Annals of Aman

[Walküre]

Keep the stone and hold it well!
Agin aught dark and very fell
It beareth strength and light of old,
Hewn from peak and wrought by bold.

Fashioned was the forest-gem
In yonder-lands at seas' hem,
As holy shires dwelt in bliss
And Powers deemed nought else amiss.

Drawn it was from stainless ore
In hours young of years afore.
Made to aid by restful Queen
To heave fatigue from weakened being.

Pray, it shall avail thy doing
While faring plains and mending ruin.
It were great ill to forsake the mirthless
Whom so much scarce thou seest worthless.

[Walküre]

Sneering hills hoard some fiends
Breathing mist and ghoulish winds,
Awoken again from filthy cairn,
Risen astir, as wolves in den.

Cooling stones could hardly keep
Hatred buried so much deep.
Sun declines and twilight falls
Upon these broken eerie walls.

[Walküre]

Silver Ewers carrying beads
Of blissful drops and gentle deeds.
Fine works of ancient skill,
Passed on to cheer one's will.

They bear relief and joy
Against malaise that might alloy
Lively roots and vibrant green,
Renewing vim to make it clean.

[Walküre]

Be wailing harps wrung.
Be gripping tunes sung.
Fearful songs glide aloft,
Which cautious murmurs broadly waft.

Havoc thou hast brought in here!
Nought we know to be so sheer
Of malice wreathed in fiery guise,
Borne on wings and fearsome size.

[Walküre]

If thou wert to ponder
Whether good it be to fare such yonder,
Didst thou so fair a deed,
When bound afar, whither tides shall lead.

I would thy snow-white vessel went
Away from plight which tore and rent.
Sundering seas ye will cross,
Ere these shires yield to loss.

[Walküre]

May thy lance be true
To weather pains in rue.
Heath-rider, fly in pride through vicious pike!
Fiends art thou to smite and strike.

Find me men to hail as just,
Whose flaring fury turned to lust.
Gird thyself in iron mail,
Praying we'll last till dawn's first gale.

[Walküre]

Bare of joyful times,
Are wailing widows mourning.
They weep in cheerless climes
Of sullen morn the dawning.

O gallant Rider!
Life was spent upon thy steed;
Through fey lanes winding wider,
So brave a knight thou wast, indeed.

[Walküre]

In sundry tongues they speak so ill
Of holly-lands and breezing chill.
There great smiths would riches hoard,
Earning fame and praising word.

Stowing wonders was not to save
Happy lands from coming wave,
As nights bedimmed a swooning age,
Fraught with storms about to rage.

[Walküre]

He led his fellows past the dark;
Infernal roar he was to hark,
And standing firm he dared his foe
Whom none could best with blade or bow.

Shadows rose so tall amok.
Heat undid the molten rock.
A curse was placed on those grim halls.
The fiend was felled and torn were walls.

Legend saith that hope was gone,
When malice hearts had stricken wan.
A work of perfidy beyond recount,
Inside the hollow bogey-mount.

Yet light outlived the dreadful ghoul.
Fight was brought to height and cool,
Where ice lay ill and tempest raged,
And fiery war to vice was waged.

[Walküre]

Fervour burst anew in land.
Here is king too great and grand
Whom such few words might laud aright,
He who brought the world delight.

Thou henceforth shalt behold a crown
That days daunt not in port or town.
Lordship is again rekindled,
Once years grew bleak and valour dwindled.

[Walküre]

Wonders sprang thereafter wide.
Ordained was light to spread and glide.
Ancient dweller by the shore,
Thou hast seen much bliss in lore.

Laden was the virgin Vale
In stainless gold of olden tale.
Two fair Trees they lit aglow,
Secure from dreariness and foe.

[Walküre]

If thou rodest unto shores,
Which yonder lie, afar from lores,
Were fey mornings swift to rise
Across the lands of eerie guise.

Errands seldom lead one thither;
There hale trees are said to wither.
Grosser fable was never spoken,
For suns loom fair and good foretoken.

[Walküre]

Laid was Arda perfect,
Void of stain and defect;
Wonder of its Wrights,
Bereft of starless nights.

Two Bastions wrought of old,
Bright and radiant as is gold;
Raised afore in blooming Spring,
Which so gladly thou shalt sing.

[Walküre]

To implore is to pray
For godly deed in elder lay
Which be apt to stay
Wrathful act in judgement-day.

Bright Vala, save the gentile on the wave!
He who never dared to crave
Thine endless earldom past the Sea,
Which, sole, might reach this my plea.

O feeble man, so very delicate!
For thee I gravely beg, to mercy impetrate.

[Walküre]

You shall mayhap lift the curse
That blithe fortune sways to worse,
Ere winter falls on heath;
Ere blade is drawn from sheath.

Dawns get pale and suns subside.
Yeomen till the soil and stride
Along the sullen rueful way,
Afield and flecked by scattered hay.