Svět mladý byl, hory zelené,
světlo měsíce čerstvě zrozené,
potok i kámen bez jmen byl,
a tu se Durin probudil.
Horám a dolům jména dal,
z pramenů vodu ochutnal;
a v Zrcadlovém jezeře
spatřil sám sebe v nádheře
s hvězdnou korunou zářivou
vlastnímu stínu nad hlavou.
Svět krásný byl,
hory pyšně stály za Starých časů,
nežli padli král Nargothrondu, Gondolinu,
když marně vzdorovali stínu,
a dávno jsou již za mořem.
Krásný byl svět v Durinův den.
Založil tesaný trůn králů
uprostřed sloupořadých sálů
se zlatou klenbou;
po stříbře šlapali tam,
na dveře vepsali mnohé mocné znaky.
Jak slunce, hvězdy plály lampy z křišťálu,
v stínu nehasnoucí,
a jasem prozářily noci.
Tam perlík v kovadlinu bil,
štěpilo dláto, rytec ryl;
tam ostří s jílcem skluli v ráz,
doloval, stavěl jiný zas.
Tam beryl, opál svítivý,
zbroj jako rybí šupiny,
kabátce, meče, sekyry,
pásy, kopí vršily.
Únavu neznal Durinův lid;
pod horou nechal hudbu znít:
na harfy hráli, pěvec pěl,
ryk trubek v branách zazvučel.
Zešedl svět, hory zestárly,
pod kovadlinou popel tlí;
mlčí harfy i kladiva,
temnota v sálech přebývá;
sám Durin zhynul ve stínu
tam v Morii, tam v Khazad-dûm.
Jen hvězdy svítí s večerem
tmou v Zrcadlovém jezeře;
v hlubině koruna se skví,
než se zas Durin probudí.
A nyní anglická verze i s recitací přímo od J. R. R. Tolkiena :-)
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.
The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-Dúm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
JRRT, Společenstvo Prstenu
A nyní anglická verze i s recitací přímo od J. R. R. Tolkiena :-)The world was young, the mountains green,No stain yet on the Moon was seen,No words were laid on stream or stoneWhen Durin woke and walked alone.He named the nameless hills and dells;He drank from yet untasted wells;He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,And saw a crown of stars appear,As gems upon a silver thread,Above the shadow of his head.The world was fair, the mountains tall,In Elder Days before the fallOf mighty kings in NargothrondAnd Gondolin, who now beyondThe Western Seas have passed away:The world was fair in Durin's Day.A king he was on carven throneIn many-pillared halls of stoneWith golden roof and silver floor,And runes of power upon the door.The light of sun and star and moonIn shining lamps of crystal hewnUndimmed by cloud or shade of nightThere shone for ever fair and bright.There hammer on the anvil smote,There chisel clove, and graver wrote;There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;The delver mined, the mason built.There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,And metal wrought like fishes' mail,Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,And shining spears were laid in hoard.Unwearied then were Durin's folk;Beneath the mountains music woke:The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,And at the gates the trumpets rang.The world is grey, the mountains old,The forge's fire is ashen-cold;No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;The shadow lies upon his tombIn Moria, in Khazad-Dúm.But still the sunken stars appearIn dark and windless Mirrormere;There lies his crown in water deep,Till Durin wakes again from sleep.JRRT, Společenstvo Prstenu
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