Beren and Luthien

1.
A man runs through the trees, alone
Through forest groves, past leaf and stone
Passing through the Hidden Land
Still caressed by Nature’s hand
He wanders, still hopelessly lost
Feet shining with morning frost
Strong but alone in the world

He comes upon a pretty clearing
Rays of sun say midday is nearing
He is just about to enter, bold
When he hears a sound, he stops cold
What is this he sees?
Dancing beautifully among the trees
And singing a song in the chill air

He pulls back, scared to be seen
Wondering if she was the Queen
To whom he would have to answer
How would he get past her?
So then he takes a closer look to see
If Queen she is of these trees
But instead he is stopped again

For she is more beautiful than the star
That glimmers brightly from afar
He sees in her step a sweet grace
Which he has only seen in the race
Of Elves, whom he had never paid mind
But she, she is not like their kind
For she is fairer than any he has ever seen

He stays awhile, beholding her dance
When he is suddenly pulled from his trance
She has seen him, she jumps to go
Through the forest, like a doe
Fleeing from the hunter on the chase,
But Beren only wanted to see her face
One last time

He wandered the forest, trying to find her
Struck speechless for long after
In his mind he called her Tinuviel
To him, the sweetest Nightingale
That ever sang among the trees
With a voice that could melt the freeze
Of heavy heart in the forest

And then one day, the Eve of Spring
He beholds a wonderful thing
On a green hill she was singing
An early spring she was bringing
Her voice chasing away the snow
Flowers springing wherever she’d go
As she welcomed springtime in the forest

Beren approached her, his sorrow fading
He climbed to where she sat waiting
Bringing forth such beautiful tones
That he was reminded of the Ancient ones
Departed from this life into the next
Sailing the sea into the West
As his people sang for their continuation

And then he spoke with gentle phrase
Giving her his solemn praise
For she was fairest he said to her
And she did not say a word
They sat well into the dusk
Until, finally, leave she must
To go to her father’s hall in the wilderness

2.
Beren fell to the ground as if in a swoon
For with him Luthien shared a Doom
Of love eternal, by luck or fate
He was anguished greatly, but not in hate.
Because he fell in love with Luthien
Forsaken was he, for no mortal man
Had loved so deeply an Elven maiden

Luthien stayed with him in the wood
She comforted him best she could
Luthien too was in deep anguish
But to love was not against her wish
Her suffering was greater than any
Of the Elves, of which there were many
But none had ever loved a mortal

They talked together for quite some time
Voices lingering, hands intertwined.
They met through the spring and summer
For Beren had not seen any other
More beautiful than Luthien before.
They stayed together for a fortnight, for
No one could disturb them in their bliss

But bliss they did not have for long…

Now Luthien’s father, Thingol, had
A minstrel named Daeron, very sad,
For he too loved Luthien of late.
His hate for Beren was very great
So to the grand king he went
And to him a dark message sent
To tell him of Beren and Luthien

The king sent servants throughout the land
So was the power of Thingol’s hand
To the king’s throne they were brought
No arguments made, no battles fought.
And before the king was brought Beren
Who silently stood before Thingol, when
The king rose from his throne in anger.

The king asked what the purpose was
For his presence here, because
No man had ever walked a path
Through or near the Hidden Land.
He asked him why, like a thief
He had stolen through the wood and leaf.
Beren sat and responded with silence.

The king was about to speak once more
When Beren with his eyes implored.
He stole a glance at Luthien
The king protested harshly, when
Beren responded in a loud voice
Giving Thingol his brave choice
Of Luthien Tinuviel’s hand.

The king was about to protest again
When hatched in his mind an awful plan.
He gave to brave Beren the dreadful task
Of bringing to him the jewel at last.
But not just any jewel, mind.
A Silmaril, the mighty kind
Which was forged by Gods in the ancient past.

At first Beren answered with a laugh
Saying that elves would trade a craft
For the hands of beautiful daughters.
But Luthien looked at her grand father
Knowing the task was impossible at best
More difficult then all the rest
For no Elf could perform it.