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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Under the hill?


What lies under the hill, thief?
Who are you, who so much pleasure in playing me find?
Do you really think that I was not to know that other eyes would seek this treasure of old?
I will renounce naught and part from nothing of what stands under my feet!

This is gold of mine, thief in the shadow, and I have conquered it in the manner of the foulest menace, and I have torn down the great gate with my flaming breath, which all Dwarves know well and deem grievous death.

Walküre:
I think not, at all


I think not, at all,
To behold the ruin of the world as a whole,
Albeit grief and loss, we also fight back and do not always mourn,
May you be ready to gaze at us, when swords are to be drawn.

Rows and lines of shields and blades,
Now shall they set the course of history in motion, our ends and fates,
For we love the clear truth and forswear the lie,
Wind, carry our pride swift and bolt-like, as we are willing to serve light and maybe die.

Walküre:
We could not


We could not, we just could not do without your glory and might,
The radiance of the origin, guided by conscience that is ever-wise and right,
Nay, not without your power and vital force which all nourishes and makes grow, not without the sacred light,
Warmth that comforts and kindles, brightness, never pale, which any cloud pierces and not seldom salutes of birds the delicate flight.

Walküre:
Master of iron, ore, jewel and stone


Blessed hands of thine, thou wast miracle and fountain of joy for all of thy kind,
A grand realm beneath the shadows of peaks of fog thou hast created,
Lit and home of splendour whose very soul in words may not be told,
Smith who dwelleth in legends, thou art so,
Sham was the advice that thy ears hearkened to, in goodwill and yearning of crafting,
Thy people knew much of the riddles entombed and into the earth concealed,
Ruled by the finest of craftsmen, master of iron, ore, jewel and stone,
Sorrowful divination read that those deeds their ruthless end would meet, one day, and it was then true and very exact of a tale, once the gruesome Lord broke the Smith's domain asunder, to get back of chaos the main flame.


'Flame' indicates the main cause of the havoc that spread afterwards. The wicked flame which had originated the entire dispute, destined to torment the ways of reality for centuries ahead still: the known and feared Rings of Power.

Walküre:
Voyaging through empty spaces and horizons with no end


The Emperor of the blue finds much sport and pleasure, in the midst of his creatures beneath the sea and immersed in the water he so proudly commands,
The Smith labours without pause or rest, unto the completion of his work, when his very thoughts have shaped and fashioned even the hardest rock,
She, who gives fruit and grows golden wheat, treads the green paths of your reign, laughing at the intense Sun and gazing at the immense plain,
You, Queen of radiance, always set your eyes afar and unexplored distances stare at, yet not ever-still you remain, for the sole of your kind you are that may rise above the air of the sky, voyaging through empty spaces and horizons with no end, where you kindle your stars and that darkness lit you partly make.

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