THE BALLAD OF ENINDOR
In Halandir, the fabled wood,
the echoes still remain
of the song of Enindor,
and of his love, Midayne.
Storms and sirens in the mists
drove Enindor ashore,
this wanderer who sailed alone
did stumble through the moor.
He made his shelter in the bog,
so weary and forlorn.
He sank into the mud, asleep,
till darkness turned to morn.
He ‘woke unto a woven wood,
thin branches all entwin’d,
their fragrant boughs a-glistening,
with amber ‘neath the rind.
Enindor bathed and rested in
the forest’s tranquil stream,
while watched the eyes of fair Midayne,
a youthful god, unseen.
Another pair of darkling eyes-
two shadows ‘neath one tree,
turned ‘round and writhed o’er gnarled roots,
with maws stretched hungrily.
The demon’s course Midayne espied,
and thence escaped a yell.
Enindor jumped, his sword in hand,
the forest god to fell.
“Please listen, stranger,” said Midayne,
“for my word is true,
or the demon’s curse upon this stream
will surely swallow you.”
And lo! the water churned and pulled
the helpless wand’rer in.
He cried out, praying for release
and penance for his sin.
He begged and bargained with Midayne,
whose answer, in sweet verse,
unworked the water’s crushing tides-
dispelled the demon’s curse.
They set out towards the young god’s home
and travelled there together-
to coves besmirched, and ever green,
with buckthorn, beech and heather.
Enindor rested with Midayne
and ‘woke to see his face.
Charmed by fruits heady with nectar,
stayed he in that place.
Travelers on the Halandir road
hear echoes by the shore-
whispers of love-swept Enindor:
“This Wanderer wanders no more.”
Whither they went when the forest turned grey,
none knows, and the land sees no rain.
‘Naught but echoes remain of the songs
of Enindor and Midayne.
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