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- Джон Толкин
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- Властелин колец: Возвращение короля
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- Стр. 76/277
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In
vain
men
shook
their
fists
at
the
pitiless
foes
that
swarmed
before
the
Gate
.
Curses
they
heeded
not
,
nor
understood
the
tongues
of
western
men
;
crying
with
harsh
voices
like
beasts
and
carrion-birds
.
But
soon
there
were
few
left
in
Minas
Tirith
who
had
the
heart
to
stand
up
and
defy
the
hosts
of
Mordor
.
For
yet
another
weapon
,
swifter
than
hunger
,
the
Lord
of
the
Dark
Tower
had
:
dread
and
despair
.
The
Nazgûl
came
again
,
and
as
their
Dark
Lord
now
grew
and
put
forth
his
strength
,
so
their
voices
,
which
uttered
only
his
will
and
his
malice
,
were
filled
with
evil
and
horror
.
Ever
they
circled
above
the
City
,
like
vultures
that
expect
their
fill
of
doomed
men
's
flesh
.
Out
of
sight
and
shot
they
flew
,
and
yet
were
ever
present
,
and
their
deadly
voices
rent
the
air
.
More
unbearable
they
became
,
not
less
,
at
each
new
cry
.
At
length
even
the
stout-hearted
would
fling
themselves
to
the
ground
as
the
hidden
menace
passed
over
them
,
or
they
would
stand
,
letting
their
weapons
fall
from
nerveless
hands
while
into
their
minds
a
blackness
came
,
and
they
thought
no
more
of
war
,
but
only
of
hiding
and
of
crawling
,
and
of
death
.
During
all
this
black
day
Faramir
lay
upon
his
bed
in
the
chamber
of
the
White
Tower
,
wandering
in
a
desperate
fever
;
dying
someone
said
,
and
soon
'
dying
'
all
men
were
saying
upon
the
walls
and
in
the
streets
.
And
by
him
his
father
sat
,
and
said
nothing
,
but
watched
,
and
gave
no
longer
any
heed
to
the
defence
.
No
hours
so
dark
had
Pippin
known
,
not
even
in
the
clutches
of
the
Uruk-hai
.
It
was
his
duty
to
wait
upon
the
Lord
,
and
wait
he
did
,
forgotten
it
seemed
,
standing
by
the
door
of
the
unlit
chamber
,
mastering
his
own
fears
as
best
he
could
.
And
as
he
watched
,
it
seemed
to
him
that
Denethor
grew
old
before
his
eyes
,
as
if
something
had
snapped
in
his
proud
will
,
and
his
stern
mind
was
overthrown
.
Grief
maybe
had
wrought
it
,
and
remorse
.
He
saw
tears
on
that
once
tearless
face
,
more
unbearable
than
wrath
.
'
Do
not
weep
,
lord
,
'
he
stammered
.
'
Perhaps
he
will
get
well
.
Have
you
asked
Gandalf
?
'
'
Comfort
me
not
with
wizards
!
'
said
Denethor
.
'
The
fool
's
hope
has
failed
.
The
Enemy
has
found
it
,
and
now
his
power
waxes
;
he
sees
our
very
thoughts
,
and
all
we
do
is
ruinous
.
'
I
sent
my
son
forth
,
unthanked
,
unblessed
,
out
into
needless
peril
,
and
here
he
lies
with
poison
in
his
veins
.
Nay
,
nay
,
whatever
may
now
betide
in
war
,
my
line
too
is
ending
,
even
the
House
of
the
Stewards
has
failed
.
Mean
folk
shall
rule
the
last
remnant
of
the
Kings
of
Men
,
lurking
in
the
hills
until
all
are
hounded
out
.
'
Men
came
to
the
door
crying
for
the
Lord
of
the
City
.
'
Nay
,
I
will
not
come
down
,
'
he
said
.
'
I
must
stay
beside
my
son
.
He
might
still
speak
before
the
end
.
But
that
is
near
.
Follow
whom
you
will
,
even
the
Grey
Fool
,
though
his
hope
has
failed
.
Here
I
stay
.
'
