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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Tell me your name and I shall give you mine


Captain of valour, tell me your name and I shall give you mine,
You ride without clear direction and wander with no purpose you might, brave knight and fine,
Outlawed were you and of your title deprived, yet your monarch is to need your blade and lance in the gathering of night,
Thither shall you come, in the advancing of ruin, guided by the envoy of rule and light.

Walküre:
Dominions of old


The Mariners had great profit and luck, from their strongholds on the continental shore,
Bases that served well, for trade and their spreading of power all along the mortal ways,
Great harbours and ports, shelter for innumerable quantity of ship-craft,
Firm anchor in a world growing unrest and the flame of war, for those were the merriest days of whom used to dwell between the two worlds, neither menaced by pending peril nor completely within the beatitude of never-ending bliss.


The last verse refers to the special condition of Númenor during the dawn of its empire. They had been granted by the Powers a whole new island to reside in, away from the troubles of Middle-earth, closer to the eternal joy of Aman that Men could only gaze at from afar, being them forbidden to pass across the immortal waters. And it is this in-between nature of this realm, placed in more fortunate spaces than the common tribulation of the continent, albeit it being bound to the same ban from the West, that prepared the ground for the infamous rebellion of a one-time glorious lineage of kings.

Walküre:
Reflected on his shield


Broken shields and raided lands,
He guides the hope and every heart mends,
With the courage of the ancient court, in the main,
It seems that amidst troubles his existence has ever lain,
A crown apt for leading those willing to fight,
A sure trust, as the Eagles go past the horizon in their flight,
On him depends the fortune of this broad world,
Approaching is the conflict that future is to mould,
The High King must rise in glory and his dreadful lance wield,
Bearer of starlight, a vessel of hers, whose true radiance was reflected on his vast shield.

Walküre:
Bound to grief


Shall we rest bound to grief unto the end of the tale?
Will we act for good and feel no shame?
Silent before injustice we cannot remain,
Otherwise, should all turn ill, who is to defend our own domain?

People of the heath, calm your fear and hear,
We want to preserve our merry life and feasting, made joyful by beer,
Aye, to ride in the company of our king we were bidden,
And woeful will be the fate of the foes, who are to regret the battle and be smitten.

Walküre:
Wrath, asleep and hidden


Boiling anger and strong sentiment are growing more ardent under the trees,
Among the green path of such old woods, bearing remembrances of a world that is no more,
Ancient souls and silent mood, for too long has the forest witnessed the ruin coming from outer places and new, as all turned modern and grey, except for lone shrines that keep the flame alive,
The broad forest is one of those treasures and in its core powerful intelligence dwells, likely to wake and react in wrath in front of the misery of current days.

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