corrija a letra Letra I. Túrin’s Fostering por J. R. R. Tolkien

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Letra

Túrin Son of Húrin & Glórund the Dragon

Lo! the golden dragon     of the God of Hell,
the gloom of the woods       of the world now gone,
the woes of Men,       and weeping of Elves
fading faintly       down forest pathways,
is now to tell,       and the name most tearful
of Niniel the sorrowful,       and the name most sad
of Thalion's son Túrin       o'erthrown by fate.

Lo! Húrin Thalion       in the hosts of war
was whelmed, what time       the white-clad armies
of Elfinesse       were all to ruin
by the dread hate driven       of Delu-Morgoth.
That field is yet       by thе folk named
Ninin Unothradin,       Unnumbered Tеars.
There the children of Men,       chieftain and warrior,
fled and fought not,       but the folk of the Elves
they betrayed with treason,       save that true man only,
Thalion Erithámrod       and his thanes like gods.
There in host on host       the hill-fiend Orcs
overbore him at last       in that battle terrible,
by the bidding of Bauglir       bound him living,
and pulled down the proudest       of the princes of Men.
To Bauglir's halls       in the hills builded,
to the Hells of Iron       and the hidden caverns
they haled the hero       of Hithlum's land,
Thalion Erithámrod,       to their throned lord,
whose breast was burnt       with a bitter hatred,
and wroth he was       that the wrack of war
had not taken Turgon       ten times a king,
even Finweg's heir;       nor Fëanor's children,
makers of the magic       and immortal gems.
For Turgon towering       in terrible anger
a pathway clove him       with his pale sword-blade
out of that slaughter—      yea, his swath was plain
through the hosts of Hell       like hay that lieth
all low on the lea       where the long scythe goes.
A countless company       that king did lead
through the darkened dales       and drear mountains
out of ken of his foes,       and he comes not more
in the tale; but the triumph       he turned to doubt
of Morgoth the evil,       whom mad wrath took.
Nor spies sped him,       nor spirits of evil,
nor his wealth of wisdom       to win him tidings,
whither the nation       of the Gnomes was gone.
Now a thought of malice,       when Thalion stood,
bound, unbending,       in his black dungeon,
then moved in his mind       that remembered well
how Men were accounted       all mightless and frail
by the Elves and their kindred;       how only treason
could master the magic       whose mazes wrapped
the children of Corthûn,       and cheated his purpose.
'Is it dauntless Húrin,'      quoth Delu-Morgoth,
'stout steel-handed,       who stands before me,
a captive living       as a coward might be?
Knowest thou my name,       or need'st be told
what hope he has       who is haled to Angband—
the bale most bitter,       the Balrogs' torment?'

'I know and I hate.       For that knowledge I fought thee
by fear unfettered,       nor fear I now,'
said Thalion there,       and a thane of Morgoth
on the mouth smote him;       but Morgoth smiled:
'Fear when thou feelest,       and the flames lick thee,
and the whips of the Balrogs       thy white flesh brand.
Yet a way canst win,       an thou wishest, still
to lessen thy lot       of lingering woe.
Go question the captives       of the accursed people
I have taken, and tell me       where Turgon is hid;
how with fire and death       I may find him soon,
where he lurketh lost       in lands forgot.
Thou must feign thee a friend       faithful in anguish,
and their inmost hearts       thus open and search.
Then, if truth thou tellest,       thy triple bonds
I will bid men unbind,       that abroad thou fare
in my service to search       the secret places
following the footsteps       of these foes of the Gods.'
'Build not thy hopes         so high, O Bauglir—
I am no tool         for thy evil treasons;
torment were sweeter         than a traitor's stain.'
'If torment be sweet,         treasure is liever.
The hoards of a hundred         hundred ages,
the gems and jewels         of the jealous Gods,
are mine, and a meed         shall I mete thee thence,
yea, wealth to glut         the Worm of Greed.'

'Canst not learn of thy lore           when thou look'st on a foe,
O Bauglir unblest?           Bray no longer
of the things thou hast thieved           from the Three Kindreds.
In hate I hold thee,           and thy hests in scorn.'

'Boldly thou bravest me.         Be thy boast rewarded,'
in mirth quod Morgoth,        'to me now the deeds,
and thy aid I ask not;         but anger thee nought
if little they like thee.         Yea, look thereon
helpless to hinder,         or thy hand to raise.'

Then Thalion was thrust         to Thangorodrim,
that mountain that meets         the misty skies
on high o'er the hills         that Hithlum sees
blackly brooding         on the borders of the north.
To a stool of stone         on its steepest peak
they bound him in bonds,         an unbreakable chain,
and the Lord of Woe         there laughing stood,
then cursed him for ever         and his kin and seed
with a doom of dread,         of death and horror.
There the mighty man         unmovéd sat;
but unveiled was his vision,         that he viewed afar
all earthly things         with eyes enchanted
that fell on his folk—        a fiend's torment.
Lo! the lady Morwin         in the Land of Shadows
waited in the woodland         for her well-beloved;
but he came never         from the combat home.
No tidings told her         whether taken or dead,
or lost in flight         he lingered yet.
Laid waste his lands,         and his lieges slain,
and men unmindful         of his mighty lordship
dwelt in Dorlómin         and dealt unkindly
with his widowed wife;         and she went with child,
who a son must succour         now sadly orphaned,
Turin Thaliodrin         of tender years.
Then in days of blackness         was her daughter born,
and was naméd Nienor,         a name of tears
that in language of eld         is Lamentation.
Then her thoughts turnéd         to Thingol the Elf-king,
and the dancer of Doriath,         his daughter Tinúviel,
whom the boldest of the brave,         Beren Ermabwed,
had won to wife.         He once had known
firmest friendship         to his fellow in arms,
Thalion Erithámrod —        so thought she now,
and said to her son,        'My sweetest child,
our friends are few,         and thy father comes not.
Thou must fare afar         to the folk of the wood,
where Thingol is throned         in the Thousand Caves.
If he remember Morwin         and thy mighty sire
he will fain foster thee,         and feats of arms
he will teach thee, the trade         of targe and sword,
and Thalion's son         no thrall shall be --
but remember thy mother         when thy manhood nears.'

Heavy boded the heart           of Húrin's son,
yet he weened her words           were wild with grief,
and he denied her not,           for no need him seemed.
Lo! henchmen had Morwin,           Halog and Gumlin,
who were young of yore           ere the youth of Thalion,
who alone of the lieges           of that lord of Men
steadfast in service           staid beside her:
now she bade them brave           the black mountains,
and the woods whose ways           wander to evil;
though Túrin be tender           and to travail unused,
they must gird them and go;           but glad they were not,
and Morwin mourned           when men saw not.

Came a summer day             when sun filtered
warm through the woodland's             waving branches.
Then Morwin stood             her mourning hiding
by the gate of her garth             in a glade of the woods.
At the breast she mothered             her babe unweaned,
and the doorpost held             lest she droop for anguish.
There Gumlin guided             her gallant boy,
And a heavy burden             was borne by Halog;
but the heart of Túrin             was heavy as stone
uncomprehending             its coming anguish.
He sought for comfort,             with courage saying:
'Quickly will I come             from the courts of Thingol;
long ere manhood             I will lead to Morwin
great tale of treasure,             and true comrades'--
for he wist not the weird             woven by Bauglir,
nor the sundering sorrow             that swept between.
The farewells are taken:             their footsteps are turned
to the dark forest:             the dwelling fadeth
in the tangled trees.             Then in Túrin leapt
his awakened heart,             and he wept blindly,
calling 'I cannot,             I cannot leave thee.
O Morwin, my mother,             why makest me go?
Hateful are the hills             where hope is lost.
O Morwin, my mother,             I am meshed in tears.
Grim are the hills,             and my home is gone.'
And there came his cries             calling faintly
down the dark alleys             of the dreary trees,
and one who wept             weary on the threshold
heard how the hills said            'my home is gone.'

The ways were weary               and woven with deceit
o'er the hills of Hithlum               to the hidden kingdom
deep in the darkness               of Doriath's forest;
and never ere now               for need or wonder
had children of Men               chosen that pathway,
a few of the folk               have followed it since.
There Túrin and the twain               knew torment of thirst,
and hunger and fear               and hideous nights,
for wolfriders               and wandering Orcs
and the Things of Morgoth               thronged the woodland.
Magics were about them,               that they missed their ways
and strayed steerless,               and the stars were hid.
Thus they pa**ed the mountains,               but the mazes of Doriath
wildered and wayworn               in wanhope bound them.
They had nor bread nor water,               and bled of strength
their death they deemed it               to die forewandered,
when they heard a horn               that hooted afar,
and baying dogs.               It was Beleg the hunter,
who farthest fared               of his folk abroad
ahunting by hill               and hollow valley,
who cared not for concourse               and commerce of men.
He was great of growth               and goodly-limbed,
but lithe of girth,               and lightly on the ground
his footsteps fell               as he fared towards them,
all garbed in grey               and green and brown --
a son of the wilderness               who wist no sire.

'Who are ye?' he asked.     'Outlaws, or maybe
hard hunted men      whom hate pursueth?'

'Nay, for famine and thirst        we faint,' saith Halog,
'wayworn and wildered,        and wot not the road.
Or hast not heard        of the hills of the slain,
or the tear-drenchéd field        where the terror and fire
of Morgoth devoured        both Men and Elves?
There Thalion Erithámrod        and his thanes like gods
vanished from the earth,        and his valiant lady
weeps yet widowed        as she waits in Hithlum.
Thou lookest on the last        of the lieges of Morwin
and Thalion's son Túrin,        who to Thingol's court
are wending by the word        of the wife of Húrin.'

Then Beleg bade them          be blithe, and said:
'The Gods have guided you          to good keeping.
I have heard of the house          of Húrin the Steadfast -
and who hath not heard          of the hills of slain,
of Nínin Unothradin,          the Unnumbered Tears?
To that war I went on,          but wage a feud
with the Orcs unending,          whom mine arrows bitter
oft stab unseen          and strike to death.
I am the huntsman Beleg          of the Hidden People.'
Then he bade them drink,          and drew from his belt
a flask of leather          full filled with wine
that is bruised from the berries          of the burning South --
and the Gnome-folk know it,          and the nation of the Elves,
and by long ways lead it          to the lands of the North.
There bakéd flesh          and bread from his wallet
they had to their hearts' joy;          but their heads were mazed
by the wine of Dor-Winion          that went in their veins,
and they soundly slept          on the soft needles
of the tall pine-trees          that towered above.
Later they wakened          and were led by ways
devious winding          through the dark wood-realm
by slade and slope          and swampy thicket
through lonely days          and long night-times,
and but for Beleg          had been baffled utterly
by the magic mazes          of Melian the Queen.
To the shadowy shores          he showed the way
where stilly that stream          strikes 'fore the gates
of the cavernous court          of the King of Doriath,
O'er the guarded bridge          he gained a pa**age,
and thrice they thanked him,          and thought in their hearts
'the Gods are good'—          had they guessed maybe
what the future enfolded            they had feared to live.

To the throne of Thingol          the three were come,
and their speech sped them;          for he spake them fair,
and held in honour          Húrin the steadfast,
Beren Ermabwed's          brother-in-arms.
Remembering Morwin,            of mortals fairest,
he turned not Túrin          in contempt away;
said: 'O son of Húrin,          here shalt sojourn
in my cavernous court          for thy kindred's sake.
Nor as slave or servant,          but a second king's son
thou shalt dwell in dear love,          till thou deem'st it time
to remember thy mother          Morwin's loneliness.
Thou wisdom shalt win          unwist of Men
and weapons shalt wield          as the warrior Elves,
and Thalion's son          no thrall shall be.'

There tarried the twain            that had tended the child,
till their limbs were lightened            and they longed to fare
through dread and danger            to their dear lady.
But Gumlin was gone            in greater years
than Halog, and hoped not            to home again.
Then sickness took him,            and he stayed by Túrin,
while Halog hardened            his heart to go.
An Elfin escort            to his aid was given
and magics of Melian,            and a meed of gold.
In his mouth a message            how her wish was granted;
how Thingol called her            to the Thousand Caves
to fare unfearing            with his folk again,
there to sojourn in solace,            till her son be grown;
for Húrin the hero            was held in mind,
and no might had Morgoth            where Melian dwelt.

Of the errand of the Elves            and that other Halog
the tale tells not,            save in time they came
to the threshold of Morwin,            and Thingol's message
was said where she sate            in her solitary hall.
But she dared not do            as was dearly bidden,
for Nienor her mestling            was not yet weaned.
More, the pride of her people,            princes of Men,
had suffered her send            her son to Thingol
when despair sped her,            but to spend her days
as alms-guest of others,            even Elfin kings,
it liked her little;            and there lived e'en now
a hope in her heart            that Húrin would come,
and the dwelling was dear            where he dwelt of old.
At night she would listen            for a knock at the doors,
or a footstep falling            that she fondly knew;
so she fared not forth,            and her fate was woven.
Yet the thanes of Thingol            she thanked nobly,
and her shame she showed not,            how shorn of glory
to reward their wending            she had wealth too scant;
but gave them in gift            her golden things
that last lingered,            and they led away
a helm of Húrin            that was hewn in war
when he battled with Beren            his brother-in-arms
against ogres and Orcs            and evil foemen;
'twas o'erwritten with runes            by wrights of old.
She bade Thingol receive it            and think of her.

Thus Halog her henchman          came home, but the Elves,
the thanes of Thingol,            thrust through the woods,
and the message of Morwin            in a month's journey,
so quick their coming,            to the king was said.
Then was Melian            moved to ruth,
and courteously received            the king her gift,
who deeply delved            had dungeons filled
with Elfin armouries            of ancient gear,
but he handled the helm            as his hoard were scant;
said: 'High were the head            that upheld this thing
with that token crowned            of the towering dragon
that Thalion Eithámrod            thrice-renownéd
oft bore into battle            with baleful foes.'
Then a thought was thrust            into Thingol's heart,
and Túrin he called            and told when come
that Morwin his mother            a mighty thing
had sent to her son,            his sire's heirloom,
a helm that hammers            had hardened of old,
whose makers had mingled            a magic thererin
that its worth was a wonder            and its wearer safe,
guarded from glaive            or gleaming axe—
'Lo! Húrin's helm            hoard thou till manhood
bids thee battle;            then bravely don it';
and Túrin touched it,            but took it not,
too weak to wield            that weight as yet,
and his mind mournéd            for Morwin's answer,
and the first of his sorrows            o'erfilled his soul.

Thus came it to pa**              in the court of Thingol
that Túrin tarried              for twelve long years
with Gumlin his guardian,              who guided him thither
when but seven summers              their sorrows had laid
on the son of Thalion.              For the seven first
his lot was lightened,              since he learnt at whiles
from faring folk              what befell in Hithlum,
and tidings were told              by trusty Elves,
how Morwin his mother              was more at ease;
and they named Nienor              that now was growing
to the sweet beauty              of a slender maiden.
Thus his heart knew hope,              and his hap was fairer.
There he waxed wonderly              and won him praise
in all lands where Thingol              as lord was held
for the strength of his body              and stoutness of heart.
Much more he learned,              and loved wisdom,
but fortune followed him              in few desires;
oft wrong and awry              what he wrought turnéd;
what he loved he lost,              what he longed for he won not;
and full friendship              he found not easily,
nor was lightly loved              for his looks were sad.
He was gloomy-hearted,              and glad seldom,
for the sundering sorrow              that seared his youth.

On manhood's threshold             he was mighty holden
in the wielding of weapons;               and in weaving song
he had a minstrel's mastery,               but mirth was not in it,
for he mourned the misery               of the Men of Hithlum.
Yet greater his grief               grew thereafter,
when from Hithlum's hills               he heard no more,
and no traveller told him               tidings of Morwin.
For those days were drawing               to the Doom of the Gnomes,
and the power of the Prince               of the People of Hell,
of the grim Glamhoth,               was grown apace,
till the lands of the North               were loud with their noise,
and they fell on the folk               with flame and ruin
who bent not to Bauglir,               or the borders pa**ed
of dark Dorlómin               with its dreary pines
that Hithlum unhappy               is hight by Men.
There Morgoth shut them,               and the Shadowy Mountains
fenced them from Faërie               and the folk of the wood.
Even Beleg fared not               so far abroad
as once was his wont,               and the woods were filled
with the armies of Angband               and evil deeds,
while murder walked               on the marches of Doriath;
only mighty magic               of Melian the Queen
yet held their havoc               from the Hidden People.

To a**uage his sorrow          and to sate the rage
and hate of his heart          for the hurts of his folk
then Húrin's son          took the helm of his sire
and weapons weighty          for the wielding of men,
and went to the woods          with warlike Elves;
and far in the fight          his feet led him,
into black battle          yet a boy in years.
Ere manhood's measure          he met and slew
the Orcs of Angband          and evil things
that roamed and ravened          on the realm's borders.
There hard his life,          and hurts he got him,
the wounds of shaft          and warfain sword,
and his prowess was proven          and his praise renowned,
and beyond his years          he was yielded honour;
for by him was holden          the hand of ruin
from Thingol's folk,          and Thû feared him—
Thû who was thronéd          as thane most mighty
neath Morgoth Bauglir;          whom that mighty one bade
'Go ravage the realm          of the robber Thingol,
and mar the magic          of Melian the Queen.'

Only one was there          in war greater,
higher in honour          in the hearts of Elves,
than Túrin son of Húrin          untamed in war—
even the huntsman Beleg          of the Hidden People,
the son of the wilderness          who wist no sire
(to bend whose bow          of the black yew-tree
had none of the might),          unmatched in knowledge
of the wood's secrets          and the weary hills.
He was leader beloved          of the light-armed bands,
the scouts that scoured,          scorning danger,
afar o'er the fells          their foemen's lairs;
and tales and tidings          timely won them
of camps and councils,          of comings and goings—
all the movements of the might          of Morgoth the Terrible.
Thus Túrin, who trusted          to targe and sword,
who was fain of fighting          with foes well seen,
and the banded troops          of his brave comrades
were snared seldom          and smote unlooked-for.

Then the fame of the fights          on the far marches
were carried to the court          of the King of Doriath,
and tales of Túrin          were told in his halls,
and how Beleg the ageless          was brother-in-arms
to the black-haired boy          from the beaten people.
Then the king called them          to come before him
ever and anon          when the Orc-raids waned;
to rest them and revel,          and to raise awhile
the secret songs          of the sons of Ing.
On a time was Túrin          at the table of Thingol --
there was laughter long          and the loud clamour
of a countless company          that quaffed the mead,
amid the wine of Dor-Winion          that went ungrudged
in their golden goblets;          and goodly meats
there burdened the boards,          neath the blazing torches
set high in those halls          that were hewn of stone.
There mirth fell on many;          there minstrels clear
did sing to them songs          of the city of Tún
neath Tain-Gwethil,          towering mountain,
where the great gods sit          and gaze on the world
from the guarded shores          of the gulf of Faërie.
Then one sang of the slaying          at the Swanship's Haven
and the curse that had come          on the kindreds since:
all silent sat          and soundless harkened,
and waited the words          save one alone—
the Man among Elves          that Morwin bore.
Unheeding he heard          or high feasting
or lay or laughter,          and looked, it seemd,
to a deep distance          in the dark without,
and strained for sounds          in the still spaces,
for voices that vanished          in the veils of the night.
He was lithe and lean,          and his locks were wild,
and woodland weeds          he wore of brown
and grey and green,          and gay jewel
of golden trinket          his garb knew not.

An Elf there was—Orgof—          of the ancient race
that was lost in the lands          where the long marches
from the quiet waters          of Cuiviénen
were made in the mirk          of the midworld's gloom,
ere light was lifted          aloft o'er earth;
but blood of the Gnomes          was blent in his veins.
He was close akin          to the King of Doriath—
a hardy hunter          and his heart was brave,
but loose his laughter          and light his tongue,
and his pride outran          his prowess in arms.
He was fain before all          of fine raiment
and of gems and jewels,          and jealous of such
as found favour          before himself.
Now costly clad          in colours gleaming
he sat on a seat          that was set on high
near the king and queen          and close to Túrin.
When those twain were at table          he had taunted him oft,
lightly with laughter,          for his loveless ways,
his haggard raiment          and hair unshorn;
but Túrin untroubled          neither turned his head
nor wasted words          on the wit of Orgof.
But this day of the feast          more deep his gloom
than of wont, and his words          men won harder;
for of twelve long years          the tale was full
since on Morwin his mother          through a maze of tears
he looked the last,          and the long shadows
of the forest had fallen          on his fading home;
and he answered few,          and Orgof nought.
Then the fool's mirth          was filled the more,
to a keener edge          was his carping whetted
at the clothes uncouth          and the uncombed hair
of Túrin newcome          from the tangléd forest.
He drew forth daintily          a dear treasure,
a comb of gold          that he kept about him,
and tendered it to Túrin;          but he turned not his eyes,
nor deigned to heed          or harken to Orgof,
who too deep drunken          that disdain should quell him:
'Nay, and thou knowest not          thy need of comb,
nor its use,' quoth he,         'too young thou leftest
thy mother's ministry,          and 'twere meet to go
that she teach thee tame          thy tangled locks—
if the women of Hithlum          be not wild and loveless,
uncouth and unkempt          as their cast-off sons.'

Then a fierce fury,          like a fire blazing,
was born of bitterness          in his bruiséd heart;
his white wrath woke          at the words of scorn
for the women of Hithlum          washed in tears;
and a heavy horn          to his hand lying,
with gold adorned          for good drinking,
of his might unmindful          thus moved in ire
he seized and, swinging,          swiftly flung it
in the face of Orgof.         'Thou fool', he said,
'fill thy mouth therewith,          and to me no further
thus witless prate          by wine bemused'—
but his face was broken,          and he fell backward,
and heavy his head          there hit upon the stone
of the floor rock-paved          mid flagons and vessels
of the o'erturned table          that tumbled on him
as clutching he fell;          and carped no more,
in death silent.          There dumb were all
at bench and board;          in blank amaze
they rose around him,          as with ruth of heart
he gazed aghast          on his grievous deed,
on his wine-stained hand,          with wondering eyes
half-comprehending.          On his heel then he turned
into the night striding,          and none stayed him;
but some their swords          half slipped from sheaths
—they were Orgof's kin—          yet for awe of Thingol
they dared not draw          while the dazéd king
stonefacéd stared          on his stricken thane
and no sign showed them.          But the slayer weary
his hands laved          in the hidden stream
that strikes 'fore the gates,          nor stayed his tears:
'Who has cast,' he cried,         'a curse upon me;
for all I do is ill,          and an outlaw now,
in bitter banishment          and blood-guilty,
of my fosterfather          I must flee the halls,
nor look on the lady          beloved again'—
yea, his heart to Hithlum          had hastened him now,
but that road he dared not,          lest the wrath he draw
of the Elves after him,          and their anger alight
should speed the spears          in despite of Morgoth
o'er the hills of Hithlum          to hunt him down;
lest a doom more dire          than they dreed of old
be meted his mother          and the Maid of Tears.

In the furthest folds          of the Forest of Doriath,
in the darkest dales          on its drear borders,
in haste he hid him,          lest the hunt take him;
and they found not his footsteps          who fared after,
the thanes of Thingol;          who thirty days
sought him sorrowing,          and searched in vain
with no purpose of ill,          but the pardon bearing
of Thingol throned          in the Thousand Caves.
He in council constrained          the kin of Orgof
to forget their grief          and forgiveness show,
in that wilful bitterness          had barbed the words
of Orgof the Elf;          said 'his hour had come
that his soul should seek          the sad pathway
to the deep valley          of the Dead Awaiting,
there a thousand years          thrice to ponder
in the gloom of Gurthrond          his grim jesting,
ere he fare to Faërie          to feast again.'
Yet of his own treasure          he oped the gates,
and gifts ungrudging          of gold and gems
to the sons he gave          of the slain; and his folk
well deemed the deed.          But that doom of the King
Túrin knew not,          and turned against him
the hands of the Elves          he unhappy believed,
wandering the woodland          woeful-hearted;
for his fate would not          that the folk of the caves
should harbour longer          Húrin's offspring.

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