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- Джон Толкин
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- Властелин колец: Братство кольца
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- Стр. 372/422
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They
remained
some
days
in
Lothlorien
,
so
far
as
they
could
tell
or
remember
.
All
the
while
that
they
dwelt
there
the
sun
shone
clear
,
save
for
a
gentle
rain
that
fell
at
times
,
and
passed
away
leaving
all
things
fresh
and
clean
.
The
air
was
cool
and
soft
,
as
if
it
were
early
spring
,
yet
they
felt
about
them
the
deep
and
thoughtful
quiet
of
winter
.
It
seemed
to
them
that
they
did
little
but
eat
and
drink
and
rest
,
and
walk
among
the
trees
;
and
it
was
enough
.
They
had
not
seen
the
Lord
and
Lady
again
,
and
they
had
little
speech
with
the
Elven-folk
;
for
few
of
these
knew
or
would
use
the
Westron
tongue
.
Haldir
had
bidden
them
farewell
and
gone
back
again
to
the
fences
of
the
North
,
where
great
watch
was
now
kept
since
the
tidings
of
Moria
that
the
Company
had
brought
.
Legolas
was
away
much
among
the
Galadhrim
,
and
after
the
first
night
he
did
not
sleep
with
the
other
companions
,
though
he
returned
to
eat
and
talk
with
them
.
Often
he
took
Gimli
with
him
when
he
went
abroad
in
the
land
,
and
the
others
wondered
at
this
change
.
Now
as
the
companions
sat
or
walked
together
they
spoke
of
Gandalf
,
and
all
that
each
had
known
and
seen
of
him
came
clear
before
their
minds
.
As
they
were
healed
of
hurt
and
weariness
of
body
the
grief
of
their
loss
grew
more
keen
.
Often
they
heard
nearby
Elvish
voices
singing
,
and
knew
that
they
were
making
songs
of
lamentation
for
his
fall
,
for
they
caught
his
name
among
the
sweet
sad
words
that
they
could
not
understand
.
Mithrandir
,
Mithrandirsang
the
Elves
,
O
Pilgrim
Grey
!
For
so
they
loved
to
call
him
.
But
if
Legolas
was
with
the
Company
,
he
would
not
interpret
the
songs
for
them
,
saying
that
he
had
not
the
skill
,
and
that
for
him
the
grief
was
still
too
near
,
a
matter
for
tears
and
not
yet
for
song
.
It
was
Frodo
who
first
put
something
of
his
sorrow
into
halting
words
.
He
was
seldom
moved
to
make
song
or
rhyme
;
even
in
Rivendell
he
had
listened
and
had
not
sung
himself
,
though
his
memory
was
stored
with
many
things
that
others
had
made
before
him
.
But
now
as
he
sat
beside
the
fountain
in
Lorien
and
heard
about
him
the
voices
of
the
Elves
,
his
thought
took
shape
in
a
song
that
seemed
fair
to
him
;
yet
when
he
tried
to
repeat
it
to
Sam
only
snatches
remained
,
faded
as
a
handful
of
withered
leaves
.
When
evening
in
the
Shire
was
grey
his
footsteps
on
the
Hill
were
heard
;
before
the
dawn
he
went
away
on
journey
long
without
a
word
.
From
Wilderland
to
Western
shore
,
