May 26, 2011
Ai! who shall sing my song and tell my tale
Of ages when I die? They oft have named
Me in their songs, a figure black; assail
Me not with tales of blackest woe that shamed
The highest lord upon his throne; yet grasped
Not ever Bauglir black who laughing broke
Across his knee a single soul; he laughed!
Say not of treachery; do not invoke
The thing called loyalty; the thing called troth
For what are they but words flung down to dust!
Let single-minded folk with me be wroth
In ire! no care have I, who broke my trust.
What else is troth but noble standard raised
Beyond its measure? Troth! Mine, only is
To it that tow’rs of Gondolin have razed–
My troth to him
! It never shall be his,
That Bauglir whom I hate–he snatched that lust
Of mine, and flaunted it beyond my oath
And catapulted it beyond my trust–
I cry my wild hate aloud in wrath,
Ah Bauglir, whom I hate, you broke this thane,
My noble thoughts in torments and the fire
That consumeth my thoughts; you fanned the flame
You fed its blaze; and was there e’er desire
As this? I say was not. Who sings my song?
Who tells my tale?–A tale they call the cursed
And me no better; who shall right the wrong?
Of Gorlim and I, I was deemed the worst
But was I not as broken? not as filled
With shame from all my acts, and for my part
In all the deaths of those cruel Bauglir killed,
And for my ruined troth? my trampled heart?