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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Ever-green and golden


All souls of the forest rejoice and merry are made, and never do the dwellers of Lórien lack songs to sing,
Heavens retain light and radiance even in the worst adversity, for no fell wind will ever darken those ways or render them withered, when the Lady is in government and all calms with her Ring,
Golden routes under the trees, warm and lively as life which doesn't want to fade,
Sad fate is verily ahead of those sacred woodland inhabitants, for any art made by Elven hands shall inevitably meet decay, in akin manner to how the Firstborns to some of their labours farewell often bade.

Walküre:
To strive, to seek, to search, and never to yield


How could one be brave enough to partake in a quest and return richer in knowledge, wisdom and precious experience? It's not everyday that one is offered the chance and everyday ones are possibly likely to deny, for hazard is equally present when you are to seize the opportunity of your own life. It is not to know whither we are voyaging and via which way, and so the willing traveller might need rely on his wit and find answers alone. And one ought truly to remember, in utmost dedication and contemplation too, that treasures are seldom presented for free and along gentle paths, and who may assure you that foes and foul minions you are not to battle? Precious things are for the most buried and wrapped in the arcane mystery, waiting for the curious mind that could unveil their wonderful being. Imperative, aye, imperative it is that one be keen enough to strive, to seek and search, and never to yield. Only through labouring and enquiry can you dig deeply and pierce the hardest wall. Determined, resolute, stout and staunch.

Walküre:
The obligated path


It would be a magnanimous gesture to entrust a mission to someone else's hands, yet honour of ours must in no case wane,
Can you recall? A queen, on the route of definitive demise, decided to stand up and the walls of the Eerie Fortress laid bare, prior to her return whither her true dwelling had always lain,
Cease your excuses and vain parlance, this world knows naught to do with people who wail,
We shall endeavour to prove the spirit we are made of and so for our shires we shall be of much avail.

Walküre:
She weepeth


She weepeth, yet not in vain,
Grief hath too dwelling in the Powers' domain,
Her fate is beside forbidden seas, where always she hath lain,
To the fallen ones hope she giveth, lest souls see endless mourning and eventually wane.

Walküre:
Betwixt war and ruin


Betwixt war and much ruin we find ourselves,
Appalling the spectacle, we never beheld anything of its grievous ilk,
Verily, thou hast much to lose and weep for,
It doth stir fear and terror within thy tender heart,
I know, fond of the comfort of thy home thou art,
And nostalgia for the warm hearth there is in equal manner,
Flames and iron shall reach all which one loveth and careth for,
Thou knewest not, my dear friend, and sawest not shadows renewing their strength and becoming vital again, in the far shires of the East, uncanny and hostile.

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