The sun he felt, but the bright moon was now a useless globe

The sun he felt, but the bright moon was now a useless globe. O’er mountains and through vales of woe the blind and aged man Wandered, till he that leadeth all led him to the vales of Har.

And Har and Heva, like two children, sat beneath the oak. Mnetha, now aged, waited on them, and brought them food and clothing. But they were as the shadow of Har, and as the years forgotten; Playing with flowers and running after birds they spent the day, And in the night like infants slept, delighted with infant dreams.

Soon as the blind wanderer entered the pleasant gardens of Har, They ran weeping, like frighted infants, for refuge in Mnetha’s arms. The blind man felt his way, and cried: “Peace to these open doors! Let no one fear, for poor blind Tiriel hurts none but himself. Tell me, O friends, where am I now, and in what pleasant place?”

“This is the valley of Har,” said Mnetha, “and this the tent of Har. Who art thou, poor blind man, that takest the name of Tiriel on thee? Tiriel is King of all the West. Who art thou? I am Mnetha; And this is Har and Heva, trembling like infants by my side.”

“I know Tiriel is King of the West, and there he lives in joy. No matter who I am, O Mnetha! If thou hast any food, Give it me, for I cannot stay,—my journey is far from hence.”

Then Har said: “O my mother Mnetha, venture not so near him, For he is the king of rotten wood, and of the bones of death; He wanders without eyes, and passes through thick walls and doors. Thou shalt not smite my mother Mnetha, O thou eyeless man.”

“A wanderer, I beg for food. You see I cannot weep. I cast away my staff, the kind companion of my travel,

And I kneel down that you may see I am a harmless man.”

He kneeled down. And Mnetha said: “Come, Har and Heva, rise: He is an innocent old man, and hungry with his travel.”

Then Har arose, and laid his hand upon old Tiriel’s head.

“God bless thy poor bald pate, God bless thy hollow winking eyes, God bless thy shrivelled beard, God bless thy many-wrinkled forehead! Thou hast no teeth, old man! and thus I kiss thy sleek bald head. Heva, come kiss his bald head, for he will not hurt us, Heva.” Then Heva came, and took old Tiriel in her mother’s arms.

“Bless thy poor eyes, old man, and bless the old father of Tiriel! Thou art my Tiriel’s old father; I know thee through thy wrinkles, Because thou smellest like the fig-tree, thou smellest like ripe figs. How didst thou lose thy eyes, old Tiriel? Bless thy wrinkled face!”

Mnetha said: “Come in, aged wanderer; tell us of thy name. Why shouldst thou conceal thyself from those of thine own flesh?”

“I am not of this region,” said Tiriel dissemblingly. “I am an aged wanderer, once father of a race Far in the North; but they were wicked, and were all destroyed, And I their father sent an outcast. I have told you all: Ask me no more, I pray, for grief hath sealed my precious sight.”