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- Джон Толкин
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- Властелин колец: Возвращение короля
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- Стр. 95/277
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meet
was
his
ending
.
When
his
mound
is
raised
,
women
then
shall
weep
.
War
now
calls
us
!
Yet
he
himself
wept
as
he
spoke
.
'
Let
his
knights
remain
here
,
'
he
said
;
'
and
bear
his
body
in
honour
from
the
field
,
lest
the
battle
ride
over
it
!
Yea
,
and
all
these
other
of
the
king
's
men
that
lie
here
.
'
And
he
looked
at
the
slain
,
recalling
their
names
.
Then
suddenly
he
beheld
his
sister
Éowyn
as
she
lay
,
and
he
knew
her
.
He
stood
a
moment
as
a
man
who
is
pierced
in
the
midst
of
a
cry
by
an
arrow
through
the
heart
;
and
then
his
face
went
deathly
white
;
and
a
cold
fury
rose
in
him
,
so
that
all
speech
failed
him
for
a
while
.
A
fey
mood
took
him
.
'
Éowyn
,
Éowyn
!
'
he
cried
at
last
:
'
Éowyn
,
how
come
you
here
?
What
madness
or
devilry
is
this
?
Death
,
death
,
death
!
Death
take
us
all
!
'
Then
without
taking
counsel
or
waiting
for
the
approach
of
the
men
of
the
City
,
he
spurred
headlong
back
to
the
front
of
the
great
host
,
and
blew
a
horn
,
and
cried
aloud
for
the
onset
.
Over
the
field
rang
his
clear
voice
calling
:
'
Death
!
Ride
,
ride
to
ruin
and
the
world
's
ending
!
'
And
with
that
the
host
began
to
move
.
But
the
Rohirrim
sang
no
more
.
Death
they
cried
with
one
voice
loud
and
terrible
,
and
gathering
speed
like
a
great
tide
their
battle
swept
about
their
fallen
king
and
passed
,
roaring
away
southwards
.
And
still
Meriadoc
the
hobbit
stood
there
blinking
through
his
tears
and
no
one
spoke
to
him
,
indeed
none
seemed
to
heed
him
.
He
brushed
away
the
tears
,
and
stooped
to
pick
up
the
green
shield
that
Éowyn
had
given
him
;
and
he
slung
it
at
his
back
.
Then
he
looked
for
his
sword
that
he
had
let
fall
;
for
even
as
he
struck
his
blow
his
arm
was
numbed
,
and
now
he
could
only
use
his
left
hand
.
And
behold
!
there
lay
his
weapon
,
but
the
blade
was
smoking
like
a
dry
branch
that
has
been
thrust
in
a
fire
;
and
as
he
watched
it
,
it
writhed
and
withered
and
was
consumed
.
So
passed
the
sword
of
the
Barrow-downs
,
work
of
Westernesse
.
But
glad
would
he
have
been
to
know
its
fate
who
wrought
it
slowly
long
ago
in
the
North-kingdom
when
the
Dúnedain
were
young
,
and
chief
among
their
foes
was
the
dread
realm
of
Angmar
and
its
sorcerer
king
.
No
other
blade
,
not
though
mightier
hands
had
wielded
it
,
would
have
dealt
that
foe
a
wound
so
bitter
,
cleaving
the
undead
flesh
,
breaking
the
spell
that
knit
his
unseen
sinews
to
his
will
.
Men
now
raised
the
king
,
and
laying
cloaks
upon
spear-truncheons
they
made
shift
to
bear
him
away
towards
the
City
;
and
others
lifted
Éowyn
gently
up
and
bore
her
after
him
.
