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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Born among mere roots


Indeed, folks speak of swift rangers,
Abroad, so distant and far,
Further and further, where the Sun rises,
Unto the East, deep and so much strange,
Which sort of beasts might wander there, I ask?
Creatures of tales, we assume,
Which we dread and want not,
Within the wooden fence of a Hobbit-home,
So, those are lands of the dawn,
Blessed by the first rays of the morning.

Sleep-less nights they must suffer,
Over there, I think and wonder,
For of perils such murmurs are full,
But also of gallant courage,
Spirit of old, so rare,
Ideals that fight foes and the bad keep at bay,
Having defences of hard stone,
And marble, magnificent and resilient as those who had raised the stronghold,
Bloodline of note, surely,
What would one of our people have to do with kings and lords?

Akin kind to the dwellers of the old North,
Now wasted and bare,
From which salvation is to come anew,
In the words of prophecies,
That we may sometimes hear,
Told perhaps by queer travellers who visit the earldom,
The merry Shire of ours,
Envy and pride for us,
Apart from grief and woe,
And very little would we make good usage of bows and swords.

Despite the hatred of some lots,
We still dwell in peace,
Safe and sound,
Buoyant and happy,
Being our ways clear from threats,
Nay, very few dare bring havoc or worries here,
Some have seen silent guards patrol the entrance to our land,
Invisible help, not requested nor known,
Rangers of the forest, used to adversity and vigilant nights,
Among whom a leader must have born, in the midst of hurry and roots.

Walküre:
Sayings of Stars (IV)


Antique eras, when the ways of space you made lit,
Fountains of radiance, that nourish hope and in the firmament fit,
Your Majesty, clear from sin, pure will of goodness and infinite wit,
To our pleas you hearken, preserving justice, for the King and Queen atop the heavens together sit.

Walküre:
Crimson jewel


Ring of ardent valour,
Crimson jewel, of fiery colour,
One of the Three that avoided the touch of the cursed hand,
It kindles the heart of captives, to undo snares and bold stand.

Kept by the guardian of the Havens, watching over the route of the sea,
Which immortal beings take, as twilight approaches, to live free,
You shall serve well, on the finger of the Grey Pilgrim, bound to wander,
He was bidden to wake the asleep conscience and throughout the world meander.

Walküre:
Ocean of tears


Let the Angels weep,
Let them pity the fate of things,
One they had foreseen,
Prior to time and matter,
Holy choir of forever,
The Plan was not to be all joy and jubilation,
Primeval hatred followed the divine kind unto the remote vastness of Eä,
Much they had to battle,
For evil deities sought to mar the ancient symmetry,
Mighty Powers, your enchanted isle in the lake was set on fire, and the Two Lamps fell, bringing havoc and ruin.

Let the Firstborns despair,
Mourning demise and loss,
Ever-present desire of bliss,
Within solid walls and sound doors,
In which the flower of their splendour may blossom and grow,
Many had marched to reach the lost light,
Of the Two Trees of Valinor, splendid memory of tales,
Yet, doom dwelt within the lit kingdom of the Lords,
Discord was born, blood stained the paths of Aman and a fine court elected exile,
Finding cold shelter on the shores of Beleriand, country of sorrow and legend.

Let Men grieve their wounds,
Unjust malice inflicted had been,
Upon the feeble, vulnerable race,
Suffering illness, harshness and death,
Unknown destiny, which is in truth a gift,
Often misunderstood, alas, viewed as punishment and bane,
It is freedom, however,
Leading mortal souls beyond the gate of the universe,
Freeing them from the burden of an immortal life,
Which all drains and renders weary, be it noble Eldar or immaculate Ainur.

Walküre:
Lost keep


How has the kingdom lost his keep?
Of its broad shires, not governed by fist nor whip,
Hazard festers soon and swift, endangering the throne,
Of monarchs of old, leaving the tower solitary and lone.

The finest kind of Men had sworn,
To bar the coming of darkness, which all makes dim and forlorn,
Raising stone and impeccable marble,
For everyone to recall such power, in tale and fable.

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