Still we did not break. And we did not run. When the dragons gave up a roar
Then we ran in close to hew dragon-scale – showing wyrms what an axe is for!
All their dragon-flame was just noise and heat – our dwarf armour protects us well.
And with our great strength, resolution firm: our axe-blows soon began to tell
As our myriad blows then descend like rain! Through their outer scales we ripped and tore
While they writhed and screamed and breathed hot wyrm-fire! We belaboured them but all the more!
Glaurang howled and roared like a lion at bay, and attempted to break out our ring –
Turning round to strike, seized the nearest dwarf. By Aulë! It’s Azaghâl our king!
Gone beserk with rage we rained harder strokes – that would soon have pierced their dragon-hide –
As our king was dragged underneath its bulk. To the end our king fought – and died.
Glaurang screeched in pain, rearing front limbs high, thrashing round in its agony.
First obscured by smoke, spurting dragon-flame – but eventually we all can see:
Azaghâl’s sword sunk in its underside – with his final strength he’d forced his blade
To the hilt! To exact revenge for his own death! Glaurang howled – what a noise it made!
Glaurang staggered off, leaving bloody trails. All the other wyrms – surprised – withdrew.
But we dwarves cared not – for our king was dead. For a time none would believe it true –
But our king lay still, and never moved again. Though the dragon-wyrms made their retreat
None of Angband’s war-bands dared to draw us near. For us dwarves could even wyrms defeat!
We ignored them all, gathered our king’s corpse, gently laid Azaghâl on a bier
Closed up ranks to depart from the battle-field. We’d accomplished all we could do there.
For what good would it do for dwarves to remain? All the Eldar had long fled away.
King Fingon was dead, all their rest scattered. Could the dwarves alone have won that day?
If we stood till the last, till the bitter end, we’d be slaughtered down to our last man.
Only fools talk thus! Twas high time to leave, to retreat while still the living can.
So we marched away bearing our dead king ever southwards from the battle-plain.
Now the end is sped. And the wise foretell that the Eldar never more again
Will assault Angband.
Singing the Death Dirge, and arriving in our mountain-land
We have marched never more since that battle-day – for what reasons now you understand.
Azaghâl now has rest under mountain stone. Maedhros’s elves are mostly now all dead.
But we dwarves still survive here in Belegost – in despite Nirnaeth Arnoediad.
Tolkien Tribute 