Canto I
Lady of Sorrows, tune my lyre
To sing of unrelenting fire
In Fëanáro's flaming eyes
Lifted against the holy skies
Of Valinor in wrath and pride;
O thou who Námo's halls beside
Weeps for the bitterest sorrow
Of Arda marred by mighty foe,
O sister of Námo, grim lord
And Doomsman, in whose halls are stored
Great storied webs woven with tales
Of Time's march over winding trails
Wherein my tale may yet be found,
O free my tongue from mortal bounds
And let me sing of fire, of wrath
And darkness, and of ruinous path
Blazed by the Noldor over sea
To Endor, where the shadows be.
O Mercy, sister of grim Fate,
Kindle bright Hope in face of hate
And evil foes, and Valar's Doom
Yet shadowing in deepest gloom
Each step of mine and of my kin:
Here let my sorrowing song begin.
~o~O~o~
In Valinor beyond the sea
Stood Tirion, noble city
In white and gold bright glimmering
Where Finwë, of the Noldor king
Held court in stateliest array
Over his people, proud and fey.
Great halls there were of marble hewn
By masons skilled, with flowers strewn
And hung with richest tapestry
Within those courts of rare beauty,
Where laughing voice, and flowing song
Rose from the splendidly clad throng
Of high-born Noldor lords within
The gates of Finwë and his kin.
Yet now the halls lay cold and still -
No minstrel's song or gentle trill
Of silver flutes soft echoing
Was heard within. Finwë the King
Had called high council on this day,
For on his people shadows lay
Of strife, unrest, and whispered words
Of treachery, of smithing swords,
Doubt of the Valar's guiding hands,
Desires to conquer foreign lands.
Concerning lies secretly sown
Now to ruinous stature grown,
All Tirion's lords were in debate
Within the lofty hall of state
Whose doors of fine wood were inlaid
With carven panels, finely made
In likeness of the lofty height -
Taniquetil, mount clothed in white,
Seat of Manwë, of Valinor
The chiefest guardian evermore,
And Varda Elentári fair,
His queen, lovely beyond compare,
Who kindled starlight's flaming spark
Above Endor's forsaken dark.
Fast closed those wondrous doors now lay
Barring the chamber of parlay
And facing toward the marble halls -
~o~O~o~
Silent no more, for from the walls
Echoing, swift footsteps neared
As princely figure now appeared
Of Nolofinwë, second son
Born to the King of Tirion.
Fair was his face, yet firm his gaze,
Stalwart, yet gentle in his ways,
Blue was his raiment, as the sea
Surging beneath the Pélori,
Broidered with silver, shining bright
Within the yet-untainted light
Fallen from the Trees on hallowed hill.
Toward the chamber of council
He bent his steps, until before
The marvellously carven door
He paused and stood in moment's rest
In reverence toward the mountain blest
Carven thereon; then with grim face
Knocked. Entering, an honored place
Was made for him beside the king
And Finwë, with gaze wondering
Addressed his son: "What brings thee here,
My son? Some new unrest, I fear
Has reared its head in Tirion."
~o~O~o~
"My king, truth speakest thou, for gone
Is peace from our fair land. Yet naught
Of new unrest news have I brought
But grief of old I bring today:
Father, our brother groweth fey
And proud; 'Tis Curufinwë, named
Spirit of Fire, who hast claimed
The people's ear. Wilt thou restrain
The pride of him who now would fain
Speak in the square, with voice ringing
Unto our people, as a king?
Thou it was, who led us through
Endor's perils, to life anew
In Aman's radiance, following
The Valar's gentle summoning
Of Elvenkind to Valinor.
If thou lovest this blessed shore
Repenting not thy earliest choice -
Thou hast two sons to heed thy voice;
Two sons of three to thee hold fast."
~o~O~o~
While he still spoke, the door was cast
Roughly aside; striding within
In full array of armour then
Came Curufinwë Finwion,
Called Fëanáro, eldest son
Of Finwë, now with high helm crowned
And mighty sword beside him bound.
"And so it is, " the High Prince growled,
"E'en as I guessed. Wisdom is fouled
By my half-brother's ramblings.
He fain in this and other things
Would be before me with my sire."
Now turning on his brother, fire
Flashed fell in Curufinwë's face.
"Begone! And take thy rightful place!"
Thus saying, Fëanáro drew
His sword upon his brother true,
Who bowed before the King and went
From there; no word or glance he sent
Toward his elder brother. Yet
In flaming wrath the High Prince set
To follow him. With sword still drawn,
Through peaceful halls he hastened on,
And stayed his brother at the gate,
Setting sword at his breast. With hate
He said, "Behold, half-brother, this
My sword exceeding sharper is
Than thy poor tongue. Try but once more
To steal, as thou hast done before,
My place and my own father's love,
And maybe its point shall remove
From Tirion the one who seeks
To rule those from whom thraldom reeks."
~o~O~o~
With stricken gaze the gathered throng
In Mindon's square whispered among
Themselves as Nolofinwë made
No answer to the fierce tirade
But passed away through wondering crowd,
While Fëanáro, tall and proud,
Still gazed on him with baleful eye
Heedless of all those passing by.
