I commend thee, O Lúthien, for thy swiftness of foot–
No lack of this that caused Beren to running hard catch up–
And for their careful placement; then, he ’neath the umbels sought
Thee, O my maiden–swift you ran, but never this did slip.
’Twas fate and whim of fate that made him come upon thee there
By chance a-stumbling round the glade he laid upon thy hair
A hand, that by fate’s trick waylaid thee trembling in thy lair
And up thou sprang and ran; he bade, “Tinúviel most fair!
Forgive me for my trespass O thou nightingale of eve,
O daughter of the woodland doe, I beg thee do not leave!
A-stumbling I all bent with woe, I heard songs that you weave
I longed for these, the singer too who danced light as lind-leaf
And so I wandered taken of thy song and of thy voice,
For who that hears shall not then love, and seeing thee rejoice!
And guided by some hand above, and pulled by heaven’s choice
I entered in the doom Fate wove and into greatest joys.”
She halted, and arms of a man then caught Tinúviel
She looked at him, and Lúthien to love with the man fell.
“O dance with me,” she cried, “Beren”; her voice rang as a bell
The Elven lays proclaim it then, “Ar sí , ar sí tul mel!
’Twas not a greater speed that won (or stumbling of the maid)
His Lúthien Tinúviel, but what her Beren bade