Song of Durin: Difference between revisions

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No stain yet on the [[Moon]] was seen,
No stain yet on the [[Moon]] was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
No words were laid on stream or stone
When [[Durin]] woke and walked alone.
When [[Durin I|Durin]] woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless [[:Category:Hills|hills]] and dells;
He named the nameless [[:Category:Hills|hills]] and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;

Revision as of 13:47, 9 January 2010

The World was Young, the Mountains Green, more commonly known as the Song of Durin, is a poem sung by Gimli in the chapter A Journey in the Dark in The Fellowship of the Ring. When the Fellowship are travelling through Moria, Gimli stands up and sings this song when recalling the splendour of Dwarrowdelf.

The Poem

The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.

A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

See Also