Властелин колец: Две башни
The King of the Golden Hall
’ButtotheRidersoftheMarkitseemssolongago,’saidAragorn,’thattheraisingofthishouseisbutamemoryofsong,andtheyearsbeforearelostinthemistoftime.Nowtheycallthislandtheirhome,theirown,andtheirspeechissunderedfromtheirnorthernkin.’ThenhebegantochantsoftlyinaslowtongueunknowntotheElfandDwarf;yettheylistened,fortherewasastrongmusicinit.
’That,Iguess,isthelanguageoftheRohirrim,’saidLegolas;’foritisliketothislanditself;richandrollinginpart,andelsehardandsternasthemountains.ButIcannotguesswhatitmeans,savethatitisladenwiththesadnessofMortalMen.’
’ItrunsthusintheCommonSpeech,’saidAragorn,’asnearasIcanmakeit.
Wherenowthehorseandtherider?Whereisthehornthatwasblowing?
Whereisthehelmandthehauberk,andthebrighthairflowing?
Whereisthehandontheharpstring,andtheredfireglowing?
Whereisthespringandtheharvestandthetallcorngrowing?
Theyhavepassedlikerainonthemountain,likeawindinthemeadow;
ThedayshavegonedownintheWestbehindthehillsintoshadow.
Whoshallgatherthesmokeofthedeadwoodburning,
OrbeholdtheflowingyearsfromtheSeareturning?
ThusspokeaforgottenpoetlongagoinRohan,recallinghowtallandfairwasEorltheYoung,whorodedownoutoftheNorth;andtherewerewingsuponthefeetofhissteed,Felaróf,fatherofhorses.Somenstillsingintheevening.’
Withthesewordsthetravellerspassedthesilentmounds.
