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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
In the name of the maiden


In the name of the maiden,
Fair as a pale morning of winter,
Used to harsh life and sorrow,
At the court of a decaying rule,
Serving a king burdened by magic,
In the grave hour of mayhem,
Ajar is the door, for woes to come,
Shall she draw her sword and fight?
Courage she never fell short of,
Hazard she faces directly and with no remorse.

Three heroes came to her royal home,
Guided by a wizard, white as clear snow,
Willing to free the monarch from the yoke,
So that Rohan had one last chance,
To withstand the oncoming storm,
Before it was too late to act,
For the common good and sake,
She was there, to comfort the fearful ones,
Expecting death to be near,
After the walls of the Deep were torn apart.

Nay, her realm asunder was not mauled,
For light broke through the rain and signalled that victory was theirs,
The vicious enemy lost,
Along with his fume-choked mansion,
Cleansed by furious roots and raging water,
The Horse Lords could then breathe fresh air and take a sigh of relief,
Partying for the triumph and honouring those who no longer were,
Yet, the tale was not to end that way,
When the marble-realm asked for the aid of the fast riders of the heath,
Surrounded by horrid devils and risking ruin.

You, maiden, rode and did go thither,
Whither the decent would have headed too,
Disobeying the command of the king,
For a just cause,
Before the gates of the City, of incredible deeds you were author,
To battle in the name of good and kind-hearted valour,
Agony you went through and unspeakable pain,
Necessary was that evil, though, in order to succeed,
A ghoulish lord of wraiths was vanquished and parted from his miserable robes,
Even in the dreary day, you never have failed.

Walküre:
We shall reach thy light


Thee we think about and honour,
Towards the western gales we set the colour,
Of the vessel which passeth the sea,
Heading to the westernmost West, we,
Our queen, are set to journey before the morning,
We leave back a weary world, and thus we followed thy warning,
That Immortals will find it harder,
Amidst decay, gloomy days and murder,
For the Black Heart of night is ever awake,
To hold dominion of love, raid and the bastions of noble realms to quake.

Varda, fairest vision of all, thou dost prodigy and miracle that in centuries is to be told.

Walküre:
200 lives of Men


For 200 lives of Men, I wandered and voyaged across this scattered land,
With many names they hail me,
Only a couple of them are really known,
It began on the shores of the western coast,
Where a great power still lingers, to the most unbeknownst,
Setting foot on a continent that was in dire need,
Of help, of outer aid, lest the hour were made grave,
Appointed to a mission of imperative importance,
For the Evil had to be countered in proper manners,
But not via direct clash, in confrontation of sheer magic.

The utmost decree forbade that,
As the Good should find its own strength,
And so the emissaries of light were more guides, rather than mighty lords,
Fond of giving advice to whom was apt to care,
Instead of ruling via the menace of a blade,
Or the usage of our great skills to sway people towards our side,
We are better into guarding the edges of this world,
Giving words of wisdom to the ones in worrying trouble,
Deemed weak and old, our bodies do not suffer toil as the common man,
And we age not as well, being busy with the grandest duty.

At my coming,
Peace there was not,
Albeit the Enemy having been placated,
Malicious seeds had been sown,
To prepare the return of shadow,
Where merriment should have been secured,
But wicked cold came,
And thick ice and snow,
Alongside unrest from the furthest South,
Signs that it was to bode ill, and the door open to fear again would be.

Walküre:
You shall not

You shall not cover the bright,
What is holy and bathes in light,
Through a disgraceful path shall you carry your flesh,
With no time to repent or rest,
Pity you have lost the right to be given,
Due to woe that was your deed, due to the shadow arisen,
You are to tread the ways of hatred, caught by doubt and fear,
Stirring ignominious thoughts, making usage of sham parlance or smear,
Fallen among our mighty kind,
Your iniquity shall be wise words and noble lays, to rekindle hearts to justice and teach the mind.

Walküre:
The wailing mother


I behold the earth and cry,
Arda and its treasures,
No measure of common sort,
It was the home of all,
Crafted and thought, afar and out of the Void,
To be the harbour of joy,
This they had gladly envisaged,
The singing ranks of Angels,
Before the One, Keeper of the Flame,
Which everyone has and none may claim.

She resembles a wailing mother,
Mourning the ill-fated course of events,
That led to grief and remorse,
A symmetry, then lost,
A perfect order, destined to sink,
In the ocean of sorrow,
The Children would not find a warm shelter,
To welcome their coming into being,
Only the night of darkness,
Eased by lamps of hope, raised in love and potency.

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