Oh whither goes the westering sun
whose glory banners blinding stream?
Dazzled!— Shroud my eyes oh night
with shadowed veil o’er longed for gleam—
but mine the veil—the darkness mine—
Oh creeping night, oh mortal dream!
Dark and dark on umbral sea
I sail on, and chase the line
the pale, fleeing horizon’s line.
But on and on the rolling brine
and mocking wind, “Oh didst thou think
thy hand touched his in deepening dark?
Nay! Feel the wind and salt-teared sea,
for what thy feeble sighs will mark.”
A flute! What notes that lilt so sweet,
that silver speed o’re wave and dune
and for the song my boat fair flew
to sand that shimmers in the moon.
One step upon enchanted shore—
At last at last! But lost oh lost!
On silent strand the echo fades
for all is dull and drear and grey.
Onward onward stumbling,
till shadow in the ponderous mist
uprises—spiralling earth to sky
the pathway steep that wends and twists.
Until at last fog falls away,
And on the sharp and cloudless height,
a pilgrim at the precipice
gaze and gaze—but dim my sight.
Close so close and I shall see,
the Elven towers where singing dwells.
A step a step, I reach to West—
but far too far! The mount repels.
I fall and down, the vengeful sea
roars its swallowing swells.
How or when Gwetheril the Dúnadan came across the hobbit poem of uncertain origin “The Sea-Bell” is unknown. Perhaps from some fellow traveller, or perhaps in a collection by the venerable B. Baggins kept in the archives of Rivendell, but what is less mysterious is why this poem appealed so sharply to her. Her earliest work carries with it a keen sense of the gulf between Elves and Men, and her desire to learn from and dwell with the Elves is constant. But by this time her love of the Elves seems to have taken a far more personal and concrete shape in her heart.
