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Here is our version of J.R.R. Tolkien's poem, "Lúthien's Captivity in Doriath." We hope you enjoy it:)

Description:
Our composition of, Lúthien's Captivity in Doriath, is a meticulous abridgment of the much longer epic poem detailing this event, drawn from Canto X of Tolkien's Lay of Leithian. We added an original introductory verse to supply context for this abridgment, which we felt rendered the poem suitable for a stand-alone song.
It is a different musical approach compared to a lot of our other music, and is imagined being sung and played by an elven quartet in the Hall of Fire in Rivendell, where tales are told and songs are sung. The imagined elves are the Telioran Players: Gannelion the harper, Simiel the flutist, Laerion the cellist, and Sarthor the percussionist.

Lyrics:

Beren into darkness fell, but Luthien knew her heart full well -
She sought to follow him, to free, but Thingol said this shall not be.

In angry love and half in fear Thingol took counsel, his most dear
To guard and keep. He would not bind in caverns deep and intertwined
Sweet Luthien, his lovely maid, who robbed of air must wane and fade,
Who e’er must look upon the sky, and see the sun and moon go by.

But close unto his mounded seat and grassy throne there ran the feet
Of Hirilorn, the beechen queen. Upon her triple boles were seen
No break or branch, until aloft, in a greener glimmer, distant, soft,
The mightiest vault of leaf and bough, from world’s beginning until now
Was flung above Esgalduin’s shores and the long slopes to Thingol’s doors.

There Luthien was bidden dwell until she was wiser, and the spell
Of madness left her. Up she clomb long ladders unto her new home
Among the leaves, among the birds; she sang no song, she spoke no words. White glimmering in the tree she rose and her little door they heard her close. The ladders were taken and no more her feet might tread Esgalduin’s shore.

There Dairon grieving often stood in sorrow for the captive of the wood,
And melodies made upon his flute, leaning against a grey tree-root:
Now Luthien would from her windows stare and see him far under piping there, And only Dairon would she let across her threshold foot to set.
Now Melian’s daughter of deep lore knew many things, yea, magics more
Than then or now know elven-maids that glint and shimmer in the glades.
She pondered long, while the moon sank, and faded, and the starlight shrank.

Then Dairon she called: ‘I prithee, friend, climb up and talk to Luthien!’
She said: ‘My Dairon, thou hast craft, beside thy music, many a shaft
And many a tool of carven wood to fashion with cunning. It were good,
If thou wouldst make a little loom to stand in the corner of my room.
My idle fingers would spin and weave a pattern of colours, of morn and eve,
Of sun and moon and changing light amid the beech-leaves waving bright.’

This Dairon did and asked her then: ‘O Luthien, O Luthien,
What wilt thou weave? What wilt thou spin?’
‘A marvelous thread, and wind therein
A potent magic, and a spell I will weave within my web that hell
Nor all the powers of dread shall break.’
Then Dairon wondered, but he spake
No word to Thingol, though his heart feared the dark purpose of her art.

And Luthien now was left alone and sang a song, to Men unknown,
Profound and fathomless and dark, as Luthien’s shadowy hair was dark -
Each thread was more slender and more fine than threads of twilight that entwined In filmy web the fading grass and closing flowers as day doth pass.

Now long and longer grew her hair and fell to her feet, and wandered there
Like pools of shadow on the ground, and Luthien in a slumber drowned
Was laid upon her bed and slept, till morning through the windows crept.
Behold! her hair from windows blew, in morning airs and darkly grew,

Waving about the pillars grey of Hirilorn at break of day.
Then groping she found her little shears, and cut the hair about her ears,
And close she cropped it to her head, enchanted tresses, thread by thread.
And now was her labour but begun; long was she spinning, long she spun.

Then Dairon feared, and in amaze he called from under; but three days
She answered not. Of cloudy hair she wove a web of misty air
Of moonless night, and thereof made a robe as fluttering-dark as shade
Beneath great trees.

Then swift she takes the threads unused; of these she makes
A slender rope of twisted strands yet long and stout, and with her hands
She makes it fast unto the shaft of Hirilorn. Now all her craft
and labour ended, looks she forth from her little window facing North.

Now clad as in a cloud she hung; now down her roped hair she swung
As light as a squirrel, and away, away she danced, and who can say
What paths she took, whose elvish feet no impress made a-dancing fleet?