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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Lest the bad could prevail


Lest the bad could prevail,
That would have been of no avail,
It was imperative to decree,
When possible it was to foresee,
To bring warmth where is cold,
To aid gallant heroes in tales of old,
Never did you your blessing withdraw,
Not even as destiny showed its darker side and raw.

Walküre:
Hold on to me


Tiny friend, we shall meet hell,
Wary I am about the outcome of such ride,
Yet, ride we will,
For our king and heath of love,
And wicked iron shall crumble beneath our charging,
Do not worry for me,
I was not to love whom I really want,
His heart is already someone else's fortress,
Now, let us lead the rumbling hoofs of Rohan thither,
Before the white marble of Gondor, in which doom awaits us, so that the ardour of our passion may be appeased.

Walküre:
No, we may not


No, we may not leave the city,
I know you dread the oncoming storm, bearer of dreary mood and pity,
We shall hail the challenge and cast the gauntlet,
Glory we shall wake and defence is not to be some forfeit.

Walküre:
Great party


We hope he shall come back, one day,
Too sudden did he part from his wooden home,
Hearth and comfortable shelter,
He went on an adventure,
They say, accompanied by some unusual lot,
And in much hurry, if I have to say,
Following the path of a strange wanderer,
Point-shaped hat and composure of other times,
None knows him, nor is it known from whence he may have arrived,
Quite inquisitive yet ever-courteous,
We hope he's not here for trouble,
Though some things,
He did move!
To convince a staunch Hobbit to take the leave,
In the direction of unknown quests,
He's a sound Hobbit, after all,
Sad we would be, were the traveller to meet harm,
He's good enough, smart and brave,
Our people are of the gentlest sort, used to merriment and not to woe,
And, at his return, may he have stupendous party with his friends.

Walküre:
The coming of night


Night came with our surprise,
Aware we were not, nor wise,
That clouds might menace future,
That shadows would creep out again, for the scouring of nature.

The wiseman has spoken,
It has been found, what was always of doom the token,
Such hand which took it, the worst burden to carry,
The Good woken must be, hurry!

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