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Old 09-20-2006, 03:29 AM   #335
Tam Lin
Pile O'Bones
 
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Join Date: Aug 2006
Location: ...the mirk and midnight hour
Posts: 23
Tam Lin has just left Hobbiton.
Tavaro chuckled as he looked from the ginger-haired woman back to his friend. Hithadan was blithely unaware of her blue-eyed scrutiny; his eyes were taking in the two newcomers to the inn. Sizing them up, weighing them.

‘Be back in a moment,’ the Elf said, rising from his chair. His destination was not the table where the man and woman sat with the elder Halfling lady, but rather the table where the three Dwarves sat.

He gave a nod to the large fellow with the reddish brown hair; the one who had neither played nor sung when the two young Elves made their music. The other two Dwarves, whether by nature or by the quantity of ale which buoyed them up, he found more welcoming. In an easy manner he complimented them on their flute playing and asked if they might accompany him in a song. There was a whispered conference among the three of them, in which a few bars of some song were hummed; the words to it spoke low and finally agreed upon.

Tavaro returned to his table and fetched the pack stashed by his chair. From it he drew out a fair sized something wrapped in a soft, sea blue, finely woven stole. His harp. The Elf’s long, slender fingers ran over the strings and with a few quick twists of the metal pins which held the various strings, the harp was brought into tune.

‘This is an old song, from an old place west of here,' he began, looking about the room. 'A lovely land of trees, hills, green grass, and rivers, that the great sea has now swallowed up. There were men and women living in that place whose fair tongue is now mostly lost in the passing years. Many of the Eldar made their homes in that land and Dwarves, too, resided there.'

‘It’s an old theme, too . . . a familiar, and oft inescapable one . . .’ He raised one eyebrow slightly and smiled as if to himself. ‘But here, let us begin it and let you good folk judge for yourself.’ He nodded to Bívor who lifted his flute to his lips and began the melody. Tavaro joined him, picking out the tune on the harp strings. His fair voice sang the old words softly as Bávor spoke the words in the common tongue . . .


Tá mé mo shuí ó d’éirigh’n ghealach aréir
Ag cur teine síos gan scíth is á fadó go gear
Tá bunadh a tí ‘na luí is tá mise liom féin
Tá na coiligh ag glaoch ‘san saol ‘na gcodladh ach mé.


I am up since the moon arose last night
Putting down a fire again and again and keeping it lit
The family is in bed and here am I by myself
The cocks are crowing and the country is asleep but me.


‘Sheacht mh’anam déag do bhéal do mhalaí is do ghrua
Do shúil ghorm ghlé-gheal fár thréig mé aiteas is suairc
Le cumha do dhiaidh ní léir dom an bealach a shiúil
Is a charaid mo chléibh tá na sléibhte gabhail idir mé ‘s tú.


I love your mouth, your eyebrows and your cheeks
Your bright blue eyes for whose sake I gave up hunting the wily fox
In longing for you I cannot see to walk the road
Friend of my bosom, the mountains lie between me and you.


Deireann lucht léinn gur claoite an galar an grá
Char admhaigh mé é no go raibh sé ‘ndiaidh mo chroí istigh a char
Ó aicid ró-ghéar, faraor nár sheachain mé í
Chuir sí arraing is céad go géar trí cheart-lár mo chroí.


Learned men say that love is a fatal sickness
I never admitted it until now that my heart is broken
It’s a very painful illness, alas, I have not avoided it
And it sends a hundred arrows through the core of my heart.


Casadh bean-tsí dom thíos ag Lios Bhéal an Átha
Is d’fhiafraigh mé díthe an scaoilfeadh glas ar bith grá
Is é dúirt sí os íseal i mbriathra soineannta sáimh
“Nuair a théann sé fán chroí cha scaoiltear as é go bráth.”


I met a faerie woman in the Rath of Béal an Átha
I asked her would any key unlock the love in my heart
And she said in soft, simple language
“When love enters the heart it will never be driven from it.”
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