Didn't know where to put this, so, here goes:
All of the Lay of Leithian I have found/read:
He chanted a song of wizardry,
Of pearcing, opening, of treachery,
Revealing, uncovering, betraying.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
Sang in anwser a song of staying,
Resisting, battling against power,
Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,
And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;
Of changing and of shifting shape,
Of snares eluded, broken traps,
The prison opening, the chain that snaps.
Backwards and forwards swayed their song.
Reeling and foundering, ever more strong
The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,
And all the magic and might he brought
Of Elfinesse into his words.
Softly in the gloom they heard the birds
Singing afar in Nargothrond,
The sighing of the Sea beyond,
Beyond the western world, on sand,
On sand of pearls in Elvenland.
Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
In Valinor, the red blood flowing
Beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew
The Foamriders, and stealing drew
Their white ships with their white sails
From lamplit heavens. The wind wails,
The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
The captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn-
And Finrod fell before the throne.
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More huge were its limbs, its jaw more wide,
Its fangs more gleaming-sharp, and dyed
With venom, torment, and with death.
The deadly vapour of its breath,
Swept on before it. Swooning dies
The song of Lúthien, and her eyes
Are dimmed and darkened with a fear,
Cold and poisonous and drear.
Thus came Thû, as wolf more great,
Than ee’r was seen from Angband’s gate
To the burning south, than ever lurked
In mortal lands, or murder worked.
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“So Lúthien, so Lúthien-
A liar like all Elves and Men!
Yet welcome, welcome to my hall!
I have a use for every thrall.
What news of Thingol in his hole,
Shy lurking like a hoal?
What folly fresh is in his mind,
Who cannot keep his offspring blind,
From straying thus-or can devise,
Now better council for his spies?”
A moment then she stayed her song.
“The way, O king was wild and long,
But Thingol sent me not, nor knows
What road his rebellious daughter goes.
Yet every path and road doth lead,
Northward at last, and here of need
I trembling come with humble brow,
And here before thy throne I bow,
For Lúthien hath many arts,
For solace sweet of kingly hearts.”
“And here of need thou shalt remain
Now Lúthien, in joy or pain-
Or pain, the meter doom for all,
Rebel and upstart, wench and thrall.
Why should ye not in our fate share
Of woe and travail? Or should I spare
To slender limb, and body frail,
Breaking torment? Of what avail
Here dost thou deem thy babbling song,
And foolish laughter? Minstrels strong,
Are at my call. Yet I will give,
A respite brief, a while to live,
A little while, though purchased dear,
Now little Lúthien is here.”