Thus those brave in dread       down the bare hillside
towards the camp clambered      creeping wary,
and dared that deed             in days long past
whose glory has gone            through the gates of earth,
and songs have sung             unceasing ringing
wherever the Elves              in ancient places
had light or laughter           in the later world.
With breath bated               on the brink of the dale
they stood and stared           through stealthy shadows,
till they saw where the circle  of sleepless eyes

and anguish endless.            That thy arms unchained
I had fainer far                should a falchion keen
or axe with edge                eager flaming
wield in warfare                where the wind bloweth
the banners of battle           — such a brand as might
in my sounding smithies         on the smitten anvil
of glowing steel                to glad thy soul
be forged and fashioned,        yea, and fair harness
and mail unmatched              — than that marred with flails
my mercy waiving                thou shouldst moan enchained

Then Beleg bade them            be blithe, saying:
‘The Gods have guided you       to good keeping;
I have heard of the house       of Hurin undaunted,
and who hath not heard          of the hills of slain,
of Nirnaith Ornoth,             Unnumbered Tears!
To that war I went not,         yet wage a feud
with the Orcs unending,         whom mine arrows fleeting
smite oft unseen                swift and deadly.
I am the hunter Beleg           of the hidden people;
the forest is my father         and the fells my home.’

through the midmost mountains.  And more is told
in lays and in legend           and lore of others
of that weary way               of the wandering folk;
how the waifs of Gondolin       outwitted Melko,
vanished o’er the vale          and vanquished the hills,
how Glorfindel the golden       in the gap of the Eagles
battled with the Balrog         and both were slain:
one like flash of fire          from fangéd rock,
one like bolted thunder         black was smitten
to the dreadful deep            digged by Thornsir.

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

Thus Turin, 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.

Full length he lay                      and lashed to pickets
in baleful bonds,                       yet bold-hearted
his mouth no mercy                      of Morgoth sued,
but defied his foes.                    Foully they smote him.
Then he called, as clear                as cry of hunter
that hails his hounds                   in hollow places,
on the name renowned                    of that noblest king —
but men unmindful                       remember him little —
Húrin Thalion, who Erithamrod hight,    the Unbending, for Orc and Balrog

There hard his life,            and hurts he lacked not,
the wounds of shaft             and the wavering sheen
of the sickle scimitars,        the swords of Hell,
the bloodfain blades            on black anvils
in Angband smithied,            yet ever he smote
unfey, fearless,                and his fate kept him.

Ye Men unmindful    of the mirth of yore,
wars and weeping    in the worlds of old,
of Morgoth’s might    remembering nought!
Lo! hear what Elves    with ancient harps,
lingering forlorn     in lands untrodden,
fading faintly     down forest pathways,
in shadowy isles     on the Shadowy Seas,
sing still in sorrow     of the son of Húrin,
how his webs of doom     were woven dark
with Níniel’s sorrow:     names most mournful.