{"id":2971,"date":"2012-10-15T10:00:02","date_gmt":"2012-10-15T17:00:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thomryng.com\/amateurmonk\/?p=2971"},"modified":"2013-03-27T13:41:01","modified_gmt":"2013-03-27T20:41:01","slug":"durins-day","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thomryng.com\/amateurmonk\/durins-day\/","title":{"rendered":"Durin’s Day"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Professor Tolkien’s works embody his deep and abiding Catholic faith and worldview. Today in the calendar of Middle Earth, it is Durin’s Day.<\/p>\n

Durin <\/b>
\nJ<\/span>.R.R. Tolkien<\/p>\n

The world was young, the mountains green,
\nNo stain yet on the Moon was seen,
\nNo words were laid on stream or stone,
\n… When Durin woke and walked along.
\nHe named the nameless hills and dells;
\nHe drank from yet untasted wells;
\nHe stopped and looked in Mirrormere<\/a>,
\nAnd saw a crown of stars appear,
\nAs gems upon a silver thread,
\nAbove the shadow of his head.
\nThe world was fair, the mountains tall,
\nIn Elder Days before the fall
\nOf mighty kings in Nargothrond<\/a>
\nAnd Gondolin<\/a>, who now beyond
\nThe Western Seas have passed away.
\nThe world was fair in Durin’s Day.<\/p>\n

A king he was on carven throne
\nIn many-pillared halls of stone
\nWith golden roof and silver floor,
\nAnd runes of power upon the door.
\nThe light of sun and star and moon
\nIn shining lamps of crystal hewn
\nUndimmed by cloud or shade of night
\nThere shown for ever fair and bright.<\/p>\n

There hammer on the anvil smote,
\nThere chisel clove, and graver wrote;
\nThere forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
\nThe delver mined, the mason built.
\nThere beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
\nAnd metal wrought like fishes’ mail,
\nBuckler and corslet, axe and sword,
\nAnd shining spears were laid in hoard.
\nUnwearied then were Durin’s folk;
\nBeneath the mountain music woke:
\nThe harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
\nAnd at the gates the trumpets rang.<\/p>\n

The world is grey, the mountains old,
\nThe forge’s fire is ashen-cold;
\nNo harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
\nThe darkness dwells in Durin’s halls;
\nThe shadow lies upon his tomb
\nIn Moria<\/a>, in Khazad-d\u00fbm.
\nBut still the sunken stars appear
\nIn dark and windless Mirrormere;
\nThere lies his crown in water deep.
\nTill Durin wakes again from sleep.<\/p>\n