"GL1" - читать интересную книгу автора (vol03)

overbore him at last in that battle terrible,
by the bidding of Bauglir bound him living,
and pulled down the proudest of the princes of Men.
To Bauglir's halls in the hills builded,
to the Hells of Iron and the hidden caverns
they haled the hero of Hithlum's land,
Thalion Erithamrod, to their throned lord,
whose breast was burnt with a bitter hatred,
and wroth he was that the wrack of war
had not taken Turgon ten times a king,
even Finweg's heir; nor Feanor's children,
makers of the magic and immortal gems.
For Turgon towering in terrible anger
a pathway clove him with his pale sword-blade
out of that slaughter -- yea, his swath was plain
through the hosts of Hell like hay that lieth
all low on the lea where the long scythe goes.
A countless company that king did lead
through the darkened dales and drear mountains
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out of ken of his foes, and he comes not more
in the tale; but the triumph he turned to doubt
of Morgoth the evil, whom mad wrath took.
Nor spies sped him, nor spirits of evil,
nor his wealth of wisdom to win him tidings,
whither the nation of the Gnomes was gone.
Now a thought of malice, when Thalion stood,
bound, unbending, in his black dungeon,
then moved in his mind that remembered well
how Men were accounted all mightless and frail
by the Elves and their kindred; how only treason
could master the magic whose mazes wrapped
the children of Corthun, and cheated his purpose.
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'Is it dauntless Hurin,' quoth Delu-Morgoth,
'stout steel-handed, who stands before me,
a captive living as a coward might be?
Knowest thou my name, or need'st be told
what hope he has who is haled to Angband --
the bale most bitter, the Balrogs' torment?'
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'I know and I hate. For that knowledge I fought thee