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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Lost in the summer


Lost in summer, as birds begin their morning chanting,
They must be singing warm days ahead,
Much in common we have,
With nature and such spirited mood,
Here, in the sunny Shire,
Naught comes of ill sort which could disturb the conducting of merry life,
Troubles we fain leave to the outer world,
We like neither queer guests nor woes,
We prefer the harvesting of our labour,
And the sweet taste of midnight drinking in the tavern, among friends and love.

Walküre:
Heart of paradise


Heart of paradise,
Speech might not be enough,
For one to realise,
The splendour, beyond the peaks rough.

Walls which defend a treasure,
The Supreme City of Arda, Valmar of many bells, by marvel raised,
No way could mortal tongue give a measure,
Of the residence of the Archangels, ever-holy and praised.


'Marvel', regarding this precise context, ought to be considered as a synonym of 'magic'. Especially, speaking about the power of the Valar, all High Elves worship the might of the Powers and their prodigious creations, in awe and fear equally, as they're perfectly aware that this incredible force rules and governs stone, water, wood and marble; none may oppose them, lest one be to face the consequences of crimes. 'Magic' is commonly used with a derogatory connotation, referencing the corrupted arts of the Evil.

Walküre:
The dry South


Drought and sand,
Strange folks, perilous land,
This shall one find, in the dry South,
Akin to those tales, spread via paper or mouth.

Walküre:
Banned


Banned you are and so your kindred knights,
That you lead to the battlefield in the manner of a king,
King you are not, for he himself decided to do without your service,
Long will you wander now, with the company of none but those paying attention to your order.

The king has a new ally, whom he may trust with no risk,
A wise friend, renowned and worthy of praise,
Who wishes only well-boding future for the heath in your government, my liege,
He dwells in the ring of Isengard and always do his spells avail his goal.

Walküre:
A good lay


What makes a good lay,
Be these words advice of wisdom,
For the future teller,
Minstrel who sings glorious poems,
Deeds of might, which kings love and all enjoy,
To remember the days of old,
When the earth was different,
The Immortals may not age and suffer the misery of disease,
Yet, centuries make for a heavy burden to bear,
As days seem to get shorter and the world dimmer than previous dawns.

The Elven manner is legend and renowned craft,
Born in these shores that do not know withering,
Far from sorrow, next to the homes of the Angels,
There, tongues became acquainted to verses,
Apt for shaping words,
And for mingling phrases in elaborate order,
Sealed by the ancient power of the sacred language,
Holy legacy and monument of science,
They still speak it,
Across the wavering fields of the blue.

The exiled has brought the art hither,
In the lands of suffering,
Where many more troubles may be sung,
Many more wars of terrible sort,
More characters worthy of note,
Numerous foes and foulest of all,
More heroes whom poetic parlance dignifies,
Horrible clashes before walls and towers,
For the sake of a good that given up cannot be,
When ill weather comes and spoils the rays of the Sun.

Courage and strife make a good lay,
And even sacrifice and buoyancy that cowards fall short of,
Valiant blades are wielded and cut apart,
They wound and slay, tearing enemies into pieces,
Blood and gore, which both stain one-time radiant soil,
The malice of the opponent, scheming plans, unnoticed,
The cruel fate, which very little cares about one's mind,
The same fate might meander and course change,
For the ruin of impious lords,
Unto final victory, getting the brave what he deserves, while for the wicked there is much bad to befall.

May your hand be guided by that,
You should mock the fashion of past times,
To pay homage to glory,
Reminiscing the fair things of the globe,
We need beauty and splendour,
So that mere hearts may be taught well,
So that valuable memories are not forgotten,
For they are precious treasure,
Ignore envious ones, for your path they might hinder, but never halt,
Words were the greatest gift from above: be sure to use them well and light to honour.

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