The Death of Bëor the Old by Zdenka  

Faithful Bëor, his beard grown white,
Came to Finrod, king among Elves;
‘Lord, your liegeman must leave you soon,
Your kingly halls hold me no more.’

Frowning, Finrod his friend answered,
'Where would you go, my good Bëor?
What do you lack? Let me mend it.
I cannot yet yield your friendship.’

Gravely, Bëor gave his reply:
‘Not of my will would I leave you.
The time passes and tarries not;
My days dwindle and death draws near.’

Finrod, stricken by fierce sorrow,
Gripped Bëor's hand and held it fast.
‘Why speak of death? What wound harms you,
What secret pain from sword or spear?

‘Much knowledge lies in Nargothrond,
Songs of healing and swift comfort. 
Does some illness eat up your strength?
Your king will find a cure for it.’

But Bëor said, ‘No blade harmed me,
Nor does illness eat up my strength.
Only old age, all-devouring,
Will bring me down to death’s power.’

Frantic, Finrod refused to hear.
‘How can this be? The beasts die thus;
Those who have speech spend years freely.
No danger comes from days passing.’

‘So it may be,’ Bëor answered,
‘For Elven-folk, fair and shining.
For your kindred, years pass lightly
In endless youth, ageless beauty.

‘Not so for Men of mortal kind;
Age brings ending without return.
So it has been since Sun’s rising,
For time passes and tarries not.’

‘How can this be? Bëor my friend,
Since first meeting our minds were one.
Is there no way to ward off death?’
So said the king, sorrow-laden.

Bowing his head, Bëor answered,
‘My lord Finrod, the Friend of Men,
Nóm, the master of much wisdom,
No lord, no king can keep back death.

‘Then do not grieve the Gift of Men.
Bid me farewell, while words remain.’
Finrod could not refrain from tears;
Bursts of weeping blinded his eyes.

‘Is this a gift? Grievous it seems
To lose dear friends in little time.
Say not farewell! Wait a little,
Till I can bear this bitter loss.’

With voice more faint, his friend answered:
‘My fate calls me, I cannot stay.
No time remains in Middle-earth.
Farewell, my lord, at life’s ending.’

Finrod called him in keen distress:
‘Bëor! Bëor! I beg you, wait!’
Vain were his words, and vain his tears;
‘Twixt breath and breath, Bëor was gone.

Chapter End Notes

"[A]t last Bëor the Old died when he had lived three and ninety years, for four and fifty of which he had served King Felagund. And when he lay dead, of no wound or grief, but stricken by age, the Eldar saw for the first time the swift waning of the life of Men, and the death of weariness which they knew not in themselves; and they grieved greatly for the loss of their friends." -The Silmarillion, "Of the Coming of Men Into the West"

This poem was influenced by Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth in HOME X: Morgoth's Ring and also by the final conversation between Aragorn and Arwen at Aragorn's death in LOTR Appendix A: I (v).

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