Edain 4.7.2 veröffentlicht! / Edain 4.7.2 released!
He stayed and governed well,For every eve and morn which calls the bell,At the dawn of the Hobbit's day,The sun soars quiet, merry and gay.A friend he'd lost about a shore,In the grey haven of ancient lore,Sailed beside the mighty ones,The world's shield and piercing lance.Thus bade the unlucky bearer farewell,Nought was left to fight back or quell,Sam had found the way again,Returning to true love, then.Renowned and admired by his gentle folk,Among joys and fun he ever woke,Simple abiding in the common Shire,Chatting and joking before the hearth-fire.As mayor they chose him, until the sunset of his life,Unto the hour of parting from home and wife,Travelling to the decayed bygone port,Where a vessel was sent, for him, from distant kingdoms of holy sort.
Might is magic,Tomorrow foretokens tragic,A new day has risen,The hour of a ruthless queen, unforgiven.A mistress of storms and loud sea,Of tides and waves which irate shall be,Commanding gales and ruling tempest,Supreme and high for every fate's test.Obey and surrender!Pledge allegiance and gaze yonderWhere the potent lady reigns,Giver of prodigy or grievous banes.Mayhem bestirs anew across the world,A tribute she demands, and not of gold,That every king bow and fall at her feet,Beseeching mercy and gentile wit.Lest the earth be cracked open,Shattered and quaked much often,Lest grand hosts turned their back,Revering the enchantress and her miraculous luck.
Sword and blade to keep at bay,The uproar of chaos and evil say,Lament and pity for the common,Fears conjure storm and hatred summon.The Steward wants not ill at the border,Wishing but calm and watchful order,Fortunes of thither he cares not about,Hostage of grudge and doubt.Stone and marble need a man of wit,Guarding the sentry, though on the vacant throne he cannot sit,Scorned by scorching desire,Longing for deeds which peasants would ever admire.The white wall must pass the test,Last true bastion of the ailing West,Never has worrying been much wrong,For one who's been seeking right for long.
So shall I tell you what was of late,A worried crown that fell asleep,Walls were built and closed the gate.Kings began the past to weep,Rapid rose then a dreary morning,On Gondor, stirring inside hearts deep.Was that a fate's warning?That tales well would not fare?For often ominous is the yearning.The longing for gold to wear,For jubilant triumph to seek,What sires only could bear.Grave seems the future to the weak,Beholder of misery and woe,Rendering men mild and meek.As the realm would reach its low,For too long by troubles bent,Giving in to grim fable and foe.Luck dwindled and away went,Sages divined and doom foresaw,Mighty lords wished fain to repent.Slowly much weary got law,Fathers held kin no more dear,Dark was everyday nearer to draw.The king forswore shield and spear,Locked in his high bedimmed tower,Interrogating stars as does the seer.Thus grew fine wine sour,Heraldry over love was chosen,Tombs were made richer, as the sad sovereign was to cower.
Nay, little friend of mine,The White Wizard cares not for old oaks or tall pine,Not about soft grass nor vine,On raw meat and coal he's now to dine.Secluded in his black tower,The soil of Isengard is no home to flower,Just dense fumes clouding reason;The very scent of treason.A sorcerer without judgement,A slayer of wood's merriment,A poem ended bad,A wise driven mad.Heavens, spare this greenwood,Its shepherds ever-firm stood,To look after trees;The forest ails, now, on her knees.His thought is adamant steel,His mind a turning wheel,Tainted was his pure white,To darkness turned his dim light.
That one, that lad,Travels love he must,Roaming around as mad.Big feet and fast,Ships shall ever leave the port,Mind which knows and rests aghast.Voyager of strange sort,Gold is not what in cellars lies,Adventures and much sport.Time passes and flies,Valour is wealth and very rare;A kingly friend he cries.Grief to live through and bear,The monarch's grave is altar,Whither Bilbo's thoughts ever fare.
Let us sing together jest and ode,That shall bring luck and well bode,To us and our daily labourAnd to its seemingly bitter savour.It is not doubt what the industrious Hobbit halts,Not mistakes or personal faults,Garden needs the tending of a wise;To present itself nicely in better guise.The half-man will staunch resist,To persevere and persist,The little carries tolls and sorrowsWhich many couldn't in next tomorrows.Bad ones, we shall not retreat, though we dwindle,Our souls with desire we won't mingle,Beauty is merry people and the fruit of earth,What of life living is so worth.
The first flaring burst of light,How verily wondrous a sight,In times not known to any manSoared the flames of the young sun;They drove the foul away,They kept the creeping ghoul at bay.The Vile Emperor sat on his bone-throne in doubt,Feasting on the unlucky that came about,Too much close to the Black King's domain,The ancient North was all victim of such heartless reign."Now shalt thou voyage the sky,Beaming radiance whereto woes lie."Thus uttered Varda her solemn decree,For mortal lands craved vivid hope to seeAnd to gaze at the former golden rays,Spread from the Tree of deathless ways,Piercing a long night of dread,Spearing fear, eastwards to head;Dawn has lit a soil of grief,Warmth that nourishes seed and leaf.
Outer tongues speak of a lurking threat,Calamity which greed and riches beget,Nay, not of the Lonely Mountain we tell ruin,Some worse, one fouler undoing.Into the web of the deep mines,Underneath rock and pines,Silent halls lie bare,Without honour and friendly flare.There's in truth a hidden flameThat none may govern or even tame,A blast of fury in the void,Dark that renders all alloyed.It's the Bane of the King,Few jesters might ever singHow doom was brought inside,Whence death would so spread wide.Strange things occur within,The torch gets dimmer and thin,As hope abandons the unlucky dwelling,Grim character of little telling.
The passing of winter and ice,Bidding salute to chilling long nights,Awaiting spring to blossom anew,Through the merry Shire, kissed by morning dew.We wish cold went for goodAnd left the little Hobbit food,Harsh winter wounds and bendsWho tills the ground and his labour lends.Sun shall soon get high,Soaring mighty across the sky,Waking minds and spirited songs,Curing grudge and fixing wrongs.Then shall people be fine again,Inside their place, unknown to Men,Abiding calm in peace,Home the sane won't ever miss.
Praise to the fine king,Magnificent lord and courageous sire,He pardoned foes after the clash for the Ring,War he stopped and placated fire.Orcs were gone, routed away,The enemy was also of other kind,Still were wicked men to keep at bayAnd a suffered peace to find.The new monarch elected wisdom,Forgoing vengeance and pain,So prospered the marble-kingdomAnd all accepted fain.Elessar, your heart commanded grace,Mercy found the best shelter,Goodness impressed on your grave face,And Gondor was thereby not to falter.Forgiven and let go,Evil ones took the path to the East,Whither suns head to die and glow,Far lands, yet farther from least.
Farmers, nothing more to throw on the field,Yeomen, apt for sickle and not for blade,Peasants shall sword and pike wield,Lest the realm vanish and fade.Aye, the bald meadows of the kingSeek one to hail and sing,As potent sire of horse;Ere befalls us the worse.Nay, the stranger ought not to sneerOr foretell troubles as fey seer,For squires before woes stand tall,Needing neither tower nor wall.Farmers already battle plagues and cold,Drought, famine, and ill twofold,Commoners cry their kin in warAnd little of the mere is sung in lore.Amidst straw and hay,Round cattle and flower,Shall Rohan shine of sun's rayAnd find her rider.
Into the Realm of MarvelDwelleth one grand hero of novel,Of saga and olden lay,Akin to those that fiends slay.Founding father and king,Highest among the FairAnd of the Eldar behind the ring,The ring of mounts none violate dare.Hail the dearest to the Lord!To the master of air and sword,The archangel sitting on adamant throne,Who love and piety in subjects ever hath sown.Golden locks and sun-stare,Beneath stars awoken,Upon winged steeds, all skies to fare,To him the Power's trust is greatest token.Betwixt lit West and wild East,He passed the sea to face the beast,Voyaging whither crimes beget sorrowAnd death that impious staineth morrow.
That's the secret stair!Above wicked and far from fair,Far from knights and bells,Horror, they say, inside dwells.Into a net of snaresAnd overly dark lairs,Up, near the entrance to the passThat none dare approach thus.A hidden path to avoid guard,Under a silent sky,Journey does portend hazardAnd a big dastardly lie.No faithful guide shall ever adviseTo test luck for renown and fame,Foolish, grave and unwise,Unless sure victory is aim.The road takes within,There live cruel and mean,Dust and poisonous fumes,Pits, gaols and horrid rooms.
A lesser keeper of MenWho little may and can,So was the valiant deemedBy the father that such never seemed.One caring and tender soul,Preferring wood tent over wall,Patrolling the forest every eve and morrow,Hiding swift in bush, cave and aught else hollow.Weak he's not at all;Steward, blindness is coldness and downfallOf a throne lying empty,Of one too much hungry or thirsty.Aye, your son deserved better,The loyal vigil belongs to servant and not plotter,Alas, too late was the fault known,Himself the lord to flames has thrown.The lesser appeared then fineAnd worthy of honour and king's dine,Bespoken foul in life,Now beside brave and strong wife.