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traitor betrayed, now stands! Nor fear,
but haste! For Morgoth’s fingers close
upon thy father’s throat. He knows
your secret tryst, your hidden lair’,
and all the evil he laid bare
that he had done and Morgoth wrought.
Then Beren waking swiftly sought
his sword and bow, and sped like wind
that cuts with knives the branches thinned
of autumn trees. At last he came,
his heart afire with burning flame,
where Barahir his father lay;
he came too late. At dawn of day
he found the homes of hunted men,
a wooded island in the fen
and birds rose up in sudden cloud—
no fen-fowl were they crying loud.
The raven and the carrion-crow
sat in the alders all a-row;
one croaked: ‘Ha! Beren comes too late’,
and answered all: ‘Too late! Too late!’
There Beren buried his father’s bones,
and piled a heap of boulder-stones,
and cursed the name of Morgoth thrice,
but wept not, for his heart was ice.
Then over fen and field and mountain
he followed, till beside a fountain
upgushing hot from fires below
he found the slayers and his foe,
the murderous soldiers of the king.
And one there laughed, and showed a ring
he took from Barahir’s dead hand.
‘This ring in far Beleriand,
now mark ye, mates,’ he said, ‘was wrought.
Its like with gold could not be bought,
for this same Barahir I slew,
this robber fool, they say, did do
a deed of service long ago
for Felagund. It may be so;
for Morgoth bade me bring it back,
and yet, methinks, he has no lack
of weightier treasure in his hoard.
Such greed befits not such a lord,
and I am minded to declare
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