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- Джон Толкин
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- Властелин колец: Возвращение короля
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- Стр. 77/277
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So
it
was
that
Gandalf
took
command
of
the
last
defence
of
the
City
of
Gondor
.
Wherever
he
came
men
's
hearts
would
lift
again
,
and
the
winged
shadows
pass
from
memory
.
Tirelessly
he
strode
from
Citadel
to
Gate
,
from
north
to
south
about
the
wall
;
and
with
him
went
the
Prince
of
Dol
Amroth
in
his
shining
mail
.
For
he
and
his
knights
still
held
themselves
like
lords
in
whom
the
race
of
Númenor
ran
true
.
Men
that
saw
them
whispered
saying
:
'
Belike
the
old
tales
speak
well
;
there
is
Elvish
blood
in
the
veins
of
that
folk
,
for
the
people
of
Nimrodel
dwelt
in
that
land
once
long
ago
.
'
And
then
one
would
sing
amid
the
gloom
some
staves
of
the
Lay
of
Nimrodel
,
or
other
songs
of
the
Vale
of
Anduin
out
of
vanished
years
.
And
yet
-
when
they
had
gone
,
the
shadows
closed
on
men
again
,
and
their
hearts
went
cold
,
and
the
valour
of
Gondor
withered
into
ash
.
And
so
slowly
they
passed
out
of
a
dim
day
of
fears
into
the
darkness
of
a
desperate
night
.
Fires
now
raged
unchecked
in
the
first
circle
of
the
City
,
and
the
garrison
upon
the
outer
wall
was
already
in
many
places
cut
off
from
retreat
.
But
the
faithful
who
remained
there
at
their
posts
were
few
;
most
had
fled
beyond
the
second
gate
.
Far
behind
the
battle
the
River
had
been
swiftly
bridged
,
and
all
day
more
force
and
gear
of
war
had
poured
across
.
Now
at
last
in
the
middle
night
the
assault
was
loosed
.
The
vanguard
passed
through
the
trenches
of
fire
by
many
devious
paths
that
had
been
left
between
them
.
On
they
came
,
reckless
of
their
loss
as
they
approached
,
still
bunched
and
herded
,
within
the
range
of
bowmen
on
the
wall
.
But
indeed
there
were
too
few
now
left
there
to
do
them
great
damage
,
though
the
light
of
the
fires
showed
up
many
a
mark
for
archers
of
such
skill
as
Gondor
once
had
boasted
.
Then
perceiving
that
the
valour
of
the
City
was
already
beaten
down
,
the
hidden
Captain
put
forth
his
strength
.
Slowly
the
great
siege-towers
built
in
Osgiliath
rolled
forward
through
the
dark
.
Messengers
came
again
to
the
chamber
in
the
White
Tower
,
and
Pippin
let
them
enter
,
for
they
were
urgent
.
Denethor
turned
his
head
slowly
from
Faramir
's
face
,
and
looked
at
them
silently
.
'
The
first
circle
of
the
City
is
burning
,
lord
,
'
they
said
.
'
What
are
your
commands
?
You
are
still
the
Lord
and
Steward
.
Not
all
will
follow
Mithrandir
.
Men
are
flying
from
the
walls
and
leaving
them
unmanned
.
'
'
Why
?
Why
do
the
fools
fly
?
'
said
Denethor
.
'
Better
to
burn
sooner
than
late
,
for
burn
we
must
.
Go
back
to
your
bonfire
!
And
I
?
I
will
go
now
to
my
pyre
.
To
my
pyre
!
No
tomb
for
Denethor
and
Faramir
.
No
tomb
!
No
long
slow
sleep
of
death
embalmed
.
We
will
burn
like
heathen
kings
before
ever
a
ship
sailed
hither
from
the
West
.
The
West
has
failed
.
Go
back
and
burn
!
'
The
messengers
without
bow
or
answer
turned
and
fled
.
Now
Denethor
stood
up
and
released
the
fevered
hand
of
Faramir
that
he
had
held
.
'
He
is
burning
,
already
burning
,
'
he
said
sadly
.
'
The
house
of
his
spirit
crumbles
.
'
Then
stepping
softly
towards
Pippin
he
looked
down
at
him
.
'
Farewell
!
'
he
said
.
'
Farewell
,
Peregrin
son
of
Paladin
!
Your
service
has
been
short
,
and
now
it
is
drawing
to
an
end
.
I
release
you
from
the
little
that
remains
.
Go
now
,
and
die
in
what
way
seems
best
to
you
.
And
with
whom
you
will
,
even
that
friend
whose
folly
brought
you
to
this
death
.
Send
for
my
servants
and
then
go
.
Farewell
!
'
