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and would report. There came a day
when once more Gorlim crept that way,
down the deserted weedy lane
at dusk of autumn sad with rain
and cold wind whining. Lo! a light
at window fluttering in the night
amazed he saw; and drawing near,
between faint hope and sudden fear,
he looked within. ’Twas Eilinel!
Though changed she was, he knew her well.
With grief and hunger she was worn,
her tresses tangled, raiment torn;
her gentle eyes with tears were dim,
as soft she wept: ‘Gorlim, Gorlim!
Thou canst not have forsaken me.
Then slain, alas! thou slain must be!
And I must linger cold, alone,
and loveless as a barren stone!’
One cry he gave—and then the light
blew out, and in the wind of night
wolves howled; and on his shoulder fell
suddenly the griping hands of hell.
There Morgoth’s servants fast him caught
and he was cruelly bound, and brought
to Sauron captain of the host,
the lord of werewolf and of ghost,
most foul and fell of all who knelt
at Morgoth’s throne. In might he dwelt
on Gaurhoth Isle; but now had ridden
with strength abroad, by Morgoth bidden
to find the rebel Barahir.
He sat in dark encampment near,
and thither his butchers dragged their prey.
There now in anguish Gorlim lay:
with bond on neck, on hand and foot,
to bitter torment he was put,
to break his will and him constrain
to buy with treason end of pain.
But naught to them would he reveal
of Barahir, nor break the seal
of faith that on his tongue was laid;
until at last a pause was made,
and one came softly to his stake,
a darkling form that stooped, and spake
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