The Book Of Lost Tales: Part I Part 3

I give now three texts of the poem Kortirion among the Trees (later The Trees of Kortirion). The very earliest workings (November 1915) of this poem are extant, and there are many subsequent texts. The prose introduction to the early form has been cited on pp. 256. A major revision was made in 1937, and another much later; by this time it was almost a different poem. Since my father sent it to Rayner Unwin in February 1962 as a possible candidate for inclusion in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, it seems virtually certain that the final version dates from that time.

I give the poem first in its pre-1937 form, when only slight changes had yet been made. In one of the earliest copies it bears a t.i.tle in Old English: Cor Tirion pra beama on middes, and is 'dedicated to Warwick' but in another the second t.i.tle is in Elvish (the second word is not perfectly legible): Narquelion la..tu y aldalin Kortirionwen (i.e. 'Autumn (among) the trees of Kortirion').

Kortirion among the Trees The First Verses O fading town upon a little hill, Old memory is waning in thine ancient gates, The robe gone gray, thine old heart almost still; The castle only, frowning, ever waits

5.

And ponders how among the towering elms The Gliding Water leaves these inland realms And slips between long meadows to the western sea- Still bearing downward over murmurous falls One year and then another to the sea;

10.

And slowly thither have a many gone Since first the fairies built Kortirion.

O spiry town upon a windy hill With sudden-winding alleys shady-walled (Where even now the peac.o.c.ks pace a stately drill,

15.

Majestic, sapphirine, and emerald), Behold thy girdle of a wide champain Sunlit, and watered with a silver rain, And richly wooded with a thousand whispering trees That cast long shadows in many a bygone noon,

20.

And murmured many centuries in the breeze.

Thou art the city of the Land of Elms, Alalminr in the Faery Realms.

Sing of thy trees, old, old Kortirion!

Thine oaks, and maples with their ta.s.sels on,

25.

Thy singing poplars; and the splendid yews That crown thine aged walls and muse Of sombre grandeur all the day- Until the twinkle of the early stars Is tangled palely in their sable bars;

30.

Until the seven lampads of the Silver Bear Swing slowly in their shrouded hair And diadem the fallen day.

O tower and citadel of the world!

When bannered summer is unfurled

35.

Most full of music are thine elms- A gathered sound that overwhelms The voices of all other trees.

Sing then of elms, belov'd Kortirion, How summer crowds their full sails on,

40.

Like clothed masts of verdurous s.h.i.+ps, A fleet of galleons that proudly slips Across long sunlit seas.

The Second Verses Thou art the inmost province of the fading isle Where linger yet the Lonely Companies.

45.

Still, undespairing, do they sometimes slowly file Along thy paths with plaintive harmonies: The holy fairies and immortal elves That dance among the trees and sing themselves A wistful song of things that were, and could be yet.

50.

They pa.s.s and vanish in a sudden breeze, A wave of bowing gra.s.s-and we forget Their tender voices like wind-shaken bells Of flowers, their gleaming hair like golden asphodels.

Spring still hath joy: thy spring is ever fair

55.

Among the trees; but drowsy summer by thy streams Already stoops to hear the secret player Pipe out beyond the tangle of her forest dreams The long thin tune that still do sing The elvish harebells nodding in a jacinth ring

60.

Upon the castle walls; Already stoops to listen to the clear cold spell Come up her sunny aisles and perfumed halls: A sad and haunting magic note, A strand of silver gla.s.s remote.

65.

Then all thy trees, old town upon a windy bent, Do loose a long sad whisper and lament; For going are the rich-hued hours, th'enchanted nights When flitting ghost-moths dance like satellites Round tapers in the moveless air;

70.

And doomed already are the radiant dawns, The fingered sunlight dripping on long lawns; The odour and the slumbrous noise of meads, When all the sorrel, flowers, and plumed weeds Go down before the scyther's share.

75.

Strange sad October robes her dewy furze In netted sheen of gold-shot gossamers, And then the wide-umbraged elm begins to fail; Her mourning mult.i.tudes of leaves go pale Seeing afar the icy shears

80.

Of Winter, and his blue-tipped spears Marching unconquerable upon the sun Of bright All-Hallows. Then their hour is done, And wanly borne on wings of amber pale They beat the wide airs of the fading vale

85.

And fly like birds across the misty meres.

The Third Verses Yet is this season dearest to my heart, Most fitting to the little faded town With sense of splendid pomps that now depart In mellow sounds of sadness echoing down