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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
The elegy of pity


Nienna treadeth the forbidden ways for all races secluded,
And she gazeth too at the sea which none may pass over nor sail,
Waiting and mourning as tales say,
For we have yet to face the last clash that is the universe to shape, where all shall be again unearthed and to the light finally brought, to judge the course to which time will have to eventually conform.

Walküre:
Ice shall melt and be gone, one day


Nay, we do not for a moment believe that the North under the frozen rule of witchcraft will perpetually remain,
And even when the remnants of old of the dying grand kingdom seem to vanish away, faster than dust and sudden clouds of menacing weather,
We shall live to see the days of renewed spring and joy,
In adversity, as the power of the Iron Crown preys on the leavings of our great legacy which is to be mostly forgotten by the common man, and as aid from the enchanted valley and the South appears to result in the definitive salvation of this tale.

Walküre:
He dared to make that title his


It was indubitably a great blunder of whom the manners of honour and valour has never known,
But also a crime we shall never condone,
The unpardonable act was to claim the title of king of all Men that then trod the ways of Middle-earth,
Thus spreading the ill word across all mortal seas and so attracting the interest of the proud king of the Island that with revenge burst.

Walküre:
He is the White Rider, fashioned in light


A gleam of purity pierced the vicious shadows of the weather hitherto storming,
And the sky responded with welcoming the warm rays of the day in the normal manner of nature's cycle, in the like of a captive just freed from his chains,
And then we clearly beheld a figure that only good and eternal good again meant, announcing his coming while fashioned in light, whom winds from the western ends by command followed, and he in the eventual hour of the odious deception of Saruman the end decreed.

Walküre:
Aye, we bear the tough life


Aye, we bear the tough life, the only one we went through since the beginning of our rural kind's tale,
It is the foremost struggle that we always in the hardest fatigue cherished, for the fortune of our people by sheer luck was not shaped,
But by sweat, harvest, wheat and hay, these being the very nourishment of our force and history throughout this long age,
And weather too played its part, which seldom mercy has had, yet cold and freezing winds one's heart resistant make, for from eerie arts and arcane spells far we are, and on our sole hands as real tools we indeed rely.

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