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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Hé waes Sceadufæx


He was Shadowfax, at the turn of the fate-changing tide, harbinger of joy, hope and final salvation amidst such sorrow,
Noble and holy steed of the renewed wizard, clothed in white and of the keys of Arda's future he was wise guardian, imperative the order and clear the path,
Death he had faced, yet the demon was crushed and his fading ruin upon the mountain peak was thrown,
He now rides for liberty of all, bright beacon that hearts rekindles to glory and courage, and his light is to live within the ways of this world, unto his mission triumphant end finds, when trumpets and bells from the other shore shall sound: Mithrandir, the Western Lords crave your return.


The title is Old English for 'He was Shadowfax'.

Walküre:
At the edge and even beyond


At the edge of wisdom and even beyond, thou longest to advance further in the remote, yet vain and foolish thy wish shall be, for none vessels through the horizon may govern, now that bloody battle on the Hither-Lands is fought and thy faults the fury of the West have caused, unto the gloomy present ye all live, and mist shall always persist and storms in eternity shall wuther still, unless piety paveth the way which had been thitherto shut and barred, lifting the spell of secrecy and the curse that on you since origin hath been cast, and the ship favourable wind shall find and waters its passing will no longer oppose, headed to white and silver shores where naught fadeth nor withereth as common experience in the tales of Mortals, hither where the just rule is made reign and command, and none in truth dareth ill thoughts conceive, for paradise is calm and the finest dream in which thou may live.

Walküre:
Yet grief she turns into hope


The solitary dwelling along the shores facing the unknown and forbidden,
It was her sole choice and judgement, for from palaces and jubilant feasts she wanted to stay apart, waiting and treading with unceasing pace, unto what for the world in the firmament has been decreed,
Over sadness she reigns and commands, and her tears water dry ground or poisoned spoils, to wash away the stained guilt and new life to grant, because green grows still and anew, albeit tragedy and agony which one may have withstood,
Do not mistake those words, I beg, for never hopeless despair is the ultimate result, as grief and sorrow eventually she turns into hope, warm consolation to the suffering and grieving mind.


Nienna belongs to the mightiest order of the Valar and she is the Queen of Sadness. Similarly to her brother Mandos, she prefers to remain afar from the bliss and jubilant aura of the plains of Valinórë, electing instead the quietness and mystery of the most remote regions of the Blessed Realm, at the westernmost ends of the very West. By the shore she treads and waits, gazing at the vastness of the outer ocean of Eä, which no Elf or Man may journey through. And she mourns for the grievous thread of events that has characterised every chapter of Arda's long history, even though despair is not be seen in anything pertaining to her, for sorrow is raw matter that permits hope to emerge from the ashes of misery. Her most notable deeds were the raising of the legendary Two Trees, watered by her tears during the Song of Yavanna, and the saving of said light in the aftermath of Ungoliant's strike, when the radiance of the ancient Noon risked to be lost forever and forgotten; her weeping cleansed the filth of the monster and gave the dying Trees the necessary strength to produce two fruits, destined to voyage across the blue as the Sun and the Moon.

Walküre:
The Tower of Guard


Mighty deed and craftsmanship which stone at will shapes and moulds, this is grand legacy of whom the seas used to govern, and glorious rule via rivers and streams reached the shires that stand east on the continental mass,
Of the two twin-cities it is the one at the warm sun's rays rejoicing, established in middle way and central spot in the southern realm,
Terrible and striking the loss of her twin indeed, conquered and cursed, the reign of witchcraft the ghostly stronghold was doomed to suffer,
The tide was about to turn and elect a new grim path, as shadows returned in the grey world and with trepidation Men the passing of time began to measure, yet defence was once again raised and the remaining fortress as white colossal shield of Gondor was proclaimed, for grave fatigues for the last sentinel still future is to hold.


Minas Tirith rose above the honour of mention at the beginning of Gondor's grim times, inexorable prelude to what was yet to befall in the world. Sauron, puppeteer of the most cunning sort, had moved his pawns carefully and thoughtfully for decades and centuries before. The wraiths came back from the forgotten memories of defeat and overcame the Moon-city situated at the slopes of Mordor's own mountainous chain. Alarmed and facing the nightmare of a new war, Gondor fortified his realm and prepared plans for the oncoming clash with the Evil, envisaging a strategy of endurance and resistance; but defiance was nonetheless an idle one, for no active counter-offensive had been conceived in the meantime, with the intention of preventing Sauron from gathering a large army of all typologies of cruel servants. The most notable measure was the transformation of the one-time joyful city in a stone-made guardian carved into the peaks of Middle-earth. There, Men shall withstand the grandest of the tests, and hardest equally. For the sake of all cherishing liberty and hope.

Walküre:
Do not be wary of the arts of a wizard


Men, common and resilient kind you are all in truth, versed into learning and making theory a wonderful practice, because you need raise your hard strongholds of stone and pale marble which is renowned in every corner of this world, but you should also pay attention to these words of counsel and care, that wary of the arts of a wizard you ought not to be, being those not wanderers and beggars whom fortune has casually brought hither.

They are old and uncanny wit they hide, of this I am sure, and affected by toil they don't seem to be, and by aging in equal manner, for a mission they must must fulfil, of which the common man may not be told, and so let us pray that their coming an omen of positive future is to be, being us weary of grey vibe and increasing tension, as mankind as a whole needs hope as never before throughout continental events and diverse happenings we might have little memory of.


Men and Elves were both puzzled by the arrival of the wizards in Middle-earth. Figures cloaked in mystery, whose nature could not be equalled by anything in the lore of modernity (the Third Age). In very rare cases they were dreaded by people, though, given their natural proclivity to helping the one in need; and voyaging to the furthest places was a constant trait of all of them, being ever-interested in acquiring knowledge entailing the secrets of Arda and thus unearthing what lay hidden, veiled by the passing of eras. Someone was more fond of thorough studying, whereas others preferred the adventurous vibe of long travels, getting peoples and realms to know them personally, with the forging of staunch ties of amicable courtesy and friendship. As soon as it became evident how the burden of aging did not affect their kind, murmurs were being spread and voices would say that the Istari could be emissaries of the ancient West, sent hither to prevent a catastrophe from befalling. The Keeper of the Havens, the Lord of Imladris and the Lady of Lórien were the sole to know who they in truth were and where their fate would lead them. In particular, Círdan foresaw the miracles which Gandalf would be author of, at a first glance; thus, to ease the toil and fatigue of his mission, the millennial Elven lord entrusted Narya to the most pious and kindest of the five: the Grey Wizard.

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