So shadow about him Finrod cloaked,

concealed within the wood and land

his movements subtle, his stalking stride,

and saying no more he headlong sped

towards the campfire. There he spied

not beasts or orc-shapes foul, instead

clad in roughspun clothes a folk

rejoicing in the firelight;

with unfamiliar words they spoke

as they sang beneath the starlit night.

So Felagund swiftly stilled his feet

beneath the tree-encircled shade

as dancers whirled, as drummers beat,

as harpers upon the lamb-strings played

a measure rough and quick, yet still

he heard within its melody

the gleeful turn and sudden thrill

of a music made in revelry.

Beneath the sky of autumn clear

the flaming sparks like flowers flew,

like Elven-folk some did appear

yet marked they were in mortal hue

and Finrod spied upon their face

a shadow he did not yet know

the vision of an eerie grace

that was spoken of so long ago.

From memories long and rumors dim,

forbidding words in Araman cold,

the stories Felagund recalled to him,

that Second-comers therein foretold.

When all that lay in slumber fast

arise to grace the waking earth

shall Men awake and come at last

to strath and glen, to fen and firth.

And mortal be their limb and hand

as mortal as the turning days;

brief their sojourn upon the land

and yet though fleeting be their stays

so all the brightly ere they’ve died

might blaze and burn as fires swift

their lives and deeds while they abide;

for such was Ilúvatar’s Gift.

And Finrod waited, held in place,

for wonder in his mind bestirred

a wonder at their living grace

their strain of music yet unheard,

a thought as yet unformed in mind;

though rough and strange their tune and tongue,

yet wonder in the strangeness finds

in novel words and music young.

Thus Finrod in their forms perceived    

the multiplicity of the world

more fair than Elvenesse conceived

within the Music still enfurled.

Long he stood beneath the shade

til turn by turn the dancers ceased

and embers cracked within the glade

over sleeping revelers after feast.

And casting aside his shady cloak

he walked within the fire’s light

between rustling birch and slumbering folk

quiet as the passing night.

And picking up an unused lyre

he slowly plucked its rough-made string

and seated beside the dying fire,

Finrod Felagund began to sing.

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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.

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IV.

Of the waking of Men and the conversation of Finrod and Bëor

The grass grew young upon the mould

and silent stood the mountain-sides

when first arose on Hither-world

the Sun from eastern margins wide.

Beneath the warm light they awoke

beside the waking meadows, Men

who wandered in the ancient oak

that grew untroubled in its glen.

They woke to beneath the rising Sun,

the last-borne fruit of Laurelin,

that first in stalwart course did run

upon the mortal day’s begin.

So woodland Elves they met at times,

the sundered folk from whom they learned

a simple tongue and rustic rhymes

made with lyres roughly formed.

But guideless they unknowing tread

the wayward forests of the east,

that twisted were and gnarled with dread,

beneath whose eaves they found but beasts

and other creatures cruel and fell

who hunted them like creatures wild,

and darkness came to mere and dell

and all by Shadow were beguilded.

But some repented, and some did seek,

by rumors growing in their midst,

the Light that dwelt beyond the peak

in west afar, though snow and mist

lay thickly on the mountain caps

between the east and surging Seas.

They wandered without guide or maps,

fleeing from cave to under trees;

of leaders brave they had but few

and many turned away, afraid,

many perished in mountains blue,

and many back to darkness strayed.

But one among them, Bëor bold,

through passes fell he deftly led

in blinding snow and endless cold

and found the paths that Dwarves would tread.

His people followed fast their lord,

over fen to trudge and ridge to climb,

through mountains sheer and icy ford

came Bëor’s folk upon a time

to Ossiriand. And now awoke

they, one by one, to Finrod’s song

while round them swayed the leafy oaks

in gentle winds and music long.

And there they hearkened, under spell

of Felagund’s voice, a melody clear,

and loud it echoed as peal of bell,

as sudden thrill that bound them there.

“O lord,” at last had Bëor cried,

“What god or herald visits us?

For wretched are we, as you’ve spied.

O’er mountains far in tatters thus,

in rags we’ve roamed. In ice and snow

we wandered lost for many a day,

by dell and pass, by heath and sloe,

at last we through the mountain-way

came hither without map or guide.

For rumors far of Light we heard

to western lands in hope we’ve hied

though naught we’ve found but beast and bird

til now. Indeed I see a Light

and wonder in your sweetest song

whose music breathed in image bright

and leapt my heart such distance long

to lands unseen, with sounds unheard,

as deep in music shimmering

was magic in your singing word

and living shadows glimmering.

What divine message do you convey,

O lord? Or maybe godly orders

and tidings borne from far away

beyond these mortal, earthly borders?”

“Soft,” there answered Finrod king,

and silence came on his command,

for loud he spoke and stilled the string.

The harp fell silent in his hand.

“None has sent me, O folk of Men,

no god nor herald am I to you    

though moving powers beyond my ken

had called me here. These mountains blue

and streaming waters of Ossiriand

did hold me here, my ways beguiled

by winding lodes in mountain land

by meadows and by flowers wild.

“Yet of your coming was foretold

by he the doomsman among Valar

o’er Sea and gnashing ice of cold

on Araman north, in West afar.

On silent mound he stood alone,

he spoke then of the Second-born,

the Men whose fates already sewn

within the fabric. And on that morn

that Sun first rose did then awaken

the sleeping Arda, beast and bird,

grasses green from slumber shaken,

and blooms and trees in Sunlight stirred.

So it was then that ye awoke

to rising morn, a second spring,

or so ’twas said among Elven folk

when Anor rose on flaming wing

from the Utter West. Though Eldar-folk

have heard no word nor rumors dim

ever reached us here that ye awoke

beyond Beleriand’s eastern rim

til now. You come from mountain ways

on many forgotten eastern roads

as Elves did too in bygone days

when high above the sky were sowed

the ancient stars by Varda, queen,

like jewels bright in sable field

was light beloved, quivering, keen,

an endless fabric thus revealed

in Cuiviénen beneath the stars.

Far east now lie forgotten lands,

those waking waters, waters far

from the shivering woods of Beleriand.

But no more we can we thither go

where lost now run the ancient ways

that Elven-fathers long ago

westward came in Twilit Days.

“But whence came you from yonder realm,

what waters fair, or tarn, or mere,

beneath what oak, or ash, or elm,

lay the sleeping waters clear?

For now I see you, child of Men,

alike to us in form and voice,

as Children twain, our brethren.

At this meeting do I rejoice,

and now I name ye, Second-born,

Atanatári, in Noldorin,

children of the Sun and morn.”

Then silence fell on all therein,

in wonder of the Elven name.    

And long they sat within the glade

while shadows thrown by dying flame

leapt about the circled shade.

Above them climbed the silver fire

of Valacirca’s sickled light,

and Finrod took up again the lyre

and music filled anew the night.

His power by his voice revealed,

and time itself did move to still.

While the earth listened, while stars wheeled,

his music rang from hill to hill.

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The branches bare, the mountains old

the land now under roaring tide

the grasses high and rivers cold,  

all buried beneath the ocean wide.

And even in Ossiriand

on leaf and stone the ages lay

and gone of old are Elves from land,

for long ago, they passed away.  

And gone is Finrod Elven-king,

long he left the Hither-shore

into the West where warblers sing

and comes to Middle-Earth no more. 

He walks in Elven halls of old

beneath the shinning silver eaves

beneath the rustling boughs of gold

and wind among the dancing leaves.

And there the green, undying plains

roll on beside the Shadowmere

and earthen time like chiming rains

still fall in countless Elven-years.

But Bëor and his folk of Men,

where now they walk, none can tell,

away afar, beyond the ken

of Elven-kind, beyond the bell

of the changéd and the edgeless world

beyond the crowns of oak and elm,

beyond the staves of Music furled,

beyond the night’s murky helm.

The lands they walk, no one has seen

what sight or music, none shall know,

what azure skies and grasses green,

what air or water, joy or woe. 

But long ago, in Ossiriand

they walked the woods of hinterland

beneath the sunlight’s eastern rays

when the world was fair in Elder Days.

Chapter End Notes

This monstrously long poem took almost 10 years to write!

Several phrases, rhymes and lines are borrowed from various Tolkien poems—e.g. “grey the Norland waters [run]” (Bilbo’s Song of Eärendil) and “silver fire / of old that Men did call the Briar” (used several times in the Lay of Leithian), among many others. Of course the writerly reason is that sometimes I can’t resist how beautiful the imagery are, or that I’m not sufficiently inventive myself. And yet I think these lyric echoes are also true in a in-universe sense: in Medieval ballads can be found similar stock phrases or allusive echoes to older or contemporaneous poems. Therefore it’s nice to think of these echoes as evincing the poem’s literary lineage.

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VI.

Of the death of Finrod Felagund and the deeds of the House of Bëor

The deeds of mighty Bëor’s clan

that bards still sing in Elven-song

in ages long ago began

on the sloping hills of Dorthonion.

For many years would Bëor’s folk

walk upon the stony land

and labor neath the beech and oak

of Ladros, and in Beleriand

went Baran mighty, Bregolas,    

and Morwen Eledhwen, stern and fair.

For many seasons the leaf and grass,

grew and fell in northern air

beneath the stars, and grew again.

But long ago was loud the cry    

of Barahir on flaming plain,

that rang beneath the smoking sky

when Ard-galen in embers laved,

and Finrod thus with mighty spear

in dire hour from death was saved.

His ring he gave to Barahir

borne out of the Undying West

a token of abiding bond,

and later, as unlooked for guest

did Beren come to Nargothrond

to call on everlasting ties

the oath of friendship unforsaken

and answered him did Finrod wise.

By roadways that were seldom taken

they went forth. Of pain and death

unheeding rode they, Beren bold

and Finrod fair. The bitter breath

of morgul-towers and sorcelled cold

would fare for the hand of Lúthien.

Yet there would perish Finrod king

in dungeon deep and pit within

when round him wound a creeping ring

of beastly wolves, whose iron teeth

tore into Finrod’s body bare,

who fell in darkness far beneath

the Sirion’s water that once ran clear.

And flew he then on dying wing,

from yawning gate and darkling walls

and Hither-lands passed Finrod king,

returning to the timeless Halls

where Mandos sits and looks afar,

and walks he now on Shinning Shore,

but under Moon or under star to hither comes he never more.

But Beren was, beyond all hope

saved from death by Tinúviel.

They buried Finrod on the slope

of island green, as morgul-spell

she broke and cleaned. They went alone

through woods of nightshade flying sped,

to stand uncloaked before the Throne

and dauntless meet the King of Dread.

So singing Lúthien cast him down,

and Beren cut from forgéd weld

Fëanor’s Jewel from Iron Crown.

With hands enjoined they both beheld

the Jewel of light. Though both defied

they Foe and Oath of Silmaril,

yet in the end she also died,

beside Beren dead, Tinúviel,

who danced in starlit hemlock-paths

where once the Elven-river ran

in green, inviolate Doriath,

before the mortal Sun began.

And dark the Norland waters turned

in rivers rushing down to shore,

and into ruin. Kingdoms burned

by flames of treachery and war.

Fell Gondolin and Nargothrond

and Doriath hidden, green and fair,

where nightingales in Region

once sang and thrilled the forest air.

For under waves of ocean rolling

are mountain, vale, and cave alike,

the silver harps, the clock-bells tolling,

the jeweléd pillars, sword and pike.

And foundered now is Elvenesse,

the golden halls, the carven ways,

and all the things of loveliness

that once there were in Elder Days.

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V.

Of the disquiet of the Green-elves and the passing of Men into Beleriand

The autumn deepend. Red turned trees.

Softly falling one by one

were beechen-leaf in northern breeze

from branches bare. The distant Sun

streaked thin and wan in frosty air,

and leaping into kindled lights

was starry host so silver-fair

when dark and cloudless were the nights

in winter come. Then softly fell

the early snow on shaggy boughs.

And Bëor’s folk still dwelt in dell

by shallow streams and woody howes.

Houses small they built of wood,

felled from living groves of trees

that since the days of Twilight stood,

and this the Green-elves did displease,

who hid themselves from Bëor’s men.

Naught else did they treasured more    

than things that grow in wood and glen,

the leafy whirl on forest floor,

the rustling song of windy skies.

So Felagund the Nandor sought

his counsel and his kingship wise.

“These Men, Lord Finrod, we love not,

these strangers out of mountains east.

Their axes fall on many trees,

their careless spears on bird and beast.

Their fires give us great unease.

The woods of Ossiriand to us

are dearer than the fallow gold

or opal pale, and dearer thus

than diamond or silver cold,

or weapon hoards in treasury    

or shining arms. Above all worth

we hold in love and memory

the things that grow upon the earth

and bend and dance in windy glens.

We love this many-rivered realm

where nightly roam the roes and wrens,

and windy sighs the branching elm,

beneath the Moon; and near and far,

as silver on the shivering leaf,

are shadows swimming under stars

while windy sings each stalk and sheaf.

To them we give our heart and more,

as loved is every bough and stem

that weave the woods of Hither-shore

as dolven halls or carven gem

to Noldor-folk. Our love as deep

as roots unnumbered, deeper still,

for ever since the Twilit sleep

we lingered here, our songs did fill

these forests fair with fain delight,

in music made beneath the oak

in the endless years of starlit night.

So pray, lord, bade these stranger folk

depart from us, for is there not

some wood in yonder westward field,    

in your own realms where can be sought

a land or fief, for them to shield?”

Finrod gave thought unto this plea

that the newly-come should go forth

from Ossiriand, and at last agreed

to find them succor in the North.

So went the men of Bëor bold

westward to Beleriand,

across the Gelion’s waters cold,

the border of the Elven-land.

They dwelt in Estolad for a time,

until they over nothern hills

and snowy Himlad-plains did climb

through Aglon’s gorge. And onward still

they climbed by rocky highland pass

and near the founts of Rivil’s well

they northward saw the rolling grass

of Ard-galen ere the fires fell.

And on they walked in heathers wild

by Aeluin deep that windy ran

silver neath the Moonlight mild

and took as fief then, Bëor's clan,

the hills of Ladros, no more to roam

in eastern woods or mountains cold.

In Dorthonion they built their home

in green and gentle ridges rolled

in days of peace, when vigils kept

the Elven-lords on the Dreaded Foe,

who in his hold had seeming slept,

and woke not yet his beasts of woe.

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A manuscript of this translation of The Lay of Felagund was brought from the library of Elrond in Imladris by King Elessar in FA 22. Copies were made of much of Elven-lore in Imladris, to be studied and preserved in the North and South Kingdoms. A second translation of Finrod and Bëor survives as well, but only in smaller fragments. The beginning is rendered thus:

In eastern lands there once a wood

that under Ered Luin stood,

dense with boughs and thickets grey;

and in its eaves did Finrod stray.

Unhorsed he wandered under trees

by flowers nodding in the breeze

he trod the valley’s secret ways

in woodlands of the Elder Days.

He walked in streaming waters cold

when spring was young upon the mould.

He silent passed its walls of stone

in Thargelion, he walked alone.

As dusk and dawn both passed him by

in wheeling stars in eastern sky

rose bright the Sun and cold the Moon.

The ever-changing night and noon

alike fell yet on Finrod-king:

Of marks of lordship, save a ring

in flowing gold-work, he wore none;

though of his ring now songs are sung.

This version seems to end at the death of Finrod and makes no mention of the later deeds of the House of Bëor.

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