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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Thither and yonder, harbours of pearl


What is that, which some may gaze at from that far?
Dreamlike and dreamland both, once the eye distances of blue has finally passed,
To reach havens where sunlight never wanes, it appears to us,
The wisest clear have spoken, that those ever-white strongholds and towers are not the realm of the Rulers, whom dear to us we hold.

The vision of spectacle the easternmost limit of beatitude in truth reveals,
The harbour of our loyal and kind, magnificent friends,
The Lone Island, thither we would fain head, to greet the gentle mariners sailing and visiting us,
They are of the immortal kind, as all of those fortunate shires, by light blessed and divine command is their rule.


At the time of the dawn of its might, Númenor would look at the western seas with confident and respectful eyes, yet attracted by the eternal joy pervading the immortal continent. Albeit a ban from the Valar decreeing the impossibility for Men and other mortals to sail to the Undying Lands, the proud inhabitants of the Five-pointed Island were still loyal to the authority of the Ancient West. The sight of Men could go far and wide, in those merry days of songs and nobility. It is said that it was possible for them to see the white harbours of Eressëa, at times, when waters stood still and the sky clear. Murmurs would circulate that it could be the shores of Aman or even the towers of Valinórë itself; but the wiseman knew for sure that those remote and inaccessible lands belonged to the easternmost part of the Imperishable Territories: Eressëa. And the people of Númenor had exactly been honoured with such a privilege, since a visible proof of the thither-bliss was provided. Visible, yet not tangible...

Walküre:
Their last gaze


Miracles, or perhaps not, who in the new modern world could foretell?
Many tongues of misadventures speak, of men who are thus not fine nor well,
The tale spread among mariners, long and wide it is told,
Arcane riddles, absurd they must be, and not common, yet belonging to the realm mysterious and old.

Wiseman narrates that flat the fashion of earth used to be,
So far the memory of the story, and equally obscure to see,
Voices spread in the silence of the broad world, and feeble murmurs that lost sailors through hazardous waters they have voyaged, and unknown, unto white shores of nature which none might fathom, and they were narrow lands encircled by the highest chain of peaks and stone, alien to mortal intelligence and certainly subjected to another rule,
Well, those souls look at that spectacle, terrible and noble, while their last gaze was upon a mighty mountain which over all else towered, eternal, still and never-changeable as time, until oblivion took them and these characters of valour we today mourn.


The Great Cataclysm following the treason of Númenor was the most abrupt event which had thitherto befallen in the halls of Arda. The foundations of the world were shattered utterly and the Undying Lands ultimately removed from Arda itself, taken out from the circles and winds of the new round globe. Men, therefore, could then sail freely to the western seas, discovering new territories, yet mortal as the other ones, while returning to the beginning of their journey, at a certain point.

Some far murmurs began to circulate, though. Tales of desperate mariners who had lost themselves in perilous seas, just to be eventually brought to uncanny shores by the force of some unidentifiable grace. On these long shores, part of a continent which no mortal being had trodden before, they last gazed at the supreme peak watching over the ancient shires of Aman, legendary and forbidden, only to find sudden death and inexorable demise.

Walküre:
Festus the Red, of fiery will


Festus the Red, of fiery will and dauntless temper, the fire of war hath been placated for the good. Alas, I will not partake much into this renewed joy and jocular jubilation, for my fate doth command that to my primeval shires I must return. Ever-lit fields and naught there is made to decay.Yonder, beyond the sundering waves. Thither I shall go, whither I am bound to journey. Only, prior to my parting, I would fain honour thee and pay homage, for to all triumph belongeth. Thou art noble in heart, and, clothed with human flesh, my blessing thou hast gained.

Walküre:
Impious captive thou art


Enemy of Arda. Worst of the foes and origin of all that ill-natured hath been made. The chain of thy captivity doth justice to thee and the crimes thou hast committed. Now, to the Lit Earldom of the Powers thou hast been brought, as prisoner impious and covered by shame. Bow and kneel, in front of the bright throne of whom the sole King of Arda hath been designated.

Walküre:
You know no shame


How long are you to proceed in the direction of nothingness and void, Master of Snares?
For how much time have you been hiding and concealing your secretive plans?
Toying with characters and from confusion feeding,
Jackal and irredeemable hound, only after flesh and blood you are, in the end,
Forgiveness you don't seem to beg for, whilst hell you scheme for your opponents, who are just and stout in defence,
You continue and strive in truth with unceasing will,
Who knows the aim and goal of yours after much obscure thinking?
Who knows whither are you to crawl and slither?
The decent guardian does not waste time, nor will he fall prey of deceitful traps for sure,
Beware, unapologetic foe, you know no shame or manners worthy of our praise, and should hazard be close to us still, only blades and the firm sword of justice you are to face.

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