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An everlasting watch they hold,<br />
the Gnomes of Nargothrond renowned,<br />
and every hill is tower-crowned,<br />
where wardens sleepless peer and gaze<br />
guarding the plain and all the ways<br />
between Narog swift and Sirion pale;<br />
and archers whose arrows never fail<br />
there range the woods, and secret kill<br />
all who creep thither against their will.<br />
Yet now he thrusts into that land<br />
bearing the gleaming ring on hand<br />
of Felagund, and oft doth cry:<br />
‘Here comes no wandering Orc or spy,<br />
but Beren son of Barahir<br />
who once to Felagund was dear.’<br />
So ere he reached the eastward shore<br />
of Narog, that doth foam and roar<br />
o’er boulders black, those archers green<br />
came round him. When the ring was seen<br />
they bowed before him, though his plight<br />
was poor and beggarly. Then by night<br />
they led him northward, for no ford<br />
nor bridge was built where Narog poured<br />
before the gates of Nargothrond,<br />
and friend nor foe might pass beyond.<br />
To northward, where that stream yet young<br />
more slender flowed, below the tongue<br />
of foam-splashed land that Ginglith pens<br />
when her brief golden torrent ends<br />
and joins the Narog, there they wade.<br />
Now swiftest journey thence they made<br />
to Nargothrond’s sheer terraces<br />
and dim gigantic palaces.<br />
They came beneath a sickle moon<br />
to doors there darkly hung and hewn<br />
with posts and lintels of ponderous stone<br />
and timbers huge. Now open thrown<br />
were gaping gates, and in they strode<br />
where Felagund on throne abode.<br />
Fair were the words of Narog’s king<br />
to Beren, and his wandering<br />
and all his feuds and bitter wars<br />
recounted soon. Behind closed doors<br />
they sat, while Beren told his tale<br />
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