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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Vicious as very few


Who knoweth which uncanny art hath been behind, as one is told in the tale?
That horrible nightmare emerged from the northernmost pits, as the Dark Lord his opponents with terror had thitherto chained, and then came the hour of such vicious bane,
Ashes and carbon they would chew, and of fell fire was their breath, deadly and venomous, for this is always the case for any devilry that from the caverns of Angband arose,
It meant atrocious fate for whom fought for survival and to the valiant forces of the Good the most dreadful woes.

Walküre:
Countless Tears


All shall weep and just mourn, albeit grief being not to be softened nor eased,
It is one of those grand clashes, ferocious contests, during the wars for the Jewels,
Much hope was in the hearts of the Eldar, resolute to break the chain of dread and strike against the common foe for any decent dweller of that blood-stained territory,
Alas, that wish was far and naught else but silly imagination from the Good's party, for the legions of the night were many, although treason was origin of all those terrible woes that afterwards grimly befell.


The Battle of Countless Tears was the last major clash of the War of the Jewels, prior to the resolving War of Wrath which closed the series of tragedy in the pages of the mournful tales of Beleriand. The very battle and its appalling aftermath were ominous signs of how the following course of the general war would unfold. The Eldar marched sure and confident under the banners of a renewed alliance of intent, although many were the rivalries that lay beneath and frustrated the prospect of a concerted action against Morgoth. The unquestionable leaders were the remaining kin of Fëanor, massacred and decimated by the Evil in the erstwhile centuries. The core of the grand army was, however, comprised of the people of Ñolofinwë, led by his son, Fingon, who had just bequeathed the immense honour and burden which the high kingship of the Noldor entailed. Despite thorough strategies, all was to bode very ill for the ranks of the immortal ones, aided by the Edain, their most truthful allies. The Dark Lord had in fact made sure to gain, by means of bogus promises, the servitude of those human tribes that had come from the easternmost ends of the world; rustic people, neither used to valour nor bound by bonds of trust to anyone. The seed of betrayal was therefore sown and Morgoth prepared so well for the approaching challenging, unleashing all sorts of horrors from the caverns of the Iron Fortress. And most gruesome among those fell opponents were his Balrogs, the Flames of Morgoth, whose fiery whips and blades slew the High King of the Noldor in the worst of the manners.

Walküre:
Grace of thine


Grace of thine, it is what giveth us joy and love,
Thou canst hearken to anything, within thy halls of ether, above,
Thou shalt grant satisfaction to our pleas, we are ever-sure,
Queen of Stars, Light and gem of the firmament in the ancient lore.

Walküre:
Kindler of all that is worth beholding


Aye, one just cannot ignore your ancient labours across distances with no matter,
Even if ignorance clouds one's wit, your very first gift to the earth was that light,
That light which naught ever tainted, none may reach for, far off amidst the blue,
Imperishable as adamant and eternal as eternal is the existence of any Elf, Angel or Archangel of your kindred sort.

Be it warm radiance or pale gleams in cool nights of joyful summer, be it those stars in heaven that are your proudest craft, be it lost light which ever-alive dwells in tales of old, you are without doubt kindler of all that is worth beholding in this world.

Walküre:
Maiden of merriment


Merry maiden of messy locks,
Your spirited buoyancy would clearly melt the hardest man, stone and rocks,
Courteous is your gentle touch, as tender and soft as a hand in a glove,
Witty you are as well, to know from whom you must get off and whom in truth deserves your love.

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