Властелин колец: Две башни
The King of the Golden Hall
Themorningwasbrightandclearaboutthem,andbirdsweresinging,whenthetravellerscametothestream.Itrandownswiftlyintotheplain,andbeyondthefeetofthehillsturnedacrosstheirpathinawidebend,flowingawayeasttofeedtheEntwashfaroffinitsreed-chokedbeds.Thelandwasgreen:inthewetmeadsandalongthegrassybordersofthestreamgrewmanywillow-trees.Alreadyinthissouthernlandtheywereblushingredattheirfingertips.Feelingtheapproachofspring.Overthestreamtherewasafordbetweenlowbanksmuchtrampledbythepassageofhorses.Thetravellerspassedoverandcameuponawideruttedtrackleadingtowardstheuplands.
Atthefootofthewalledhillthewayranundertheshadowofmanymounds,highandgreen.Upontheirwesternsidesthegrasswaswhiteaswithadriftedsnow:smallflowerssprangtherelikecountlessstarsamidtheturf.
’Look!’saidGandalf.’Howfairarethebrighteyesinthegrass!Evermindtheyarecalled,simbelmynëinthislandofMen,fortheyblossominalltheseasonsoftheyear,andgrowwheredeadmenrest.Behold!wearecometothegreatbarrowswherethesiresofThéodensleep.’’Sevenmoundsupontheleft,andnineupontheright,’saidAragorn.’Manylonglivesofmenitissincethegoldenhallwasbuilt.’
’FivehundredtimeshavetheredleavesfalleninMirkwoodinmyhomesincethen,’saidLegolas,’andbutalittlewhiledoesthatseemtous.’
