The Hoard

The Hoard is a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien given in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil that illumines darker aspects of Elves, Dwarves (Wicked dwarves), dragons, and Men as viewed from Rivendell, Elvish, and Númenórean lore, concerning the heroic days at the end of the First Age. It echoes parts of the tale of Túrin Turambar and Mim the Dwarf.
== Text ==
:When the moon was new and the sun young
:of silver and gold the gods sung:
:in the green grass they silver spilled,
:and the white waters they with gold filled.
:Ere the pit was dug or Hell yawned,
:ere dwarf was bred or dragon spawned,
:there were Elves of old, and strong spells
:under green hills in hollow dells
:they sang as they wrought many fair things,
:and the bright crowns of the Elf-kings.
:But their doom fell, and their song waned,
:by iron hewn and by steel chained.
:Greed that sang not, nor with mouth smiled,
:in dark holes their wealth piled,
:graven silver and carven gold:
:over Elvenhome the shadow rolled.
:There was an old dwarf in a dark cave,
:to silver and gold his fingers clave;
:with hammer and tongs and anvil-stone
:he worked his hands to the hard bone,
:and coins he made, and strings of rings,
:and thought to buy the power of kings.
:But his eyes grew dim and his ears dull
:and the skin yellow on his old skull;
:the stony jewels slipped unseen.
:No feet he heard, though the earth quaked,
:when the young dragon his thirst slaked,
:and the stream smoked at his dark door.
:The flames hissed on the dank floor,
:and he died alone in the red fire;
:his bones were ashes in the hot mire.
:There was an old dragon under grey stone;
:his red eyes blinked as he lay alone.
:His joy was dead and his youth spent,
:he was knobbed and wrinkled, and his limbs bent
:in the long years to his gold chained;
:in his heart’s furnace the fire waned.
:To his belly’s slime gems stuck think,
:silver and gold he would snuff and lick:
:he knew the place of the least ring
:beneath the shadow of his black wing.
:Of thieves he thought on his hard bed,
:and dreamed that on their flesh he fed,
:their bones crushed, and their blood drank:
:his ears drooped and his breath sank.
:Mail-rings rang. He heard them not.
:A voice echoed in his deep grot:
:a young warrior with a bright sword
:called him forth to defend his hoard.
:His teeth were knives, and of horn his hide,
:but iron tore him, and his flame died.
:There was an old king on a high throne:
:his white beard lay on knees of bone;
:his mouth savoured neither meat nor drink,
:nor his ears song; he could only think
:of his huge chest with carven lid
:where pale gems and gold lay hid
:in secret treasury in the dark ground;
:its strong doors were iron-bound.
:The swords of his thanes were dull with rust,
:his glory fallen, his rule unjust,
:his halls hollow, and his bowers cold,
:but king he was of elvish gold.'
:He heard not the horns in the mountain-pass,
:he smelt not the blood on the trodden grass,
:but his halls were burned, his kingdom lost;
:in a cold pit his bones were tossed.
:There is an old hoard in a dark rock,
:forgotten behind doors none can unlock;
:that grim gate no man can pass.
:On the mound grows the green grass;
:there sheep feed and the larks soar,
:and the wind blows from the sea-shore.
:The old hoard the Night shall keep,
:while earth waits and the Elves sleep.
== See also ==
* Errantry
* Little Princess Mee
Category:Poems in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil
de:Der Hort