Fíriel looked out at three o’clock:
The grey night was going;
Far away a golden cock
Clear and shrill was crowing.
The trees were dark, the light was pale;
Waking birds were cheeping;
A wind moved cool and frail
Through dim leaves creeping.
She watched the gleam at window grow,
Till the long light was shimmering
On land and leaf; on grass below
Grey dew was glimmering.
Over the floor her white feet crept,
Down the stairs they twinkled,
Through the grass they dancing stepped
All with dew besprinkled.
Her gown had jewels upon its hem,
As she ran down to the river,
And leaned upon a willow-stem,
And watched the water quiver.
A kingfisher plunged down like a stone
In blue flash falling,
Bending reeds were softly blown,
Lily-leaves were sprawling.
A sudden music to her came,
As she stood there gleaming
With free hair in the morning’s flame
On her shoulders streaming.
Flutes there were; and harps were wrung,
And there was sound of singing
Like wind-voices keen and young
In green leaves swinging.
A boat with golden beak and oar
And timbers white came gliding;
Swans went sailing on before,
Her swift course guiding.
Fair folk out of Elvenland
Robed in white were rowing,
And three with crowns she saw there stand
With bright hair flowing.
They sang their song, while minstrels played
On harp and flute slowly
Like sea heard in a green glade
Under mountains holy.
The beak was turned, the boat drew nigh
With elven-treasure laden,
“Fíriel! Come aboard!” they cry,
“O fair earth-maiden!”
In Elvenhome a clear bell
Is in white tower shaking!
To wood and water say farewell,
The long road taking!
Here grass fades and leaves fall
And sun and moon wither;
And to few comes the far call
That bids them journey hither.”
“O whither go ye, Elvenfolk,
Down the waters gliding?
To the twilight under beech and oak
In the green forest hiding?
To foam that falls upon the shore
And the white gulls crying?
To Northern isles grey and frore
On strong swans flying?”
“Nay! Out and onward, far away
past oak and elm and willow,
Leaving western havens grey,
Cleaving the green billow,
We go back to Elvenhome
Beyond the last mountains,
Whose feet are in the outer foam
Of the world’s deep fountains.”
Fíriel looked from the river-bank,
One step daring;
And then her heart misgave and shrank,
And she halted staring.
Higher climbed the round sun,
And the dew was drying;
Faint faded, one by one,
Their far voices crying.
No jewels bright her gown bore,
As she walked back from the water,
Under roof and dark door,
Earth’s fair daughter.
At eight o’clock in green and white,
With long hair braided,
She tripped down, leaving night
And a vision faded.
Up climbed the round sun,
And the world was busy,
In and out, walk and run,
Like an anthill dizzy.
Inside the house were feet
Brooms dusters, mats to beat,
Pails, and dishes clatter.
Breakfast was on table laid;
There were voices loud and merry;
There was jam, honey, marmalade,
Milk and fruit, and berry.
Of this and that people spoke,
Jest, work, and money,
Shooting bird, and felling oak,
And “please, pass the honey!”
„Фириел”. В „Хроники на манастира на светото сърце”, Роухемптън (1934), стр. 30–32.
Поема, чиято преработена версия е публикувана под заглавие „Последният кораб” в „Приключенията на Том Бомбадил”.