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There long ago in Elder-days ere voice was heard or trod were ways, the haunt of silent shadows stood in starlit dusk Nan Elmoth wood. In Elder-days that long are gone a light amid the shadows shone, a voice was in the silence heard: the sudden singing of a bird. There Melian came, the Lady grey, and dark and long her tresses lay beneath her silver girdle-seat and down unto her silver feet. The nightingales with her she brought, to whom their song herself she taught, who sweet upon her gleaming hands had sung in the immortal lands. Thence wayward wandering on a time from Lorien she dared to climb the everlasting mountain-wall of Valinor, at whose feet fall the surges of the Shadowy Sea. Out away she went then free, to gardens of the Gods no more returning, but on mortal shore, a glimmer ere the dawn she strayed, singing her spells from glade to glade. A bird in dim Nan Elmoth wood trilled, and to listen Thingol stood amazed; then far away he heard a voice more fair than fairest bird, a voice as crystal clear of note as thread of silver glass remote. Of folk and kin no more he thought; of errand that the Eldar brought from Cuivienen far away, of lands beyond the Seas that lay no more he recked, forgetting all, drawn only by that distant call till deep in dim Nan Elmoth wood lost and beyond recall he stood. And there he saw her, fair and fay: Ar-Melian, the Lady grey, as silent as the windless trees, standing with mist about her knees, and in her face remote the light of Lorien glimmered in the night. No word she spoke; but pace by pace, a halting shadow, towards her face forth walked the silver-mantled king, tall Elu Thingol. In the ring

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of waiting trees he took her hand. One moment face to face they stand alone, beneath the wheeling sky, while starlit years on earth go by and in Nan Elmoth wood the trees grow dark and tall. The murmuring seas rising and falling on the shore and Ulmo's horn he heeds no more.
But long his people sought in vain their lord, till Ulmo called again, and then in grief they marched away, leaving the woods. To havens grey upon the western shore, the last long shore of mortal lands, they passed, and thence were borne beyond the Sea in Aman, the Blessed Realm, to be by evergreen Ezellohar in Valinor, in Eldamar.
Thus Thingol sailed not on the seas but dwelt amid the land of trees, and Melian he loved, divine, whose voice was potent as the wine the Valar drink in golden halls where flower blooms and fountain falls; but when she sang it was a spell, and no flower stirred nor fountain fell. A king and queen thus lived they long, and Doriath was filled with song, and all the Elves that missed their way and never found the western bay, the gleaming walls of their long home by the grey seas and the white foam, who never trod the golden land where the towers of the Valar stand, all these were gathered in their realm beneath the beech and oak and elm.
In later days, when Morgoth fled from wrath and raised once more his head and Iron Crown, his mighty seat beneath the smoking mountain's feet founded and fortified anew, then slowly dread and darkness grew: the Shadow of the North that all the Folk of Earth would hold in thrall. The lords of Men to knee he brings, the kingdoms of the Exiled Kings assails with ever-mounting war: in their last havens by the shore they dwell, or strongholds walled with fear defend upon his borders drear, till each one falls. Yet reign there still in Doriath beyond his will the Grey King and immortal Queen. No evil in their realm is seen; no power their might can yet surpass: there still is laughter and green grass, there leaves are lit by the white sun, and many marvels are begun.

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There went now in the Guarded Realm beneath the beech, beneath the elm, there lightfoot ran now on the green the daughter of the king and queen: of Arda's eldest children born in beauty of their elven-morn and only child ordained by birth to walk in raiment of the Earth from Those descended who began before the world of Elf and Man.
Beyond the bounds of Arda far still shone the Legions, star on star, memorials of their labour long, achievement of Vision and of Song; and when beneath their ancient light on Earth below was cloudless night, music in Doriath awoke, and there beneath the branching oak, or seated on the beech-leaves brown, Daeron the dark with ferny crown played on his pipes with elvish art unbearable by mortal heart. No other player has there been, no other lips or fingers seen so skilled, 'tis said in elven-lore, save Maglor son of Fëanor, forgotten harper, singer doomed, who young when Laurelin yet bloomed to endless lamentation passed and in the tombless sea was cast. But Daeron in his heart's delight yet lived and played by starlit night, until one summer-eve befell, as still the elven harpers tell. Then merrily his piping trilled; the grass was soft, the wind was stilled, the twilight lingered faint and cool in shadow-shapes upon the pool beneath the boughs of sleeping trees standing silent. About their knees a mist of hemlocks glimmered pale, and ghostly moths on lace-wings frail went to and fro. Beside the mere quickening, rippling, rising clear the piping called. Then forth she came, as sheer and sudden as a flame of peerless white the shadows cleaving, her maiden-bower on white feet leaving; and as when summer stars arise radiant into darkened skies, her living light on all was cast in fleeting silver as she passed.

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There now she stepped with elven pace, bending and swaying in her grace, as half-reluctant; then began to dance, to dance: in mazes ran bewildering, and a mist of white was wreathed about her whirling flight. Wind-ripples on the water flashed, and trembling leaf and flower were plashed with diamond-dews, as ever fleet and fleeter went her winged feet.
Her long hair as a cloud was streaming about her arms uplifted gleaming, as slow above the trees the Moon in glory of the plenilune arose, and on the open glade its light serene and clear was laid. Then suddenly her feet were stilled, and through the woven wood there thrilled, half wordless, half in elven-tongue, her voice upraised in blissful song that once of nightingales she learned and in her living joy had turned to heart-enthralling loveliness, unmarred, immortal, sorrowless.
Ir Ithil ammen Eruchín menel-vîr síla díriel si loth a galadh lasto dîn! A Hir Annûn gilthoniel, le linnon im Tinúviel! O elven-fairest Lúthien what wonder moved thy dances then? That night what doom of Elvenesse enchanted did thy voice possess? Such marvel shall there no more be on Earth or west beyond the Sea, at dusk or dawn, by night or noon or neath the mirror of the moon! On Neldoreth was laid a spell; the piping into silence fell, for Daeron cast his flute away, unheeded on the grass it lay, in wonder bound as stone he stood heart-broken in the listening wood. And still she sang above the night, as light returning into light upsoaring from the world below when suddenly there came a slow dull tread of heavy feet on leaves, and from the darkness on the eaves of the bright glade a shape came out with hands agrope, as if in doubt or blind, and as it stumbling passed under the moon a shadow cast bended and darkling. Then from on high as lark falls headlong from the sky

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the song of Lúthien fell and ceased; but Daeron from the spell released awoke to fear, and cried in woe: 'Flee Lúthien, ah Lúthien go! An evil walks the wood! Away!' Then forth he fled in his dismay ever calling her to follow him, until far off his cry was dim 'Ah flee, ah flee now, Lúthien!' from hiding Daeron called again; 'A stranger walks the woods! Away!' But Lúthien would wondering stay; fear had she never felt or known, till fear then seized her, all alone, seeing that shape with shagged hair and shadow long that halted there. Then sudden she vanished like a dream in dark oblivion, a gleam in hurrying clouds, for she had leapt among the hemlocks tall, and crept under a mighty plant with leaves all long and dark, whose stem in sheaves upheld an hundred umbels fair; and her white arms and shoulders bare her raiment pale, and in her hair the wild white roses glimmering there, all lay like spattered moonlight hoar in gleaming pools upon the floor. Then stared he wild in dumbness bound at silent trees, deserted ground; he blindly groped across the glade to the dark trees' encircling shade, and, while she watched with veiled eyes, touched her soft arm in sweet surprise. Like startled moth from deathlike sleep in sunless nook or bushes deep she darted swift, and to and fro with cunning that elvish dancers know about the trunks of trees she twined a path fantastic. Far behind enchanted, wildered and forlorn Beren came blundering, bruised and torn: Esgalduin the elven-stream, in which amid tree-shadows gleam the stars, flowed strong before his feet. Some secret way she found, and fleet passed over and was seen no more, and left him forsaken on the shore. 'Darkly the sundering flood rolls past! To this my long way comes at last – a heartache and a loneliness, enchanted waters pitiless.'
A summer waned, an autumn glowed, and Beren in the woods abode, as wild and wary as a faun that sudden wakes at rustling dawn, and flits from shade to shade, and flees the brightness of the sun, yet sees

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all stealthy movements in the wood. The murmurous warmth in weathers good, the hum of many wings, the call of many a bird, the pattering fall of sudden rain upon the trees, the windy tide in leafy seas, the creaking of the boughs, he heard; but not the song of sweetest bird brought joy or comfort to his heart, a wanderer dumb who dwelt apart; who sought unceasing and in vain to hear and see those things again: a song more fair than nightingale, a wonder in the moonlight pale.
An autumn waned, a winter laid the withered leaves in grove and glade; the beeches bare were gaunt and grey, and red their leaves beneath them lay. From cavern pale the moist moon eyes the white mists that from earth arise to hide the morrow's sun and drip all the grey day from each twig's tip. By dawn and dusk he seeks her still; by noon and night in valleys chill, nor hears a sound but the slow beat on sodden leaves of his own feet.
The wind of winter winds his horn; the misty veil is rent and torn. The wind dies; the starry choirs leap in the silent sky to fires, whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer through domes of frozen crystal clear.
A sparkle through the darkling trees, a piercing glint of light he sees, and there she dances all alone upon a treeless knoll of stone! Her mantle blue with jewels white caught all the rays of frosted light. She shone with cold and wintry flame, as dancing down the hill she came, and passed his watchful silent gaze, a glimmer as of stars ablaze. And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet, and one bird, sudden, late and sweet, shrilled as she wayward passed along. A frozen brook to bubbling song awoke and laughed; but Beren stood still bound enchanted in the wood. Her starlight faded and the night closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.

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Thereafter on a hillock green he saw far off the elven-sheen of shining limb and jewel bright often and oft on moonlit night; and Daeron's pipe awoke once more, and soft she sang as once before. Then nigh he stole beneath the trees, and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.
A night there was when winter died; then all alone she sang and cried and danced until the dawn of spring, and chanted some wild magic thing that stirred him, till it sudden broke the bonds that held him, and he woke to madness sweet and brave despair. He flung his arms to the night air, and out he danced unheeding, fleet, enchanted, with enchanted feet. He sped towards the hillock green, the lissom limbs, the dancing sheen; he leapt upon the grassy hill his arms with loveliness to fill: his arms were empty, and she fled; away, away her white feet sped. But as she went he swiftly came and called her with the tender name of nightingales in elvish tongue, that all the woods now sudden rung: 'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!' And clear his voice was as a bell; its echoes wove a binding spell: 'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!' His voice such love and longing filled one moment stood she, fear was stilled; one moment only; like a flame he leaped towards her as she stayed and caught and kissed that elfin maid.
As love there woke in sweet surprise the starlight trembled in her eyes. A! Lúthien! A! Lúthien! more fair than any child of Men; O! loveliest maid of Elfinesse, what madness does thee now possess! A! lissom limbs and shadowy hair and chaplet of white snowdrops there; O! starry diadem and white pale hands beneath the pale moonlight! She left his arms and slipped away just at the breaking of the day.