Edain 4.7.2 veröffentlicht! / Edain 4.7.2 released!
Let us sing and tellOf wet gully and misty dellInside the very aged wood,Scaring stranger and unsettling mood.Be wary of thick reeds!Malice has sown grudge and ill seeds.Trees murmur and scheme,Plotting mischief we gravely deem.Beware of the devious willow!Whose mal-advised words they followThose lacking enough wit,Falling easy prey of deceit.He's master of wailing tune by the moor,So fancies he the unwary to lureAnd trap tight beneath his root,Enthralling beast and hairy foot.One sole he fearsAnd thus with lies smears;One who was afore,Ere legends became lore.
Far yonder, past wood and greenLie the great harbours, for most unseen;A guardian ever keeps the shore secure,To evil shut remains the door.An olden sire of bygone days,As old as shires we tell in lays.His eyes are spears piercing through,He held shield and sword drew.He fought once to save a bayAnd strived hard to bar the wayTo ancient demons headed south,Of prayer and pleas was full his mouth.The aid of waters he was oft to invoke,Summoning spirits who tempest woke.His bond with angels had wonders wrought,Antique ship-craft he had been taught.Versed in sea-lore, thereafter he thus awaitsThe end of brave deeds and sharp blades,Until he's well and fine to partFrom dull mortal coast, that always was his heart.
Mind the outer routeEither upon beast or on foot,Taking you far awayTo shires of long forgotten say.Beware of northern winds,Straying travellers with furious wingsOf gale and gut in utter manner,Stirring amok the Ruined Kingdom's banner.If you be due south,Hush for once and stay your mouth,For austral folks are easy to angerAmidst scourging heat and recurrent danger.The uncanny East you must avoid,Lest any good be alloyedBy malice reigning on shadow,Where grows no garden or meadow.By turning west shall you find reliefFrom swiftly-encroaching grief.Some even voyage yonder, passing the sea,To seek perpetual bliss and glee.
Behind the girdle of my spellShall your company rest well;Inside the golden mirthful woodOne finds plenty of joy and food.The Ring-bearer I welcome glad,For it is no grim time or sad.Sojourning here is to renewMinds and forces, grown worried and few.ELVEN CHOIR: "Hark careful, dear guest!Worse climes your faith shall test.Within the miraculous Lady's shieldNo stain is ever upon our saint-field."Gentle Hobbit, I will a gift to bestow,As foul events run and flowFor the utter ruin of the Free FolkWhom I cannot safeguard nor cloak.Receive thus this Light of mine,Which serves the gallant, pious and fine.May it be hope in haunted fort or dreary cave,As mariners rely on their vessel amid tempestuous wave.
From within cold wicked stoneFell winds had stormed and blownA languishing kingdom of old,Eventually betrayed twofold.Time had run so lateTo mend faults and revert fate;Discord was sudden to spreadAlong with deep fright and dread.Inside the hills evil awoke,It struck rapid and peace broke.Horrid host of fiends and ghouls,As grand rulers were played for fools.Commanded by some vicious ghostThat death and chaos yearned the most,Master of dark ancient arts,And hail would pour in nasty darts.Cults and witchcraft became dreadful plague,Until winter undid resistance and froze the flag.Then, all was done and lost,Plunged into misery and frost.
Reborn and back am I!As woe betides and doom gets nigh.Clothed anew with flesh and guise,To aid the strayed and dispel lies.Behold the new head of the Order,Bound eastward, past the border;An ailing shire awaits comfortFrom vile spirits that truth distort.A potent staff shall serve me wellBy conjuring marvel and spell,For any foe to fearAnd amok quickly rear.Hurry, I must fly swift across griefsPassing anguish, pains and wrong beliefs.If I succeed, a weary king shall rise againTo slay the wolf in his very den.If I be to fail,Squires will fate bewailAnd kneel before a crownMade of skulls and flames, far deep down.
Next to looming nightLie shires of might,Domain of stone and oreWe sing in tale and folk-lore.Stronghold of glory,Now worn and weary;Ailing in declineIn wait for decisive sign.Near the poisonous dellThey border dark and hell.There, where billowing ashes choke,Hatred stirred and then awoke.Wraiths infest and hauntThe City foes shall never daunt;Avoid the path leading east,In the midst of lesser and least.Pray, the White Tree is not to wither,Now and on, here and hither.Across the peak a friend will answerWhen shadows crawl and grow much denser.
Woeful is the tale,Her they often wailWhere merriment and joy reignAnd no ghost has ever lain.The Elven maid they mourn,Drained by malice and life-worn.The wrong way she had chosenWhile crossing heights, sharp and frozen.Fallen prey of pernicious captorThat much desired to harm the sceptreHeld in the Vale of Wonder,Which no assailant will raid asunder.Slain the fiend and saved the dameWho got psalms and sombre fame,For her love she had to leave,Bound to weep and sorrow grieve.Perhaps, beyond the seas she might heal,Where never stops the wheelOf Eä's fateful lore,Drawn venom and passed the door.
Left the homely hut and rich meal,Now with arduous journey shall you deal.Master Tom commands water, trees and hill,Boundless in allegiance and will.However, you're soon to pass the plainAnd green meadow winding up the lane;Out of his broad shire, Tom's voice shall not reach,To save from dusk-wight and chilling screech.Past the happy landIs no well-wishing handThat'll greet your brave task,Were you for aid ask.Hearken to wise word and bewareOf the Enemy's serf and his snare.Spies watch and peer at foreign news,Be it country, mountain or marine blues.Entrust the worthy with faithAnd avoid deceitful wraith;In doubt and agony, gaze at the lamps lying above,Lit by holy might, with hope and love.
Nasty Orcs inhabiting pitFind themselves wellWhere raging fire is ever-litAlong the cursed shadowy dell.There, under the endless gazeOf the Lidless Eye,Wreathed in flames and haze,Sign of omen and lie.Horrors come and goOnto the realms of dark,Patrolled by pike and bowWhich flesh maim and mark.Ire stirs within the Mount,Whose leaks burn and taintBeyond reckon and count,Rendering skies faint.No dainty thingBrings such beacon of wicked,Behind the dreary peak's ringIs naught pious or sacred.
Another forest grows in wild,Resting quiet and much mildAbout the southern mountain's end,Whereto streams climb and bend.Neighbouring hard stone-walls,The old tree hums and callsFor light rain to pourOver lively green and dry moor.Bounded by black mighty house,Whence is the wizard fain storm to rouse,Atop the highest pinnacle of his tower,Conjuring nature's wrath and foul power.Rage too bestirs the dull ancient woodAs sole ignoble doing ever could;Peace was sudden to be brokenAnd thenceforth ill events foretoken.Vile witch, know that greater forces wakeFor willow's, oak's and alder's sake.A potent mind arose in furyTurning reeds dark and dreary.
Watchful stands the wiseEven after grave demiseOf the one-time bogey-sire,Servant of the Night and devil-fire.Menaces are gone and passed,Years come and longer lastWhen war trumpets stayAnd yeomen tend their precious hay.Mind, Three Treasures for order allow,Borne by whom were then to vowTo guard the fortunes of the age,Be it deathless Elf or noble mage.Russet is a gem of hopeGlimmering bright across town and slope.It kindles valour in hearts grown cold,Waiting for new troubles to unfold.Other two jewels we count,Which wide unrest surmount.Mayhem they halt and ceaseFulfilling prayers and heartfelt pleas.
There is not just blissful taleWhither Elves head and sailTo defy the wearying of time,Singing pains in rueful rhyme.Across the horizon lieLit shires where nought will die,For upon beauty is no stainAnd fabled green is not to wane.But peril dwells in the Ever-Fair,If one is fool the Throne to dare;Uncanny ways some have trodden,With hatred laden and so grudge-ridden.Out of the mighty mountains,Shielding gardens and holy fountains,Southern paths were seat of horrorLaying the dreary shore with terror.Boreal passages in the NorthThe sole Hunter could bear with horse and girth;Ice and cold that grind and freeze,Tormenting wastes with chilling breeze.
Amid sick leaves, above rocks,The gentle fowl glides and flocksWithout knowing of the kingdomRuled in secrecy with wisdom.Wise is not the woodland ElfAnd with doubt plies his wary self;Not as such as his western kin,Banished once because of sin.A feral spirit is said to abideWhither knights may not ride,Along the intricacy of trees,Within the realm of deer and bees.The king decrees under forest-stoneTo endure disgrace alone,For one-hundred years are but an eye-blinkTo Immortals of whom we so bethink.Pray, may the murky reeds recover!May the tender robin again hoverAmok and meandering green bows,Awaiting plenty of berries and sloes.
Those are folks of wild roadElecting rustic a fair load,Covered tightly in their hoods,To watch over lanes and gloomy woods.Poor shape might tell wrongOf why they walk the world so long,Bearing such toil and strife,Yet gifted with strength and lasting life.Soiled ways are not their home,But rather palace and marble-dome.Fine descent on mortal shores,Withstanding plight and bloody wars.Their king had chosen faithAgainst foul rites and wraithLooming high on western heights,Portending ill in the heat of fights.A fleet parted, bound to punishment and doom;The flower withered, bequeathing none there to bloom.Divine furore had spared the friendly lordWe now revere through verse and word.