House Húrin: II
"To Imladris, to Imladris, and seek the broken blade!"
Thus Faramir to Boromir his desperate counsel made.
And Boromir rode forth at morn:
A parting clasp; the eldest-born
Returned in death. The sword was whole,
But broken was the horn.
Alas, alas for Boromir! What hope remained for men?
Could Faramir stand forward in his brother's place, and then
Take up the rod, his father's chair,
The seat of stone upon the stair,
To tend the tree, to rule until
The king should come again?
"At war we stand, and gentle hands will fetch an early grave."
Thus Denethor to Faramir his grim opinion gave.
"For mercy is no mantle worn,
Nor standard raised, nor signet borne:
The House of Húrin long held hope,
But broken is the horn."
Alas, alas for Denethor! He set his faith in stone,
And burning broke the Stewards' vow, abandoning the throne.
His wisdom fell in ashen shards,
And mercy found its own rewards:
Now Faramir is waiting for
The king to come again.
