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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Sayings of Stars (V)


Upon the undying peak, high above,
Above the other heights of Arda, seat of unceasing love,
There, among solemn chanting and songs, have the Valar a grand feast,
Inside the halls of the Two Monarchs, amidst pure mist.

So close to the firmament, testimony of joy,
And of immense power, contrasting the void,
Elves, kings, lords and Angels of the holy People, the finest guest,
To share vision of their Queen, whom most they revere and deem best.

Walküre:
How long shall the fortress hold?


How long shall the fortress hold?
How long will we keep the passage barred?
Hard marble fears not blade and spear,
Though, soul is a stronghold too,
One which may decide our fate,
One that shelters and harbours the ardent spirits of valour,
Often, to our profound dismay, defence might be breached,
Honour may fail, crushed by terror and relentless hatred,
Whose real nature we cannot seem to grasp,
For evil schemes are ill product of akin minds, lost and hopeless.

How long shall we keep the gate secure?
The city must not fall,
Temple of towers and pompous mansions,
A brave shield, wielded at wit's end, might not be enough,
Swift darts might not avail,
Should devils come upon fell wings,
The door might be undone, should monsters seek to tear it down,
Our leadership might flinch before the ultimate doom,
Pushed to the maze of madness,
Incapable of discerning friends from foes.

Walküre:
Thank you, strange amicable chap


I thank you, strange amicable chap,
You, who walk the paths of the world and your words in riddles wrap,
Very fond you've grown of our green Shire,
All rejoice at your coming, as though you bore the warmest fire.

Old traveller, your grey robes are ever welcome to see,
As we're all content with joyful living, quiet and free,
Old friend, folks speak great praises, dabbling you in magic,
Thank you for having brought me in one of your adventures, coloured by hues merry and tragic.

Walküre:
Fallen, yet saved


Fallen, thou wast,
Overcome by fire and bitter frost,
Battling against evilness beyond measure,
Once the City of Legends had been raided and deprived from treasure.

The Dark Lord was not to prevail,
For some fled through hidden paths, in future times the Good's fate to avail,
The Child of Hope by thee hath been rescued, as the way was safely paved,
If not for a flaming demon, dragging thy ruin to the void, fallen, yet by the mercy of Valinor saved.

Walküre:
What about the great South, my friend?


Ill-fated story you told, my lad,
About that northern mansion,
Near ice and shadow,
Built before our modern days,
Splendour of a past we cannot grasp, I fear,
Well, the merry Hobbit need not despair,
For Men are difficult to vanish and renounce their legacy,
Behind the mighty walls they have raised,
Still, they cope with time as we do too,
Trying to find meanings and pursue joy.

Only, very little is it known,
Of how well they fare,
Down under, next to the unknown,
Abroad, I say, whither no sane Hobbit should go,
Adventure it is not, methinks,
Where peril dwells, along with strange folks,
Rumour has it that Gondor all rules in its government,
Guardians of towers and mariners across the vast bay,
Gallantly they always fight, I presume,
And such sires must surely have tales for lesser people, the likes of which we rejoice at, whilst tasting our salted meat.

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