Thou shalt enter the domain of the Powers of Arda. Be it a wise Maia or a mighty Vala, its rule thou shalt obey.
Across golden halls and evergreen fields, a holy power the eternal life of this realm sustaineth. The untrodden paths of Valinórë throughout many places shalt take thee. The flourishing Pastures of Yavanna their divine wheat shalt offer along with many of her green creations, the luxuriant Woods of Oromë many beasts hideth, in the Gardens of Lórien may the grey Estë the toil of thy heart cure and Irmo kind dreams thy sleep assure. Of Vána the ever-present Spring is the most beloved gift and Nessa even the fastest deers in the wild outrunneth.
The golden Valmar at the centre of all, of its great wonders surely thou were told. The Thrones of the Kings and the Queens lie not afar, upon which they decide the fate of ours to be. Ezellohar of Laurelin and Telperion the hallowed seat is, and the Two Trees we much bless for anything growing their radiance needeth. The skilled Aulë is father of many things and of crafting the true master is. The valiant Tulkas proud in his halls resideth, the Champion who the Dark Vala eventually won.
In the blue depths of Ekkaia Ulmo dwelleth and all the waves of the seas he dominateth. Námo within the caverns of Mandos silently remaineth and from his hidden Gaol none may escape, while Vairë the long History of the World in tapestry weaveth. Nienna near the very edges of Arda wandereth and by the sad westernmost shores for the wounds of the World she mourneth.
Manwë and Varda the entire Eä rule, and from the apex of the supreme Oiolossë every mortal deed and heartfelt plea they see and hear. The King all sorts of winds commandeth alongside every flying creature of the Air and the authority to lead upon him only was bestowed. Snow-white Varda, the most beautiful, of all Light the source is and since the obscure days even the darkest lands her ancient Stars in the firmament with hope enlightened.
Forswear any doubt and fear, thou willing to live in such bliss, for no evil is to be found within the mighty Pelóri.
Thou mayest and always canst
Void and darkness thou makest bright,
As the wrong by thy sanctity is made right,
For the Good thou dost what is just the most,
Beside the King of Arda thou art the Queen and lone never thou wast.
There is naught for thee that is limit, for thou mayest and always canst.
Take the blade of the Foam-riders with thee, Grey Wizard. It is silver, light as our vessels that voyage beyond the blue, yet dreadful token for whom dareth hinder the will of the Western Lords. Thou shalt bear it, along thy hazardous journeys and whither thy mission is to lead thee, until thy hand shall wield a mightier craft, made by grievous exiled and borne by a king dwelling in legend.
Hither shalt thou bring of Arda the sorrow,
Thou dost just for the memory of tomorrow,
And also the woes and wounds of our time, and profound dismay,
Do not dread unjust evil or envy, and may endurance be borne through thy lay.
Here, come to the warm fire,
Within the merry ways of the Shire,
Should one want to please the need, strong and dire,
We fain fancy the teller, but not the liar.
A new day hath come,
Be it welcomed with trumpet or drum,
On the vast Middle-earth, our wonder,
Far from the light dwelling yonder,
Whence the divine one assumed shape and flesh,
Thence love came and all made fresh,
Afar, we said, though mortal shires harbour too happiness,
Kept well in, amidst wilderness,
The brave shall head whither the foul hath seat,
To roam the unknown liberty and let loose his feet.
Much passed ere light was anew,
To render these marred ways lit and grow dew,
To water the green and its seed,
Where the just would wail and bleed,
Bright iron is to tread the continent, drawn by vengeance and by discord made feeble,
Still gallant, alas, to confront such evil,
Behold the sun rising, the new lamp of the West,
Raging in might and piercing the veil of night, so that the exiled Elda will not be of the world the unwanted guest,
Read, fellow soul, and hearken to the lay,
Wiser shalt thou be and know more to say.
Up in the heaven, there ariseth a new moon,
Made by divine command, solemn and soon,
Fruit of ancient splendour, saved from utter ruin,
Wise the Archangels deemed their doing,
To place a lamp in the dark, gifting light to the night,
Beacon of solace for lost pilgrims, bound to grieve and fight,
Nay, forsaken Immortals, ye need not despair,
Hope will shine anew, holy figure and ever-fair.
Bow, noble envoys, before the Queen,
High among the Powers as naught ye have seen,
Struck such magnificence your mind?
Here lies might and love that fade not, immortal as the lamps in the sky and ever kind.
Flee these shores, gallant minstrel,
Thy time is up and certain,
To abandon the sad shires of our present plight,
Thither wilt thou head, whither kindred souls await thee,
Fly, fine singer, there is no place left in this dim world,
For such fairness of heart, vanquished through murder and torture,
Though, the evil sorcerer shall see no victory,
At the end of the tale, when all clearer is to be made,
Thy sacrifice shall live in the ages ahead,
Unbroken alliance between the two races of God.
A dragon, say you?
I may not have time for chatting, I need the loo!
Grand partying, tonight,
If you fancy the feast, stay you might.
A dragon? Again?
Well, one we have for akin fables, who long journeys began,
Some time ago, followed by the strangest lot,
Travelled have they, along water, rock and silvan paths, and fiery wings they ultimately fought.
Regret I have none,
Much joy, adventure and fun,
Throughout the path that was my road,
Gazing at the horizon, far and broad,
We had to fulfil the task,
To us appointed, in secrecy, ever wearing the wanderer's mask,
Failure would have been doom, thus we had to succeed,
Aware that the way to hell would lead,
That was worth the strife, a journey long and fine,
Recalling the deed is also sorrow, though I'm back to my warm home and fain dine.
If thou be'st with me,
Thou wilt fight and see,
Wielding the blade and daring thy life,
Stout amidst carnage, defiant in the strife.
If thou be'st beside this shield-maiden,
Nought shalt thou dread, in spite of the dooming omen,
Such fine a friend,
I fear not death, and the wrong my courage shall mend.
Awaiting a brighter day,
Just ending must there be in the lay,
The pious soul in feast,
Vanquished the foul and slain the beast.
A day of mourning, time of grief,
Pondering about triumph, when and if,
Nevertheless, the foe wails, in the abyss smitten,
More sorrow shall the reader read about, wet by tears and with blood written.
How honest the earnest one,
Who speaks truth under moon and sun,
How gallant must be such heart,
Buoyant in spirit and eager to start,
A new adventure, along the broad routes of the world,
Shall his character change, by things that all mould?
Events befalling,
Who may halt the course of time, as stones rolling?
Here have we what you seek indeed,
An earnest voyager, noble friend and lover of pipe-weed.
Earned we thy grace, Lady of ours?
Earned we thy light, under which bath our flowers?
I would I were enough apt to do thee justice, singing good,
Let my lyrics fly and spread this holy mood.
Time goes forth and all pierces like the sharpest lance,
Much passed, verily, in the Elf's glance,
Often see eyes things dim, less pure and white,
Their strength wears off, a one-time glorious might.
Have Immortals other reasons to still linger?
Awaiting decay, lone, though the magic Ring remains on the right finger,
So that some remnants of their craft fading may go through,
Alas, most of the Firstborns have taken the way of the sea, journeying past the blue.
Fancy you those amiable locks?
Which might bewilder a frozen heart and melt rocks,
With a radiant smile, she serves food and good wine,
Softer than cotton is her known hair, maiden lovely and fine.
Such is a tale of sheer horror,
Recalled not fain and telling terror,
Home to darkness and many woes,
Up, in the far North, there lieth the stronghold of our foes,
Its captives nought may do but wail,
Chained in the wicked fortress, tormented by the freezing gale,
Thou knowest, Elda, the Tyrant and his throne,
Whence shall he command ruin and death, vicious and lone,
Voices murmur of a fell weapon, hidden in the deepest lair,
Crafted with evil power, much gruesome a night-mare.
Swift departs the grieving soul,
Whither? Voyaging past land, sea and the heaven as a whole,
Heading far yonder, where the Sun fades,
Away from sorrow, gore, pain and blades,
Immortal phantom, some time shall you rest,
Within the grey halls of the Judge, silent realm in the West,
For a new hope need be rekindled after so dark a plight,
Until time is proper, to be greeted by the Angels in light.
To chains bound,
Until sad demise him will have found,
That is the life of the slave, living in fear,
No time to rest, no moment for shedding a tear.
Lucky is he who stands freely, even the fool,
Neither a prisoner nor a tool,
Vile minds plot in secret, war shall take us all,
May it be that the vanquished retrieves a new hope, nourished by justice and yearning to bring about the Evil's fall.
Through them hast thou seen,
Eä in its prime, prior to all which hath been,
Thy hands placed those radiant bastions in the vast sky,
Where they are and forever shall lie.
Magnificent wonder,
Roaming infinity, hither and yonder,
Through them gaze we at the Might, plain and sheer,
Brighter than thy own lamps, the sharpest spear.
Away from the Black Tower, lest it mean harm,
There dwells magic and eerie riddles, veiled by such great a charm,
Nay, 'tis not fiend, ghost, master of necromancy or witch,
A grand sorcerer, revered by folks, versed with machines and moving speech.
Painful the sight of ruin, scattered pieces of glory,
What was of the ruling realm of the North,
Home to valiant knights and no less gallant a king,
The king of Men, prime crown of Middle-earth,
Ice and snow were seldom nice companions through the passing years,
They knew the nightmare was somehow persisting still, hidden somewhere,
An ancient malaise, buried under the frosted peaks,
An evil kingdom, seeking the hour of uprising,
So far was the age of the first monarch of those boreal ends,
The faithful, the loyal, the kind-hearted fellow of the immortal brethren.
His life was spared from utter demise,
From the tragic fall of their nigh-omnipotent empire,
The five-pointed isle lay once in the middle of the broad ocean,
Every tide would bring their vessels hither and thither,
Ere they dared the unnamable, seditious and won by sheer ambition,
Northern bastion, behold the doom befallen!
Who shall ever deem oneself safe behind your marble?
Rebellion raided the common wealth of peace, until war broke you asunder,
Your vile foe was awaiting in silence,
Very little of the remnants could ever make the wanderer guess your lost might, unless foreign eyes be keen and through those sombre bare bones see.
In the saving guise of the warmest sun,
Which heats the shire whilst fierce steeds run,
They run free, along no merry kingdom but a pale land,
Forsaken and cursed, resembling that far earldom in the South, buried in the sand,
Lawless vastness, haunted by foul demons,
Thence nought may be certain to come that is conceived with sound reasons,
A devil did truly seize this our heath, my fellow friends,
One disguising his true intent, his wicked well-kept ends,
The horse-crown quails, recoiling before such evil,
May it be that a fine auxiliary shall come for the rescue, waking a mind driven to folly and grown feeble.
Old adventurous traveller, where hast thou been thus far?
Much hope I that absence is due to no wound or scar,
It were joy to welcome the famed squire back to his court,
If thou be'st to enter anew the green Shire, as guest wanted and worth.
Darkness, avaunt!
On my path shalt thou find no quarter,
So in the rear as in the front,
Of this my rider-host, for the gallant shan't falter.
Finally, it betrayed his hand,
At wit's end, while seeking shelter,
In the cold and treacherous waters of the river,
Gloomy shores, abounding of sorrow,
It availed nothing, alas,
Malice had already plotted its early release,
From the firm finger of the poor king,
Whence the golden Ring slipped,
Giving way to the ruthless volley of the Orcs,
Leading a noble to his impious doom and our story to excruciating protraction.
Inside hell I found myself, trapped by rusty iron and fell fire,
Good Lords of the Sunset, I would I had not forsaken your merry shire,
An evil yoke keepeth me bowed and hopeless,
I have lost memory of fond friends, glorious sires and gentleness.
Good Lords, this my soul beggeth your pardon, conquered and weak,
Now is my blood running livid and thick,
End may be near, perhaps, and thus I send you the wish,
For a soon return to your realm, loose from chains and evil leash.
Storms loom over the northern skies, I may sense,
Ensemble of hatred and tyranny, darker than hopeless nights and dense,
The Fell Vala shall shatter Arda's roots in rage,
Summoning his black vastness of slaves to assault the Good and war wage.
Quakes, tremors and rumbling thunder,
I feel the battle infuriating, tearing the fortunes of Beleriand asunder,
The Tyrant crieth his wrath in the abyss, an utter pillar of woes vowing to raise,
Then, horror is set loose from the depth of iron, releasing flames and evil blaze.
We wish you listened gladly to this jolly song,
No scorn, insult or wrong,
Hard works the gentle Hobbit in his fields,
His stick he holds pridefully, as the warrior his blade wields,
Seasons come, seasons go,
Days get warm or cool, yet never so high nor low,
Seldom is the envoy bearer of ill news,
Apart from the unknown stranger, ever fond of fizzy beer and hot stews,
Such are the mornings and nights within the merry Shire,
Come, mate, let us sing together a tune of joy, as a great happy choir.
The only hope of a deeply marred earth,
Rightly should one spread the tale, as living in legend it is worth,
This tale of sadness, mingled with pride,
Ranks upon ranks, armies contest each other and knights ride,
Across the Black Land,
The host of resistance has risen, whose valiant heads the wrong shall mend,
The king of Men and his fine kin, beside whom marches the Elven monarch wielding that fabled lance,
Spear of starlight, craft of old mystery, which ever availed the Good's cause in such deadly a dance.
Crying anger and revenge of calamitous sort,
Roaring and shouting, for the madness and agony of his adversaries,
Murmuring all along the lands of such divided kingdom,
Uttering words of deceit and treasonous schemes,
The will of this dark sire will never rest nor have fond peace,
His spirit demands chaos and grievous remnants over which to rule,
Heinous events, scattered all along the broad continent,
A sole intent moves this relentless force,
The crushing of those who walk the earth as free and bold,
The ashes of ruin looming over the wrathful skies of doom.
Old paper, kept sound in the valley,
Wonders within those pages, of an ancient world, known widely and wholly,
Fine remembrance of glory, valiant kings, grief and might of yore,
Rivendell, holy home of ours, may the weary rest beneath your trees and be made wiser by your lore.
Before the one-time innocent gaze,
Trapped in vendetta's inextricable maze,
Lies a horrid red tide,
Tainting the Harbour of Swans, festering wide,
Lone corpses float and sink in the livid waves,
Struck by carnage, about to grow furious in sudden blaze,
Ossë, Storm-lord whom we pray,
Thee invoke we, to provide justness in this vile lay,
Thou, cast thy tempest upon the faithless brethren,
For the woes of the cursed, for the grimmest future to threaten.
Shock and thunder, unto the very root of the earth,
Signs of the last clash of all, for the sake of all which fighting is verily worth,
Sudden clamour from above, I sense,
Fire hath reached the vast halls of the sky, fiend-like and dense,
Then, a flying demon fell, whose ruin upon the volcano was smitten,
War was won, freeing our wailing lands, sorrow-ridden,
The Iron Gates bowed and broke before thee, celestial commander,
Chants of victory descend into the hopeless gaol of this age, and ever throughout those woeful pits they meander,
Friendly hands liberate the exhausted prison of my soul, reviving the spirit that my heart woke,
Undoing malevolent chains, vanquished heirlooms of this broken yoke.
When the road gets tough and dim,
Despair not and send away any thought grim,
Find your very strength anew,
As braveness in the old days that flew,
Though nothing grows tired in this our Shire,
In front of tasty beer and a kind warm fire,
Whose embers might perhaps comfort the doubtful,
After fine delicacies and a sufficient mouthful.
Please, beg I thee, to disclose such tale of old,
Which minstrels fancy to adorn with words and jesters love to mould,
In the manner they believe proper and just,
Nay, thou wilt not fail the task.
It were a pleasure to hearken to the Jewels' own fate,
Cause of hell and despair to many folks of late,
It ended not well, as it in fact beginneth,
The prideful sire crieth triumph, his son about the shore mourneth.
The impious theft in the realm of joy,
Atavistic sin of all, whence only evil came to annoy,
Wars we fought, a whole continent fell,
Those gems owed to the elements eventually were, whose souls now keep them and perpetually shall.
Tell me, why should you be sorry?
You've come to this our green home, clear from angst and worry,
Afar, there dwell strange folks, cursing both the cold high and the torrid low,
Lands not apt for the birth of good, to build warm houses and sow,
Wanderer, may you find peace among this buoyant lot,
Not very interested are we in the 'where' or 'what',
Rest well behind this meagre wooden fence,
We would your memory were fond, once you will have parted hence.
Is there still hope for our quest?
This I may not say with certainty, my fond friend,
Your breed is rare in this world grown chill and weary,
Hobbits somehow resist this voluble course of time,
Withstanding violence, brutal kingship and many wars,
That rage in the hazardous East,
So blow the fell winds of clash from these very ends,
The temple of Men is giving in to a newly-awakened night,
If our mission is to be of no avail,
Its result won't be other than disastrous ruin.
Heinous acts call for worse and worse,
This is the vicious cycle plaguing the world,
At the grim sunset of the age, illness has spread wide and also unnoticed,
Not detected by wise eyes, shadows have been granted the entrance again,
Crawling, creeping hence and thence,
The Black Land is not simply conjuring mere Orcs for the pending showdown,
Past enemies of yore come forth from the ignorance of common knowledge,
Storms of ashes arise from his forsaken realm,
Behold, that is no natural weather but the wicked magic of our adversary,
Clouds are rounding the White City, for a last grievous siege to be commenced.
There must be a way,
To bid farewell to grief,
And, wherefore, to hail the sunny day,
Which warms any tree and leaf.
A way, for the Good's sake,
To prevent the saddest doom,
Shall valiant Men freedom wake?
Against the odds that afar loom.
Afar, beyond that dark curtain,
Of smoke and venom within the Black Land,
Fear we must stay, we're certain,
Defeat we cannot mend.
Not this time, not this age,
This last chance of ours,
As the keepers of night terrible war wage,
Tragedy may still come, so shall of triumph the hours.
There, look what the kind Hobbit has made,
Firm hand and swift blade,
Just to cook and please one's wish,
Most delicious and tasty dish.
Woods were generous, indeed!
Let the fine odour you lead,
Good venison is served, from deer that ever run free and roam,
May we cherish such finery and bless this home.
Peradventure wast thou told of the magnificent deeds of a one-time splendid sire,
Who became much glory and exciting songs of yore,
Aye, one of the Princes,
Crowned, then, High King and prime commander among the Noldor's ranks,
Kin of finest descent, he did wield the sword and met unlucky demise, in the likes of his gallant father,
For a duel took place in the midst of the crude battle,
Swarming legions of hell were never enough to bend whom the Two Trees had kissed with potency,
Potent was he, and mighty and otherworldly strong,
Alas, very little doth such a thought comfort thy troubled mind,
His foe was no earthly creature, in fact, but a monstrous ensemble vomited out of hatred and fell fire.
The passage is shut,
So say folks, and the road likewise cut,
Once a wealthy shire,
Kept by stone and the resilient sire.
Amassed in such maze of halls,
Within fortresses and thick walls,
There lay the treasure of Dwarf-kings,
The jester recalls the tale and justly sings.
Of the ill befallen,
Torn tapestry, sewn and woollen,
Scarce would it avail your quest,
The adventure inside this gloomy web, as much perilous test.
What dwells within ought not to be woken,
Forswear your will and leave the mines, cursed and broken,
Should fire creep out from the abyss of the world,
Shields would serve nought and equally one's sharp sword.
The day shall come, my Queen,
An ultimate spark of bliss will mortals have seen,
Upon a star-white steed,
Her immaculate way will she lead.
Afar, her as a bright rider lesser ones shall perhaps disguise,
The mightiest lady of this age, pure beyond measure and wise,
Her hour is coming, soon,
To bid farewell to these shores and her last worldly moon.
Thee supreme we hail,
Thee shall we ever honour and never wail,
Thee we hold in our heart,
Thee invoke we when we are to part.
Thou, never leave thy loyal servants alone,
Thou, do not let the beggar weep or moan,
Thou, shield the right and drive shadows away,
Thou, bless us and soothe the hardest day.
Please, pardon, sing for me joy,
That's what is yearned, by every girl and boy,
Doesn't it suffice, fatigue and much strain?
The Hobbit has laboured restless, drained by the heat of noon in the main.
Please, sing of peace and silly evenings,
When all rejoice at the warmth of the tavern, faithful friends and siblings,
Aye, a good story to jest about,
Nothing else but a merry night, without demise or sad rout.
We shall rescue thee,
My fine wood, home to the small and wee,
Grief hath taken possession of thy one-time lively heart,
Struck thou wast, with a vile poisoned dart.
Misery-stricken, I would thou sawest the end of strife,
Fiends will never conquer life,
Greenwood, stained and violated, may thou see light anew,
A scouring of the plague, this need we, as it's just and due.
Beware, sires and squires,
Folks of common, driven by desires,
Not recommended is it to take that path,
Through the golden woods, daring unworldly wrath.
Magic resides there, so they tell,
Not good for our people, neither ill nor well,
Who rules the haunted forest, which prodigy of yore?
Just murmurs, a far ancient lore.
Spirits and ghosts walk the ways in such eerie green,
No fortress to conquer, no battle to win,
Nay, stay your blade and rest still,
Naught may move who commands there with stout will.
They speak of a witch, potent in power and charm,
Will she mean benevolence or harm?
A queen that dies not, a legend in the bard's lay,
A fey maiden, lady of a yester-day.
I hear,
A fell voice approaching near,
Neither whisper nor murmur,
Against which nought may be armour,
I hear this chanting grow fouler,
Spoken malice, getting louder,
Such words of might now spread and soar,
Peaks ail, wail and roar,
Atop the Black Tower, the White Wizard commands tempest,
For none to pass those frozen ways, for none his power to best.
Then shall I remember,
And about the deed wonder,
To see the valorous king of horsemen,
Face death and dare the omen,
Of utter defeat,
Before the walls of Men, at the ends of wit,
Was battling the legions of hell of some good?
It certainly was, to replenish the flame of hope and revive our weary mood,
No, whatever flying devil will not prey on your vexed corpse,
Your people defend it, for better or worse.
If I were enough a devout servant, I saw thy light piercing through,
I saw the mystery manifesting itself, calm and gentle as the morning dew,
Loyalty might beseem a too burdensome of a vow,
Thee to honour, each sunset and dawn, none but thou.
Thou and thy kindred ghosts,
Thou and thy realm, whence ancient bliss sprung and might commanded hosts,
Pity moved you, Lords of the West,
Veritable guardian, whom we pray in holy party and fest.
That queer indomitable blue,
Lying far, far away from here,
Many leagues off, which beheld so few,
Often does the good little Hobbit cower in fear.
And him we blame not,
All who gaze at the vast waters under a spell fall,
As the traveller landing on the isle he had long sought,
In such uncanny prodigy we're held in thrall.
Akin to the immortal,
Though the good Half-man then comes back home,
Ever doubt we the unknown and startle,
Dreading loud waves and furious foam.
Alas, it was eventually the ending that was to be,
The epilogue of his part in the tale,
One doom they could not fore-know of nor see,
Sudden, in the way withered leaves are wiped out by the cruel gale.
Struck by evil darts,
The relic of his past passed into the river,
Isildur perished, for the mourning of our hearts,
Borne and buried deep, one-time just ruler and fortune-seeker.
One day, heavens shall just cease to wail and cry the misery of our time,
Light always finds its path through, I'm quite sure,
Some things are certain in this uncertain world,
Some things we do know and may prophesy, somehow,
The sun will make our way lit and clear to follow,
No, it's time to free ourselves from these chains of sheer terror,
None shall save the future of Men but Men themselves,
Our crown will be restored and again bestowed upon a worthy king,
Worthy of being lauded and hailed as our saviour,
Away with nostalgia and remorse, for a second chance is given not.
How long have we suffered in silence?
How long have we borne the weight of this world's defence?
The bell has tolled for the brave to come forth and battle,
To battle his foes, on land, sea, wood and coast,
No quarter shall we give to the merciless tyranny that menaces the kingdom,
Nights have grown dreary and gloomy as never before,
Yet dawn still rises above against such surface of despair,
All storms pass away, in the end,
Wicked clouds leave space for a new sunny day,
When hope is restored and the armies of Good lead to triumph.
Skies shall stop weeping,
Peaks will never be barred by other troubles,
Those who lurk and linger in the abyss shall be made unveil their useless tricks,
Deception unmasked, treason avenged for good,
Justice will be made, prior to the last contest of this eventful age,
The sorrowful Third Age of Arda,
Our iron is ready for war and much strife,
For the worst to counter, dare and keep at bay,
Let the stone of our walls crumble, alongside the marble-made fortress imploding in utter ruin,
As long as valour lies and lives in the gallant soul, morning light shall not vanish and the fumes of doom will slash apart.
Then gets the rule of Gondor feeble and thin,
Thinner and narrow, plagued by sin,
Discord festers as a sign of vice,
Vices made us bend, once, twice and thrice.
How a fine leader would do!
How past winds would clear the air, for shadows they already blew!
A new morning to gaze at with faithful eyes,
A crown restored, held by the splendid and wise.
Canst thou recall, my Queen, the well-fabled Noon?
Prior to the first rising of dawn, before the very Moon,
Sometimes wouldst thou walk about the late Trees, and this remember we fain,
When hath the doing of the Valar ever been in vain?
All wells of Valinórë hast thou made fair,
And lit and hallowed, in any-here and any-there,
Such was the miracle of thy dew,
Collected from the tears of your most beauteous deed, within the kingdom of every eternal thing and new.
Truly, more is there to meet the eye,
Concerning Hobbits, by many deemed reclusive and shy,
A shy people we are not,
Not those who concede ere our chance was fairly fought.
Unless some strangers bring tidings of good,
Unless one be pleased by the Halflings' company and their food,
So eager to disclose us we shall never be,
That you may rightly guess and clearly see.
Valiant captain of woods,
Fallen atop wounded stone,
Struck have you hearts and moods,
Fallen amidst merciless battle, lone.
Your Lady served you well,
Your friends have you rescued sound,
Daring evilness and steel, vile and fell,
The immortal company lies still in the Deep and all around.
Captain, may you find deserved rest,
Welcomed in paradise, beyond,
Rewarding your valour best,
Among blessed visages, of whom noble ones are ever fond.
Adamant love, grace and purity,
Thou didst our good since early dawns,
Providing light to a weary humanity,
Infallible shield against the vilest thorns.
Adamant hope, that in heaven resideth,
May thou not vanish, never,
Varda, Queen of Angels, who above liveth,
Bonds with thee shall we not sever.
Songs, songs, of them we have not enough,
Aye, you shall fain cheer the moment and laugh,
Laugh loudly, forgetting hardships and anything tough,
Herein just joy, without hurrying rough.
Songs, happy ones which I adore,
Deeply, either telling tales or lore.
Songs, songs, I shall stick to this way,
No strange singer am I, no minstrel fey,
But a mere jester, willing to sell merry thoughts and adventurous lay,
This long I to do, when I may.
Our desperation, our ill fate,
Sword and spear weren't there, we were late,
We could not defend Rohan's hut,
Set on fire, mauled and cut,
We could not save Rohan's farmer,
No safe shelter have we, nought warmer,
Fierce steed, pardon and us forgive,
You shall strive further to fight, day and eve,
Avenged shall be such impious burning,
Which our fine youth took, leaving us only mourning.
Please, do as you favour,
Wise merchant from far ends come,
Of wealth and prosperity you are saviour,
Keeper of goodness, through your generous sum.
Welcome to the fortress of Men!
Gondor, resilient tower amidst hostile wind,
Wind bringing storm, calling sea-wolves out of their den,
It's safe here, however, clear from foe and fiend.
That old wood,
Leaving home? So unsettling a mood!
A green route, a solitary road,
Leading out of the Shire, abroad.
Lone passage, solely trodden by resolute foot,
Those of higher kind, of a deeply-grown root.
Passing the thicket and ancient trees,
There runs wild the hare, as off nuts the clement bird feeds,
Pilgrims go this way and never return,
Only chants are heard, ere the sun is anew born.
Thou art old,
Varda, when all once was lifeless and cold,
At the dawn of things,
No birds in the sky, no swift wings,
Thou wast before time,
Ever-fair and whole-fine,
Thee hath the One made to be,
Pray, never shalt thou forsake me,
Prior, as thy fellow Valar, thou camest from a wondrous vastness,
To rule, to govern, to do good for such material largeness.
I shall not believe it's all lost,
Nay, it's not dead, albeit covered in the lonesome frost,
A grave danger, a miserable end,
Trapped in their wealth, trapped in their land.
A profound pit, the obscure abyss,
Past which Dwarves long for, glory they thoroughly miss,
Foul usurpers of the mines, much will you regret taking that path,
Vengeance stirs deep in Dwarven hearts, kindling that folk's inmost wrath.
You showed him pity,
At last, you had the manner of a truly gentle Hobbit,
Regret you should not harbour in mind,
Neither in that kind heart of yours,
My friend, even the least creature might serve some strange purpose,
A role to play in the story,
A part in a perilous quest,
Who are we to deal out death and grave woes?
Who are we to decree what is to be on the horizon?
This troubled monster has yet to reveal its proper self.
Let us pray, so that all deeds under the sky shall finally see,
A just conclusion,
The rightful epilogue of this our tale,
Again will the prisoner of the Ring leave his gloomy lair,
For the last time,
In the pursuit of his very yearning,
He knows, his arcane desire shall present itself anew,
Will it seize the chance?
Will it betray our side?
This I know not, my dear friend, for wizards had better act and voyage, resenting the vanity of prophecy.
Ages, ages of grief,
A king counselled by the worst thief,
A bewitched monarch, caught in a spell,
In thrall of a sorcerer and his minions fell.
Heroes we need,
Whose advice we shall joyfully heed,
To wake this vacant throne,
For the sake of a dormant sire, lying now lone.
Ages of grief,
Fair flowers no more blossom, no vivid leaf,
This realm ails in silence,
Drowning into its very blood, drained by violence.
Our marred kingdom,
Haven of fear, not of wisdom,
Calling for help as a far cry,
The hour has come to banish the faithless and unveil his lie.
Merry night, merry night,
Moment for rest, leaving aside fight,
During the banquet we meet and tell fine stories of yore,
Until mind is made weak by liquor and the throat sore.
Gone with the wind,
By the hand of a fiend,
A fine singer, bound to wither,
In a cage, deprived of ether.
Deprived of world's air,
Won and vanquished by the wicked sire of that lair,
A lord of ghouls,
Who on earth shall ever dare enter the cursed castle but fools?
Bilbo, Bilbo, we hope you're well and sound,
Your warm dwelling empty have we found,
Was the enterprise worth, were so all the battles you shall have fought?
Surely have you signed a contract of hazard, which tons of worries has indeed wrought.
Wreathed in silent mist,
So calm and quiet lie the peaks,
Which darkness did twist,
Thence come vapour, dust and leaks.
Mountains that saw much befall,
Raised in the past as malevolent wall,
The fate of their inhabitants ever has swung,
Between might and ruin, in suspension hung.
Silent and still,
Wheels go not in the northern mill,
All seems to lie wasted,
Is this the sour war the world tasted?
As the third chapter of Arda began,
Pawns were moved, schemes were made to lay siege to Men,
An old horror engraved in the dense ice,
Pains which had not been seen for long by mortal eyes.
The frozen gaol was broken,
Undone, upset, woken,
Perfidious chill came with the new winter,
Setting loose the blood-thirsty hunter.
Retreat, we shall hence retreat,
Foolish is to linger in the ends of wit,
We shall give up the bridge and forsake these walls,
Scattered and wounded by the strife that left nought else but holes.
Packs upon packs of filth will hold dominion,
Over the famed city of Gondor,
Which Men defended with admirable ardour,
From darts and arrows of Sauron's minion.
It were ill to disdain the good lunch,
It were ill to nay-say and forget to crunch,
Tasty bread and salty meat,
It would fill thy belly and so be it.
If folks be keen on dining,
Forswear the wary thought and cease the whining,
Thinkest thou not it were verily good?
It won't bode well to refuse food.
Come to the finely jolly Shire,
As lonesome wanderer or grand sire.
So goes on its watchful wait,
Command of destiny, will of fate,
Beneath the deep dark wave,
Before the mine's walls we could not save,
A guardian, unknown beast,
Another peril near the great mist,
You, bold adventurer, halt your pace!
Only dead therein, with horror on their consumed face,
Beware of the monster inhabiting those sombre waters,
Which all unwary living captures and slaughters.
Busy they are all,
Those in the Evil's thrall,
Look, observe them strive,
So much, to hurt anything alive,
Can you see? Laborious hands work without pause,
In tainted lands, ruled not by laws,
Incessantly shall they serve their master,
For a new plagued world to foster,
As illness they do fester,
Unchained was the beast, freed the monster.
Adamant his heraldry,
Servant of pure majesty,
Divine envoy for the common good,
To him respond realms, height, sea and wood.
Sky herald, greatest with blade,
At the behest of the West,
Never will your merry kingdom fade,
Not even in the darkest night, facing the hardest test.
The word of the Lord you have ever borne,
The sole holding rule on Arda,
No other woe shall we mourn,
Pray, be this true, miraculous Varda.
Holy messenger, forever we hail your name,
Hallowed potency, legendary fame,
At the apex of joy you stay,
Beside the King on his lit way.
Never be late for dinner,
That is wrong-doing, of a real sinner,
Here in the Shire cherish we the fine old meal,
Which evenly refreshes the tired and ill.
Love, with love camest thou to be,
Render each dawn bright, bless me,
I beg, I pray and ask,
May thy grace be granted, may we fulfil the task.
If one be worthy enough,
Give him serene ghost and laugh,
If thou be'st to save,
Spare the mariner from the furious wave.
Thee acclaim all as rightful queen,
Better prodigy hath the mere folk never seen,
Lady of starlight, fairest star,
Hope in celestial vastness, not dim nor far.
In eternity shall we praise,
Who lamps in heaven was to raise,
Methinks, how lucky am I beneath thy skies to live,
This I keep singing, morn and eve.
Lone and forgotten,
Under a dim shadow, under which green is fatally rotten,
His kingdom boasts no joy,
Though souls are not brought thither through ill ploy,
Or even deception, that finds no place within the Holy Shire,
Verily, it's human sin to doubt such blessed sire,
Counted among the potent High,
Whose sombre guests wail, weep and sigh,
Eerie western caverns serve him as hidden home,
Across seas common folks ignore, passed the blue and its foam.
There, he's sat on grief,
No wicked wind, no haunting whiff,
All rests still and calm,
Ghosts murmur prayer and psalm,
Sad spirits gather, their silence fills those funereal halls,
But relief they eventually found behind the West's walls,
Be death tragic, serene or remorseful,
Nought is made worse in this grim shelter, or woeful,
I shall sing these elegies twice,
May the Judge pardon the pious and clear vice.
I profess, thy servant am I,
I swear, my heart is no harbour of lie,
I vow, ever shall I cherish so bright a sight,
Thy might through eras, thy sidereal light.
To battle the vile foe,
To avert the imminent woe,
Fairest of the fair, finest among fine,
Thy faith is my fire, my heart shall be thine.
That stubborn dwarf, hard as a rock,
As the marble he's used to moulding, labouring amok,
Great faces he mocks in the stone,
Ceasing work when the gleeful robin away has flown.
Gentle and noble dwarf,
Undaunted, never serf,
What if he might cross the very same Hobbit's way?
Unlikely, for much need he guard his wealth and shape clay.
Before the gate we knelt not,
Atrocious clashes and many fiends have we fought,
Before the gate, the king of Erebor lies dead,
His army he's proudly to the battlefield led.
Be you all cursed, Evil Men,
Mirroring wolves, swarming out of their den,
You've struck our fortress, wielding the foul flames of war,
Come from afar, come from lands wrapped in your uncanny lore.
Fairy-like Elf, prince of the tale,
So desirous to leave, longing to sail,
Away from this earth,
Whence departing seems verily worth.
Wherefore, in dark I pray,
In toil I endure,
Beside grief my faith I lay,
Our salvation to secure.
Thee, Queen of the Nights,
None dare doubt,
And thy power fending off wights,
Cruel wraiths wandering about.
Thou dwellest on the height,
Above cloud and storm,
Empress of light,
Be thy candour ever-warm.
Wherefore, in dark I do pray,
Peradventure, methinks,
I shall pass the test, I may,
Beholding thy lamps and their blinks.
Gaols of ice,
Cast of dice,
Ill turn of fate,
Infinite wait.
Hell of chill and cold,
Glaciers which winds cannot even mould,
Nobody might hope to pass,
Across the infernal frozen mass.
Forbidden ways,
Unsung lays,
Untrodden routes,
Sad pipes, grievous flutes.
The sole immortal foot may journey unscathed,
For nought fears their flesh, dreaded by devils and hated,
'Tis the bridge, the road to bliss,
Behind the greatest wall, where every flaw Good may fix.
Grand clash,
Before the dwarf's hold,
Looming ash,
As though one fought tenfold.
Raging battle,
Facing the gate,
Alas, not mere scuffle,
Tuned with miners' own trait.
Five contenders,
The Lonely Mountain ails,
None surrenders,
As the Good wails.
Ranks of evil,
Conjured to hurt,
Led by some awful devil,
Yet, partaking was well worth.
Dwarves usurped,
Wood-elves their foes entangle,
In the midst and heat, severely warped,
Eagle claws which tear and mangle.
Each night I see,
I dream and wish,
Heartfelt plea,
Free me from the leash.
The chain of terror,
Binding my soul,
Clear this horror,
Plain and whole.
Thou wert to do right,
My Star-queen,
If my spirit were held tight,
Fain long I to reach the unseen.
Beyond this my flawed world,
Welcomed in the City of Bells,
Where thou rulest over gold,
And ever makest bright thy wells.
Ere you cease your telling,
There's something you need know about this dwelling,
Respectable land of the Half-man,
Listen quiet, then.
Often is the stranger deemed nice,
Except for a wee vice,
To take the labour of ours for granted,
Denying the silver we justly wanted.
Henceforth shall you walk in the dark,
Dear traveller, and your ill fate mark,
Should you take the path under withered trees,
Which brings afar, whence the decent flees.
Behold the marred fortress,
Kept at bay by the spells of the forest's goddess,
Our prime Lady and guide,
Here reigns her power, broad and wide.
Those eerie dungeons divide Lórien from woe,
There awoke once the foe,
The tale's vicious enemy,
Wearing the cloth of lies and ignominy.
Snare, snare,
Out of the lair,
Creeps the wily beast,
Nasty wind and thick mist.
Safe it is not, abroad,
For the Hobbit to elect that dreary road,
Passing away, lone and farther,
Bidding farewell to this our border.
Renouncing riches and wealth,
Praying dearly for good,
Hoping for fine health,
Be it creature or green wood.
I shall forswear,
I shall oppose deceit,
Breaking the night-mare,
Undoing the chain caging my wit.
I daresay,
Thou wilt act soon,
There's not aught else we may,
Prior the full moon.
Sovereign of the firmament,
Ruler of starred skies
Trust we thy judgement,
Ever-true, ever-wise.
By the shore, he wanders sorrowful,
Lamenting the fate, tragic and mournful,
So gets his memory remorseful,
Singing melancholic and wistful.
For our sake, to warn,
To avert tragedy which one would mourn,
Thou hast placed a sign,
In the blue, signal of thine.
A bow of suns,
The Scythe of the Valar, the High Ones,
To warn malevolent wills,
That thou art to guard towers, seas and hills.
Rumble of hoofs,
Coming of spooks,
Fear inside the Shire,
Much trembles the humble squire.
Black knights ride,
Searching through and wide,
A precious item of their lord,
This were they bidden, waving death and sword.
Go, let us free the knot!
We shall reach the shore we've long sought,
This vessel will travel the tides of the blue,
Under the multitude of stars, under the glaring moon.
Abandoning these grey ways,
Whose tales I sing in old lays,
Parted, when the knot gets undone,
Sailing westwards, sinking in the dying sun.
Among pure lies the fallen prince,
Among the company of his forefathers who passed since,
Beside the resting kings,
Beside timeless glory, so the bard sings.
So weeps his dear maiden,
Chanting sorrow as morrow's fading,
So cry folks of the byre,
Their strong and gallant sire.
Too much of a tragedy to bear,
For the old king, ruler of horse and mare,
Next to him stands the white mage,
Come in time to break the cage.
A cage of treason,
Woven web to cloud reason,
Yet, Théoden walks the earth anew,
Willing to mend arrant deeds and win through.
She guards the kingdom, ever-still,
Gazing at shadow in unfaltering will,
Conscious that the time shall come,
Knowing that dreadful noise will sound from Mordor's drum.
As a white guardian she towers all over the land,
The gate, whence Men their errands send,
Leaning on hard stone,
Solitary, indeed, yet never lone.
Built as the fortress of the sun,
Besieged often, vanquished by none,
There, an ancient tree still harbours hope,
Feeble, kept well atop the slope.
Her twin lies not so far,
Ruined by charms which do nought else but mar,
Prepare the trebuchet, garrison the walls!
For the sake of our forebears, resting quiet in marbled halls.
Ere thou drawest blade,
Remember, always seeth the Fair Maid,
The courage burning in one's heart,
Praying kindly before they start.
Before they start grievous war,
Which seldom hath not stained Arda's lore,
Bethink of Varda, to seek goodness,
May it avail thee with her fondness.
Well, love, handful are the ones,
Who long for mystery at first glance,
Who join adventure at first sight,
Ignore the hazard they might.
However, we do wrong to look against the quest,
One knows not what shall be the test,
What if you could rightly undo the riddle?
When much you learn along the way, in the middle?
No graver calamity may ever occur,
Than the breaking of the door,
If our resolve be drained,
If the grace of the Immortals forever waned.
Defence will soon be breached,
Once the Fell King victory will have reached,
A darkened earth as his poor doll,
Fine cities on fire, funereal shall their bell toll.
Enthroned you sit,
Above,
Where all is lit,
Commanding in love.
The King and the Queen,
Ye rule fate,
A whole world to be seen,
Wonders and troubles evenly await.
Never have ye denied aid,
To those in plight,
Never vainly was wielded the blade,
To guide and counsel with light.
Two thrones,
Governing not through force, but candour,
Adamant stones,
Rounding endless splendour.
We want no ire,
Within sunny green and our calm Shire,
No hard thoughts among us, we desire,
Ask we much? Better we used to be, prior.
All changed soon,
Alas, after so few journeys of the moon,
Now strangers come, sadder got our tune,
As in night, so in the noon.
Away from the great peace of Men,
Hidden cunningly, like a hound in his den,
Pirates, hungry for riches and wealthy ports,
As thieves, plundering lands in akin sorts.
Henceforth must the haven be secure,
Foul colours get close, while seagulls soar,
Alarmed the stronghold was, and weather brings winds of storm,
We sealed the harbour, ready to safeguard Gondor's norm.
Descending is the sky, beneath the blue end,
Other foes to contest, other woes to mend,
Dying is radiance, leaving space for twilight,
So dark a menace, so obscure a night for moonlight,
Out of woods demons creep,
Shall the fortress well keep?
Beasts gather, strengthened anew,
Green dries, yearning dew,
Thus the Evil finds a way,
To flood the gates of Good, as much it's sung in this tearful lay.
Dry and nasty lies the southern waste,
Irregular shapes, ill taste,
So far and wide,
Lacking stream or sweet tide.
Ghastly folks there reside alike,
Drawn to blade, raiding and spike,
Tribes that fight and live raw,
As tumultuous waves which amok flow.
Beware, it's the realm of the outlaw,
Whence many foes coming we once saw,
Be it ranks or deadly steed,
Upon mightier beasts their fury they would then lead.
So lovely a place,
Such joy in that merry face,
This is how we carry on life,
Always adventure, such betwixt husband and wife.
Nay, we speak not of a journey,
Bad, if the Hobbit not unto morn lay!
In his warm bed, awaiting another day of good doing,
Smiling at labour and facing all ensuing.
Broken and won,
Vanquished and lit by the dawn,
Many knights have fallen, dead,
Silent, though still fiery of the command which them led.
Undone is the shield,
Of a maiden, resting akin on the field,
Of a hero who evil fought,
A king of despair ruling on ghoulish lot.
Thinking of good and bad,
What must he be doing, that jolly lad?
Bilbo went, far away,
Almost vanished, say.
Last, he had will to join some quest,
Whose kind gifts no repose nor rest,
With the company of such strange a people,
Bored, done with the quiet oak or the gentle maple.
Round the sorry kingdom,
Once hailed glorious, what an earldom!
Dormant today lie they,
Lands in the tenure of who all may.
One that may, before the eyes of Men,
Ambers needing new air, then,
A hero might come, by chance,
Waking the sleeping fire of the vassals, firmly holding his lance.
Betimes I pray,
As morn beginneth,
Bathing in thy ray,
Thus Varda commandeth.
Thou seest furthest,
Beyond pain and gloom,
Thy sacred silence soundeth loudest,
When foul spectres loom.
Sky Queen,
What shall I add to thy power?
Clear us from sin,
So never again will we cower.
Invoking light,
I shall not sigh,
Knowing well in plight,
That Good is verily nigh.
Order in the blue,
It ever amuses me,
So splendid a hue,
Revered in plea.
Not wave or turbulent tide,
A broad sky of brightness,
Infinite and wide,
Piercing dark in whiteness.
Really, it's as we tell,
Amidst folks, loud and well,
Queer visitor, without doubt,
Selling mystery and showing clout.
Such is of those ones the route,
Abroad, an exotic fruit,
Faraway traveller,
Not much for your eyes, but a mere teller.
Some times, he comes and goes,
Regardless of odds and laws,
Old man, pointy hat,
Unwilling to part suddenly or fret.
Old man, that he beseems,
Weary visage, tired limbs,
Albeit the rod he bears,
Hint at the true power he actually wears.
The last voyage of our star,
Alas, parting from lands that cage and bar,
A decaying world, rendered sorry and grey,
The time has come to embrace this farewell day.
Lovely daughter, you shall sail fine and swift,
Across the ends of Arda, by whose course seas drift,
Unto the glowing Sunny Domain,
Where the home of our very kind ever-safe has lain.
Now weak, once firm,
History wheels in time, yet mankind is not to learn,
That shadow should not be given an open way,
To return and cast its dreariness on mount or bay.
Men, so eagerly drawn to rule,
The crown falls, the glorious lord grows fool,
Men, their aching hand is losing grip,
Before such hatred, so cruel and deep.
Much is yet to be sung,
So will harps be gently wrung,
In the manners that soul always soothe,
As meander harmonies smooth.
One place in a kind heart,
Struck by your very mystery, as though it were a dart,
Past the sunset of the world, you shall descend your holy seat,
For a new dawn to rise, for new green fields full of wheat.
Aye, that you need not deny,
Dead ones do tell tales,
Feeble murmurs or lie,
Then storming as vigorous gales.
They tell advice and warning,
To not take the road abroad,
To work hard each eve and morning,
Ignoring fantasy or beguiling word.
One ought not to go far, my friend,
If he's so desirous of pleasure,
Here to sneer at fables we tend,
For calm we love and cherish measure.
Wherefore, the dead have a lot to say,
Regretting the warm home they had left,
For deadly quests and beasts which slay,
Snatching their lives in heinous theft.
At last, the host came across,
Through dust, choking ash and great loss,
Leading their armies beyond,
There were two kings, of whom bards sing fond,
A loyal sire, of so rare a sort among Men,
The high monarch of Elves, who any vile was ever to ban,
Ensuing bloody carnage, the two crowns the Dark Kingdom besiege,
Showing no mercy to foul minions or cursed liege,
Unto the slopes of the imposing mountain of fire,
When our foe headed finally forth, one-time much potent Maia.
No, I do believe he's a good wizard,
Keen on caring more after mice, bird or lizard,
He dwells within the dim forest, away from towns or folks,
For not very often would he join everyday business and talks.
Notwithstanding, he's since set on woods the most careful watch,
Lest any ill will spoil the green's sound notch,
As an overseer, he walks the path abreast,
Amidst nature, his love, counselling deer and putting wolves to rest.
Thy love, so fair and pure,
Of fell deeds thou art the cure,
Tenderness for the heart sore,
Nought else we may ask more,
But the sheer grace of thine,
For fain we lived fine,
Preserved from evil and doom,
Dreading not the night, blessed by the Moon,
Awaiting the hour of a just end,
Before which thy faithful Angels thou shalt send.
See, that laborious lot behind their walls,
They speak not of what they store beneath such hidden halls,
Spells, tools and the raw ore they ever fancy to mould,
Deep down, where greed assumes the guise of gold.
Again shall this world suffer,
Yet, befallen tales much from present differ,
As the terrible Hammer of the Underworld was then lost,
Either sunk in the seas or trapped by frost.
Unto this our Third Age,
When the Dark Lord lethal war is to wage,
Now, new demons these unsafe paths tread,
While the hammer's legacy mocks the visage of a wolf-head.
Fond shore, caressed by western waves,
Which gives hope to kind and the fleeing saves,
Afar, melodious echoes seem to spread,
Whither the day goes to die and heavens turn red.
Arduous might be the road,
Augur well or woefully bode,
Never vain, though,
Dark and gloomy as an underworld foe.
Thee we are not forswear,
Not even in the shackles of the worst night-mare,
For well knoweth the soul in sorrow,
That brighter thou wilt make the next morrow.
Tonight almost have I fainted,
Struck by roaring storm,
Raging and unwanted,
Akin to loud waves which round the oceans furiously roam.
Bad thunder often betokens nefarious fate,
Some bloody clash is being fought of late,
I wonder, what shall be of our kindred friends of known fame?
Pray, make the wicked blade miss its aim.
Ramparts of this miserable world,
No longer may you cage my fiery ghost,
Bards shall sing and hail this day by hundredfold,
Honoured in sagas to the most.
The shield-maiden rides swift towards her demise,
I will to perish in the blaze of my love and die,
A new dawn shall nonetheless rise,
Upon a shattered soil, where my sad spoils are endly to lie.
Imladris, you verily hold the keys of wellness,
Same places are not, hallowed by such fairness,
Indeed, the arts of your dwellers has made you a veritable shard of heaven,
Whose righteous tale is spread across the vast seas which we deem seven.
Prime flare in darkness,
Splendour of fairness,
Lightening the ways past the skies,
Trodden by thy very kind, saint and wise.
There, a prime flare is ever-lit,
Piercing the obscure veil of that sidereal pit,
What thou in bygone days haddest made,
To gift light to primaeval nights, never meant to fade.
Much we rejoice at the joys of soil,
Be it golden wheat, rosy apple or olive oil,
Quiet and sound, ignoring aught else but the fruits of labour,
The sole treasure of a Hobbit, which makes home a whole unique flavour.
I sense malaise growing strong,
Recurrent theme in this my sombre song,
Vigilant eyes are caught by sudden sleep,
As the last high lineage of Arda parts from this shore upon a grey ship.
Sentry fires go out and vanish,
Will there be other valiant guards we may cherish?
Clouds waver in turmoil, stirred and angered by malevolent will,
For any pious to dread war's thrill.
What is the House of Rohan, but a mud-crafted hut?
Attended by foul brigands drinking in the company of dirt and rat,
You, Golden King, ageing has not done you well,
Forlorn, you gaze at your lordship crumbling away, as minstrels now sadly tell.
Old fool, your cold fields shall soon feed another hand,
One that commands with the iron fist every land,
The time of the White Wizard has finally come,
Announced by the shaking of steel and the rumble of drum.
The first to see through,
Ere the blessed order towards matter flew,
To rescue the fortunes of an in-thought mankind,
Battling thy very seditious kin and whomever sinful thou wast to fore-find.
Horse-master, to thee hath come the hour,
Glorious yet bitter, tragic and sour,
Another king, dead in honour, another feeble white flower,
No longer art thou ashamed of thy house's company, having fought well for the grand Sentry Tower.
My silver piece, my lovely gem,
Get your wily hands off my dear worth!
Not even salty pig or tender lamb,
Every time, every trouble coming forth.
Snake-relatives and bogus friends,
Enough of admirers and thieves,
The gentle Hobbit love no more sends,
To him who ever lies and deceives.
Beyond the roundness of mortal ends,
Winds disturb not one's route and the merry sailor to dream the unseen tends,
Voyaging whither Elven sagas find just conclusion,
Moving ever farther, piercing illusion.
There, solemn chants seem to await,
Ships are firmly anchored in havens where no day is really late,
A solitary isle, facing sunny shires of great,
Seat of that magnitude which in all ages was demiurge of good fate.
Queen, I would I had thy grace,
Hitherto, sole flaws have halted my strenuously incessant pace,
With thee on my side will I oppose in all forces this encroaching doom,
Praying that nought is to befall, neither later nor soon.
No silly trip into the wild, but a very long step outside home,
For ever are little ones wary of big craft or raging foam,
Not the busy city, not the voluble sea,
We would scarce choose foray over the nice comfortable glee.
Warmer tides shall you sail on,
Once of Men you hear voice and song,
When you enter the realm of stone,
The last solid pillar, the last bearing bone.
Ill-spoken, unto their very final day,
So little an edge from which to stray,
The fate of who dared lay sword against kindred ones,
The potent House of smiths and princes, bringing yonder pride and lance.
Cursed by decree of the Angel of Grimness,
Reigning over the path of regret and sadness,
Thence, the sorrowful Noldor through grief and havoc would meander,
As it was thus foretold, before the two continents were torn asunder.
Aye, a tragedy of elder ages,
Lyrics kept alive by none but sages,
Sagas telling a world that is no more,
Full of wonder without akin rival, which the robes of majesty once wore.
I beseech, make it that the tale shall reach the ghosts who wait,
Lingering for judgement at the end's gate,
Suffering the dominion of the absolute law,
There, even the fault-ridden may redeem, as do the hopeless and the foe.
I would it were easy to utter the proper word,
To tell the wonders lying above, realm of the Lady and the Lord,
To say how grand the ethereal blue getteth, upon this our world,
Peradventure, I might fancy the sound of hymns, which make celestial circles resound clearer by tenfold.
How the Elf-minstrel shall unto oblivion sing,
So shall I in same will, rejoicing at the many lamps of thy magnificent sky-ring,
Nought of thine will truly sink in the abyss of doubt,
For always is someone who fearless thee and thy oeuvres to the globe will shout.
So much for the tasks of the far!
Here would I rather stay,
Lest one my fair solace mar,
Swaying the simple towards so worse a way.
Boredom and stillness I shall promptly retain,
Foreign annoyance will I never miss,
Secure wisdom and ditch the vain,
Honouring my fine ordinary day of peace.
Nay, the wilful explorer shall never grasp the ancient North,
All wounds inflicted, as darkness first came forth,
For the ruinous destiny of a golden past,
Whose trace rests entombed in icy wastes whither even the nasty would not be cast.
Maidens of the heath have since learnt to take up a blade,
Wielding defence before an enemy that much grief on us has laid,
An unwanted acquaintance, war, which none seems to spare,
A chilling kiss of death, ere afar we are to fare.
Maid of amiable heart,
Hold your ground, bearing heavy sword or snide dart,
One day, your gracious hay-locks shall warm the field again,
While earth rewards the daunting labour of your loved weary man.
Farther, unto the end,
Hither will I my thought send,
Whither not to worldly chains I am bound,
Beyond dream and pain by which the earth is wound.
In such manner I shall not regret,
Invoking thy name as though in stone it were set,
The morrow's dawn is to break the night veil soon,
Until light fadeth again for a new moon.
Known wide and broad,
That tale of Bilbo, told in serious mode,
Three brute ones caught him, boding the worst,
When all in statues were turned, as the first aurora burst.
In green lies her tomb,
Hope she had borne in her womb,
Last bright ray of faith in creeping darkness,
Feeble, yet hard to wane before such sort of evilness.
Within the merry Valley she then found refuge,
Beside the wisdom of the Firstborns and spring's hues,
Blazing winds of war shall have swift blown,
Ere the lost king sits on his rightful throne.
Fine olden dagger,
Another time you served the Good,
Drawn in war by the humble, at one's eyes only beggar,
So valiant the carrying hand, so loyal a mood.
Forged amidst gloom and ice,
Years that all must recall, I beseech,
Fate had cast its sour dice,
Hence came this ancient blade, lethal and piercing any wicked witch.
No Vala had part in their making,
None within Eä could mean for them wrecking or faking,
Not even the author could craft splendour twice,
Not the finest hammer of paradise, nor the High Ones without vice.
Three stones of hallowed spirit,
Deed of deeds, legendary merit,
Those thou hast blessed, lest one vile might spoil,
What lit shall have thenceforward shone, against ill fate and toil.
That fey grey beard!
Shall we spot again his pointy hat which many once feared?
Old man, clothed in poor guise,
Tales speak of a wizard and much wise.
Weird traveller of far ways,
Fast and firm upon his steed, journeying through Arda's maze,
He often brings some tricks and trinkets to charm our simple lot,
While magic is the surest thing we want not.
The legitimate king will return, one day,
To the stone and throne devoured by fire, as does heat with dry hay,
A terrible doom with claws and massive wings,
Little could the knowledge of Dwarves do, neither their fabled Seven Rings.
Now rests the mountain lone and still,
As the cruel guardian slumbers therein,
All that's left of the keep's guards is despair beyond measure,
Deep down, where madness hid gold and a grand treasure.
Broad rage and furious storm,
Furore of nature, terrifying both eagle and witless worm,
Appalling visage of a world that wails in chains,
So long as the White Wizard utters impious commands and goodwill feigns.
Sat together with thy holy kind,
To command future and the evil doer to wind,
In miserable shackles and shame,
Victim of nought else but his very fame.
Three ages, in the underworld prison,
Decree of justice and reason,
Before your thrones begged he mercy and pardon,
None ye gave, Lords of the Lit Earldom.
What else but a merry birthday fest?
For a hundred-year one of us,
Who never seems to seek peace or rest,
For a lot he always strives and does.
A jolly party for all to enjoy,
For any fond lad and mate,
Food, beer, cheerful and toy,
Though the old Hobbit has been quite queer of late...
Who knew that the wizard would dare so much?
Farms choked and wheat died, poisoned by his tainting touch,
Laying waste to the proud cold heath,
Common dwellers of the land, used to lore and myth.
The perpetrator shall atone his sins with blood,
He who ordered havoc, massacre and threw our lifeless finest into the mud,
He who rouses tempest and fell bolt,
To avenge heinous crimes and the grave fault.
His beloved half, his glaring sun,
For whom ever good he had done,
A lifetime company beside the Elven lord,
Going past years of either joy or sword,
An Elf-maiden with golden locks of the rarest beauty,
As his love served their king to fulfil the duty,
In the Third Age they happy abode in the secure Valley,
Raising their gracious kin and living wholly,
Until misadventure drew close and severed the bond,
Parting the unlucky princess from this grey shore, heading far and yond.
Crystalline as ever-pure,
Thou wilt never cease to endure,
To face dark and horrid test,
Sovereign of what findeth itself abreast.
Across thousands of thousands of years,
We shall bear thy love and dread no fears,
Unto the hour of ending demise,
When all is revealed and the dead arise.
Wood phantoms walk that old path,
The western road amidst green, so strange and rough,
Ghosts chanting and singing the blue of this earth,
Slow yet incessant is the pace of this grey lot, as it passes and goes forth.
Thus speak the water, the vibrant wood and the clear sky,
Whispering plain truth and not lie,
As nights get grimmer, likewise our shire,
When the secret is unveiled, only told by fire.
Rapid rides the grey guard,
Against any odd and hazard,
He must consult with his higher fellow,
Response he needs, malice advances from all pits hollow,
The mage-chief will perhaps tell,
How malaise spread so wide, why the world is not well,
How we may counter the unrest awoken,
For these clouds sole troubles seem to betoken,
What if the wiser did not know?
What if he weren't ally, but rather foe?
Not mere words, but silent speech,
Thoughts of holy which akin minds reach,
Thy very supreme kind,
Keepers of Arda who all fates bind.
Thou so speakest without error,
To decree what ought to be and release the pious from terror,
Holding thee dear,
Cleansing ghosts from smear.
Bilbo left, bent by time,
Nought else but travel, wood walk and mountain climb,
'Tis how he spent his life, regarding not dishonest neighbours or annoying post,
He found solace, for his sake, in the dreamy mansion of a pointy-eared host.
Cursed wizard, may you perish worst,
You who have slithered inside our conscience first,
As the witless worm which ever is vilified,
The whole country you've shattered and mortified.
Squires fled from farms, plundered and ablaze,
Nor could they bid farewell with a last gaze,
Wandering now hopeless, craving home and food,
While the valiant knight is robbed of his licence to shield our good.
Bowman, stay your arm,
The keep is in peril, sound the alarm!
Hostile ranks are coming, to ravage wealth and victims reap,
We need the surest aim and firmest grip!
Be the dart well-fired!
Near the neck, under the helmet, where the foe is not wired,
Then shall you spear iron and cloth,
To show your veritable strength and laudable worth.
Those who know thee not,
Villain folks, a rowdy eastern lot,
Ignorant of the Powers dwelling west,
Abiding poor in mud-shacks, thus doubtful they rest.
Notwithstanding, all gaze at the starred blue,
As the scorching lamp goeth far and biddeth adieu,
Even the lesser man shall question and wonder,
Who made that brightness, immortalised in such sidereal meander.
The gentle asked once by grace,
"Whither doth the northern path lead?"
Answered was he, while dimmer got my face,
"Fell shires, where wolves off flesh fain feed."
Indeed, the simpleton should not dabbled in that way,
Colder, fouler in the past,
What common tongues say,
When winter would come sudden and fast.
Hold your feet and dread not the sword!
Foes shall not falter nor utter a peaceful word,
Be your hand secure and strong,
For the White Hand extends its reach, ever-cruel and long.
Shields and blades make up for the hardest wall,
Safer than even stone, to repel devils and escape thrall,
An endlessly fearless stand,
Which enemies keeps at bay and off fend.
Three grand heroes of this much grievous tale,
Who never turn their coat or in vain wail,
Three agile hunters, off a foray in the wild,
Swift they move through the heath, albeit silent and mild,
A pack of fiends is their yearned prey,
Sleeping rough under the pale moon, where a glorious kingdom lay,
Pray, their deeds shall maybe wake a dormant will,
Weary and sour, bewitched and still,
Behold, they now enter that perilous wood,
A great white epiphany will shake their hope-seeking mood.
As sole radiant star we bethink of thee,
The only consoling figure one may see,
When all getteth grim and pale,
In the shadow, even the gentle might stray away and fail.
Glaring sun, rising in the East,
Magnificent dawn, driving off gloomy mist,
Pilgrim, if thou be'st true and fine,
Shalt thou not succumb to any fear of thine.
A hole in the ground, where dwells the buoyant Hobbit,
Fancying not action, but rather fresh milk and tasty rabbit,
Rejoicing at the merry state of their green land,
Whence only happy vibes its inhabitants send.
All beseemed to fare well and sound,
Up north, where Elendil safe refuge had then found,
Thence, a grand northern realm was to thrive,
Keeping the fortunes of Men secure and their hope alive.
Until a fell wind blew away such joyful pride,
Internal strife devoured the kingdom from within, sparing neither lord nor side,
As hail had turned into devilish blizzard,
At the command of a mysterious wicked wizard.
Take the way of the haunted mountain,
Source of grudge, and of regret fountain,
Traitors lie therein, awaiting the seemingly lost heir,
He who may free them from torture, restoring the right and fair.
So we can have the deadliest weapon up our sleeve,
Maidens shall sew triumph and victory weave,
None could ever hinder the passage of a phantom-host,
Which greatly seeks revenge and vengeance for the most.
Gifted with thy comfort,
Night may we bear,
Flaws out we sort,
Honouring thee, ever-fair.
Aye, Queen of Starlight,
Ruling peoples and skies,
For none dare oppose thy all-might,
Thou who art clear of lies.
Nay, stay away from sight!
What dost thou do here, haunting us as sinister wight?
Men are seldom welcome inside this very green land,
And very few actually know the place, having other fiefdoms to command.
Betwixt wood and shore,
Here is our hidden lore,
Folks deemed often lesser,
Albeit merrier than most, and never grosser.
Below the white rings of wall,
As shadows cover the world and suddenly fall,
Pikes and filth lay siege to the Sentry Tower,
Whose sad dwellers now flee for their lives and awfully cower.
Quiet, young lad, these borders know not danger,
Ever guards and watches the wary ranger,
Tree guardians of old, at the service of the sorceress,
Preserving what lives and grows, for here is no wilderness.
A potent Elf-witch, versed with spells,
In the heart of her golden domain she dwells,
No strange philtre she needs, no magic wand,
The coldest heart she easily wins, being souls of her much fond.
Lest we be not to prevail,
Lest our fine ship astray sail,
Lest we not do what it ought,
Lest it all be for nought.
Maker of Stars, await we thy last test,
For always must faith be proved above all rest,
Hoping to cross the sundering blue,
Towards Valinor the Splendid, may our heart be true.
Calm nights are the sole burden here, past twilight,
I suppose that abroad much ill befalls in the dark, without the gift of foresight,
For very plain is it to see, how foreign ones dread a lot the shadow,
In both city and farm, in both coast and meadow.
While starred skies bother not the Shire,
So shall it be, so was it prior,
Within the fences of our delightful field,
Where hardly ever should one any blade wield.
We will not forget,
The foes that did us wrong and troubles still beget,
Avenged shall be the weeping squire,
Iron we'll meet with iron, fire with fire.
Do not be afraid of knowing more,
To delve into secret and antique lore,
Songs and lays of yore might take one thither,
To wisdom and wit, which time may not weaken or make wither.
Hence, let your mind ready and open,
To read the joys of kingdoms, or tragedy occurring often,
Ages dispersed in wind and dust, afar from these sad dreary times,
Vile is the spirit that despises verses and rhymes.
Thou, Queen of Hearts,
Strike mine with thy darts,
Thus shall I bring glory to thy name,
And glare in holiness same.
So jolly herein,
Well fatter than thin,
Never empty is the glass,
Days run and pains pass.
Serene rests the brave king,
His soul soared high, as endowed with wide wing,
The hall is silent, apart from royal mourning,
The sad Dwarven monarch still holds his blade, serving as glowing warning.
Back he came, for everyone's sake,
After falling in deep dark, down to a hidden lake,
Beneath the very abyss of the mines,
The mage stands now mighty, ready to dare evil and all its kinds.
Hail to thee, Victress of Evil,
Demiurge of Light when hours passed primaeval,
Aye, thou art wont to relieve us from sin,
For all of thy names immense beatitude mean.
In case the hard-working Hobbit began to feel toil,
Prostrated by labour and the many needs of soil,
In the warmth of the tavern shall he ever find joy,
By firing up some nights with merry tales that seldom annoy.
Indeed, the gravest toll was to be paid,
The Dark Lord was not content, while feeble hopes were soon to fade,
He craved hold of the ancient bridge, plotting onslaught and even more,
So sent the frail steward his dearest towards sacrifice and gore.
A cold damsel of this chilled land,
In truth, she harbours a flame and the flaring vigour of old, as past knights used to tend,
Her heart has grown weary and much dismayed,
Carrying the signs of grief and unjust death, for to her brethren farewell she bade.
On the field of fierce clash will she avenge her kind,
Freeing her soul from guilt and from shame her mind,
Piercing the fell adversary with iron and ire,
At the behest of the horse-realm and her golden sire.
Victress of Death, defying sorrow,
Hailing fond the perished, inside Aman's ever-lit morrow,
Thou givest love and endurance by which to live,
Cherishing thy undying lamps, glaring radiant through the eve.
We shall go back to friendly green and blue,
We shall behold dear home anew,
That to which we bade adieu, to take the ways abreast,
Forsaking behind peace, solace and happy fest.
Aye, we shall part from ash and fire,
Heading whither lies our merry Shire,
Thence we won't ever take sad leave,
Partaking in deeds which jesters sing and maidens weave.
Tongues stay and hush,
Where trees are as rare as lush,
Whenever one hears that fearsome name,
A shadow grows unnoticed and becomes ill fame.
An eastern spectre, looming ahead,
Turning skies black and streams red,
One ghost corroding wood and stone,
Devouring and mauling all to the bone.
Long have we craved a new proud king,
One we bow to and whom we fain sing,
One who cares not about snide nasty murmur,
One who may free us from chill, making weary hearts warmer.
Past the circles of heavens, past thy starred night,
Findeth itself the hopeless realm of chaos, whither are cast demon and wight,
Dominion of the enshrouding Void, outside the gates of Eä and matter,
Of which very little bards sing and lyrics utter.
Walking freely under the moon,
Along bush and lively tree,
To be home enough soon,
Knowing not fatigue or painful plea.
To taste the real savour of life,
So abides the gentle Hobbit glad,
Avoiding despair and foreign strife,
Which ever make one so mad.
Their efforts were all in vain,
For nought could be done against the evil sovereign,
Thus fell many on alien mortal soil,
Away from bliss, chained by toil.
The unlucky exiled were not to escape their cruel fate,
At the mercy of a terrible curse, to undo which it seemed so late,
A royal kin of legends and ever-lasting fame,
Perennial as the boreal ices which earthly weather may not tame.
Deep blue, as appears to be the tale,
Of two lone wizards, gone with the oriental breeze and doomed to fail,
Departed silently towards the secret routes of the uncanny East,
Vanished fast, as feeble morning mist.
A story truly wreathed in riddle,
They preferred exotic shires over known middle,
None were told about their doings among so lesser a kind,
Easy to bewilder with cheap tricks and to serfdom bind.
Fated to live,
Brightening up those who grieve,
Thus madest thou thy immortal light,
Thenceforth bound to relieve one's burdened sight.
So wheel thy oeuvres around,
Spinning gently, not less sound,
Eternal sign, if I be to earn trust,
To become a prodigy, rejoicing at beacons that ever last.
So much for a peaceful land!
Strangers come, sometimes,
Calmness they love to offend,
Fiends ought to leave betimes.
Foreigners we seldom seek,
Trouble-makers and kindred,
Who greatly despise the meek,
Demanding they be lodged and well-fed.
Too late, chill has since outgrown the sunny day,
Now stained by wuthering gales barring the way,
Thick, vicious ice which all seems to cage,
As the enslaved beast, for it's the fell deed of a mage,
Nasty sire of demon and ghost,
Turning this frozen tide from ill to worst,
He laid hand on a once fertile shire,
Suddenly ending the crown that was prior,
Winter advances, bitter and sour,
Blight destroys fields, as rapid as hay succumbs to fire.
Within Kôr of Many Towers,
Streets carved out of gold, balconies abundant of flowers,
Pearls and jewels, here and yonder,
To the ever-enduring glory of its blessed founder.
Wealth and wellness, to the honour of their green home,
About the shores of Aman, whither are led waves and foam,
Up to the majestic belfry, auguring good and prosperous future,
Inside the Sunny Country, realm of spirits of saint nature.
Guarding the end, two sentinels of celestial size,
Them thou gavest beginning, divining ill beyond wise,
Eternal is the route, ever die they and then rise,
To feed hope in a world growing dim, which no longer recognise eyes.
Worries that mar one's being,
Is the border of the wild so thin?
Peril abounds well in the realm of faraway folks,
The wight of discord sows ire and free walks.
Herein, not a promise of happiness shall you find,
Hither may you come, leaving behind daily grind,
Hence will the foreign depart merrily, as the gleeful maiden or boy,
If not at endless bliss, rejoicing at a tiny shade of joy.
From superb potent sire,
To mere harmless squire,
A sole voice calls for the aid of an heir,
Praying, relying on justice deemed fair.
Don't weary Men deserve the counsel of a guide?
The mercy of a fine king, as soul-soothing as it's wide?
Following a long night of watchful vigil, yearning sure law,
Ending the sunset of hope they too often saw.
Risen is a new tyrant,
Implacable as death, as a flaring sun vibrant,
Not a vicious monster, not a vile fiend,
Impetuous as roars thunder in the raging wind.
She longs for a new domain to govern,
Gaoling her foes deep in miserable cavern,
Thus wills the new dreadful monarch, foretelling the advent of darkness,
Though light has not gone out yet, welcoming a new empress of evilness.
Shall there be one, who may sustain her lethal gaze?
One who shan't cower away and be lost in her maze,
For the cruel queen speaks misery and plans foul gain,
Towering over the lesser, as the very mankind's bane.
Behold, skies are pierced by such a glare,
Not fine radiance, but devilish sight of a mare,
A spell of terror and folly,
Meant to shatter one's valour and round the world wholly.
Her fury shall beget the coming of fearsome storm,
Rousing gales and sea-tempest, to the breaking of nature's norm,
Bowing waves to a new mistress of marvel,
Before whom waters kneel, bearer of magic sung in dusty book or ancient novel.
Should fools force her heart to wail,
Fell rain shall flood realms and thenceforth tell a sombre tale,
Washing rebels away and cleansing pity,
Across every village, town and unfortunate city.
Lady of grief and dread,
To a gloomy kingdom the world shall you have led,
Before all is done and gone,
Crushed kings without remorse and any contest won.
For neither can marble resist you, nor may stone,
As earth writhes in pain, same as grand palace or dome,
Your command shatters land and ground, deep to the very core,
Beneath shires and forts, for a hopeless abyss to bore.
Fay of woe, ruler of wuthering wind,
The serf shall love his new queen, be he good or fiend,
Monarchs bid servitude, offering land and host,
Which sires have plenty of and superbly boast.
Mortal hubris is but a mere glimpse before the gates of time,
Implacable as plague, the peak of omnipotence she is to climb,
Torturing the pious and caging the right,
As ghoulish twilight descends on a marred world, harbinger of a long dark night.
Thy self no-one shall dare insult,
Unless he be victim of vice and fault,
Who may question the ever-true and fine?
Doubting the godly and divine?
Lady of Grace, spare us foul and ill,
Saving a gentle heart, needing warm and no chill,
Awaiting the time of thy final say,
Then shall we welcome thee, at the end of the lay.
Past the field and homely road,
Past the kind wet wheat, of which we reap a load,
There lies the path of adventure and hazard,
One we take not, one whence we're barred.
His last gaze was upon locks of gold,
Crushed by his steed that weighed twofold,
Before the pinnacles of Men's sentry,
After forbidding foes from gaining entry.
In truth, no vanity or hopeless sire,
But a grand king of prior,
Bidding farewell to mundane fame,
Joining the ranks of his bygone kin, now without shame.
Red book which much tells,
Oeuvre of the Hobbit that in a hole dwells,
A journey, there and back again,
In the fond company of either stubborn dwarf or brave man.
And a quest to rescue the age and undo evil,
To vindicate the poor weak and the unfortunate feeble,
Late, at the twilight of wonder which foretokened tragic,
At the ultimate sunset of prodigy and magic.
Upon the greatest height,
Lieth there the seat of thy might,
On the chief-mountain, so terrible and fair,
Above all other peaks, where snow groweth free and bare.
Betwixt round heavens and deadly void,
Nought is made weaker or alloyed,
Thee squires chant, praising the immortal radiance of such a face,
Mirror of what was before seas and outer space.
Many joys, that we only ask,
For the pious who ever stays true to his task,
For the exhausted farmer, reaping the fruits of soil,
For his old back, bent by winters and toil.
Common he was, merry as morn,
Seeking new stories to tell, among his folk of corn,
Fancying the unusual and strange,
Yearning the mystery within his short range.
Until fortune had spelt a cruel fate,
From the mud-tainted pond, he retrieved a treasure of hate,
Gold, though ominous sign of grave to befall,
When moon-less night shall have fallen and shadow breached the Good's wall.
Deep in the once-sunny Isle of Gift, beneath the sacred peak,
Lay the graves of old kings and queens, entombed with their crown and royal stick,
Below the holy temple of the One,
Which would ever rest unspoilt from vice, bathing Númenor in its noon's sun.
On thy shoulders are the fates of time and matter,
The fate of earth's deepest, which only He may shatter,
The course and journey of celestial lamps, over whose endless going thou art ever to rule,
Gifting thy power to the whole of us, keeping afar wight and ghoul.
So fond treads he the green way of the Shire,
Drawn to the humble and mere, they say, whom few verily admire,
Bringing with him lots of tales of old,
Of how the world used to be warmer and bold.
Leading the proud host into the realm of night,
Close to darkness and appalling infernal sight,
The prince faltered not until duty was fairly done,
Many lives were ended, so that right won.
Evil, beleaguered and caught,
Utterly vanquished, for three kings its devils fought,
The loyal guardian of the tower died in ferocious clash, holding his ground as every servant of light must,
Not perished in vain, but fallen in just.
Wailing wolf, howling the quick change of all,
Lone, waiting for other solitary wanderers to call,
Witnessing troubles and many wars,
To the furious wind he shouts his anger and roars.
Peace no longer reigns in the wasted North,
There demons woke and hungrily came forth,
Ice grew thicker and iron sharp,
Boreal grief and sorrow shall then tell my harp.
Joyful join the Eldar banquets and parties atop the Mount,
Whence they ever behold thy craft, so hard to count,
Saints and kings are summoned before the divine crown,
Here they hail their Lords dearest, proud to partake in such godly renown.
Hymns and songs are sung and played,
In the manner of the Light-elf, in whose piety all is made,
Queen of Hearts, sure shalt thou rejoice at that feast,
Sat in the never-ceasing majesty, towering any cloud or sky mist.
Aye, that we often recall,
How he crept his way in, vowing to mend and solve,
Old, consumed and spent by vileness,
Mere robes would only cover such great evilness.
A queer guest, come from distrust and peril,
Willing to sow discord as malevolent devil,
Arming himself with naught but enthralling speech,
To live off the good Hobbit's labour, mirroring the wild pestering leech.
Ablaze, thus ended luck for mortal men,
Left by western grace, lured in the wolf's den,
Heeding disgraceful advice from the mouth of shadow,
Departing, heading to the much-longed immortal meadow.
So sets the superb king to sail ahead,
Breaching the absolute Ban imposed by heaven,
Intent to break the sacred alliance which survived an era,
Common blood of common courage,
The finest of bygone ages of yore,
Though fated to vanish in woe, as such had been the epilogue of elder deeds,
Saviours of peoples, revered and feared,
From captors to captives, ruin they had let slither into the wondrous Isle,
Craving life which ever lasts beneath the circles of Arda,
Crossing then the utmost limit, leading vessels to unknown forbidden tides.
Before thee are woes to pale,
Before thee we shan't succumb nor ail,
Unto the last hour of bliss,
After which shall the Powers wane and miss.
Such was the fate foretold,
Such was the future that thou wast to mould,
Praying that light will prevail,
Drawing the sword of justice and the shield of law, of great avail.
Should one opt for wild and danger-road,
We won't speak much praise or sing an ode,
For ever is the Hobbit advised not to proceed farther,
In the land of lawless and murder.
Strange tale does the wind bring to the ear,
Not bogus story or snide smear,
For peril dwells ahead, out of green and wooden fence,
Far from warm company and merry dance.
Treason, the vilest of all!
How goodwill was poisoned and dream made to fall,
Into the pitfall of deceit and sorrow,
Destined to be pitied and mourned in the lay of tomorrow.
Heirlooms of extraordinary nature and scope,
The master of which was forged in secrecy, upon the infernal slope,
Scheme of a cunning guest who just misery willed to spread,
Laying waste to splendour, sparing neither living nor dead.
A rare flower of good hope,
Firm and hard as the fabled Elven rope,
Not a phantom of vain desire,
But a flaming spark of lively fire,
One whom folks ignore and know not,
One whom the free hold dear and long sought,
A ranger, come from dim woods and savage,
Set to claim his throne, for this world to salvage,
Contending right and realm against the gathering storms,
Daring the one-time hidden beast, which now fears not war and free roams.
Best ally, beside thy king,
Best companion, sat in doom's ring,
A queen, loyal and fair,
Far beyond knowledge and snare.
A bond which nought may break,
Not even the deepest abyss or the obscure lake,
Not even the loud fires beneath the earth,
Not even relentless evil, which fighting is ever worth.
Here comes the buoyant wizard,
Drawn to jovial ways, as heat exactly calls the sleepy lizard,
Bearer of joy and wonders in the main,
Partaking fondly in the peace of the Halfling's domain.
In the heat of the clash,
The fire-mount erupted with flames and burst in flash,
The loyal king stood bold and just,
Facing the tyrant heading out of the lair, solely moved by revenge and lust.
Last fine lineage of old,
Since the sinking of his past, since the change of the ancient world,
When High Men would gaze with hope at the distant western shore,
Holding order precious and being excellent sages of lore.
Some luck for marble and stone,
Some better wisdom for who reigns alone,
Some great honour for blade and shield,
Some more will to build.
Awaiting the prophesied flower,
Which might cure anything gone dreary and sour,
Which shall rekindle hearts anew,
As the wise foresaw and well knew.
Infallible harbour of mercy,
One which never faileth to rescue from raging blue-sea,
Thither may the troubled vessel head,
So shall the voluble tide of case have led.
Thee storm will not silence,
Thou shalt keep the fiend away and shield from violence,
Pray, foul is not to break through,
For ever is the seagull wary of peril whence she flew.
Thus shall this golden tree tell,
How blessed the place was, how humble crushed fell,
Gift of holiness, from a yester-morrow,
Seed to render sacred and soil hallow.
Nay, it's not finished ere hope goes out and dies,
Before which we'll strive to war for right and unveil lies,
When sun leaves space for dark,
Still is there a chance to wake the slumbering fire, in need of flaring spark.
Such was decreed how all would fare,
An ever-lasting existence beneath the roundness of Arda's air,
The fair Elf shall live so long the world breathes,
The sole killing he dreads, as in pain his soul writhes.
Yet parts his spirit not forever,
For their love for matter nought may truly sever,
Weary grows the Firstborn, living to bear the wounds of the past,
Lingering in eternity and outliving death, while mortals wither and fade fast.
Thus came the time to embrace light,
To leave behind the lone island, for so brighter a sight,
Profound did the Eldar crave the land of dream,
Decision of heart, and not on a whim.
Fair wings bore the weight of vessels and ships,
Brought beyond the curtain of death, now known just by fables and lips,
Passing through the sundering tides of the ancient West,
Forbidden and loud, lingering on the very end's crest.
Heading gladly thither, whither would the sun then die,
A virgin realm, clear from vice and immune to lie,
Yonder, past the rupture of hues in the stone,
There bliss had been first, where holy kin shall have later grown.
Within the domain of rule and faith,
Far from anguish or haunting wraith,
Here dwells eternity's seat, upon whiteness that ever is to last,
Close to the encircling blue, whence come storms and lightning blast.
Betwixt glory and fame,
Hath the Smith laboured, turning in legend his name,
Prior to moonlight, prior to doom,
Thou wilt hear of sadness and gloom.
Alas, not even within solemn right,
Have woes spared the angel-kingdom, then sole beacon of light,
It was, thus, greed and ferocious will, which dry the world shall have bled,
Clad in the shame of murder, forging night and dread.
Ever shall the wheel turn,
Ever will villages suffer and shacks burn,
It seems this adverse fate fancies a tragic loop,
Boding far ill, for every gentle preferring hearth and soup.
Ever shall shadows pave their entrance anew,
Breaching the solid fort of our hope, now manned by so few,
Foul phantoms walk again the ways of common,
Spectres are conjured in the dark, devils are summoned.
Into the forest of the world, an old nightmare rose,
Adamant in bloody vengeance, surely the mightiest of foes,
Craving the end of all that has hitherto been,
Drawn to cursed gold, on slaughter very keen.
It's time one were there to fight,
The last defence of good kind, a cure for blight,
Aye, heroes mankind may honour and hail,
When the Immortals part from weariness and hence sail.
Throughout night and day,
Among every wonder and deed that see you may,
Very little stands beside the deep mines,
Equalled by naught, great chest of riches and prideful signs.
Then came the hour of fear,
And fearsome grew its vicious enemies, recalled in tear,
No more shall we delight the halls with song and tale,
Void and silence are the sole companion, one to pity and wail.
Father of all, almighty and good,
Maker of dawn, water, stone and wood,
I relinquish my rule and remit it to thee,
Ultimate sovereign of love, beyond the end thou art to be.
The Star-Island hath disowned and betrayed the vow,
Breaching the Ban and speaking woes loud,
Take the sceptre, take my crown,
So foes may suffer and sink down.
Woes to the wrongful, woes to the evil,
Void is to await rebel and devil,
Now shall I stretch my hand over the Isle and smite her with my wonder!
Woes to those seeking endless life beneath my heavens, in the Realm of Yonder!
Rain no longer falls,
A final sunset sight enthrals,
The ending of grim deeds,
The rueful Elf farewell bids.
It's time for a new day to commence,
Refreshed breeze for all to sense,
Those who came first, they thus bequeath a greyer shore,
To those who awoke second, in the obscure mazes of another lore.
Deathless is no more the dweller of hither,
He has parted, heading to majesty in the shires of thither,
Longing to live the ages ahead under an eternal dawn,
Carrying regrets and remorse across the waves, where saints weep and angels mourn.
Glorious king, bound to die,
Much you fought and never lie,
A newer era is your bequest,
To hold tight and keep, both in despairing worst and in joyous best.
Sun has sunk in a restless night,
A bright day has plunged into mares and fright,
Light of old, vanished and gone,
Recalled and yearned in nostalgic song.
What had fallen has risen again,
Bidding to besiege the world and ravage land,
Such wraith of ash and gloom,
Beacon of nought else but doom.
The Dark Lord wakes storm and thunder,
Wealth and fields his foul legions are to plunder,
Amassing shadow in his dreary kingdom,
A last enemy of greatness and wisdom.
Pawns are placed and set,
Shall the mortal monarch his foe inside let?
Shall the fine stone of Men withstand the test?
For the sake of the never-waning Good in the West.
Quick is the pace,
Within a one-time realm of grace,
Beneath branches and soaring birds,
Whose beauty is seldom caught by hymns and words.
A jewel, deep inland,
As a treasure, buried and hidden in the sand,
Ever-guarded by bow and swift arrow,
Once merry in the hour of a yester-morrow.
Ruined and marred,
From easy voyage are strangers barred,
Peril awaits, lurking in night,
Sunny mornings became so rare a sight.
The king has moved north, founding a safer domain,
The forest got ill, struck by an unknown bane,
Meandering through sick green,
So do sentinels, hoping that just shall ultimately win.
Humming is the sound of war,
Not vivid yet, not as the crimson stain of gore,
That will water rivers and plains,
Should the abyss release its banes.
Until the hour shall we shed no tear,
Ere darkness casts its veil shall foretell the seer,
How morn and eve are to eclipse,
Leaving but sheer anguish, in much ominous glimpse.
Humming will be the trumpet of battle,
Calling for contest, neither feigned nor subtle,
At the ending chapter of the book,
When any hope the gentle side forsook.
So will all occur,
Many light and fairness forswore,
For none had dared come forth,
Either from scorching South or chilling North.
Bowing tides to thy ship,
Scolding waters as fierce whip,
Kings and queens between bliss and death,
Gifting life with vital breath.
Thou, five-point Isle,
Champion of the right, never of the vile,
Hold the sceptre of might, now thine,
Older and much wiser, gallant and fine.
Loose hoof,
Thatched roof,
Eventually freed,
By a hero's creed.
Wanderers came from abroad,
Brighter days were to forebode,
A wise sage and his staff,
Speaking wisdom and teaching craft.
The horse's hour is yet to show,
The vile wizard shall not his grip forgo,
Upon the black tower,
Beacon of bolt, once garden of flower.
Be cursed, liar,
Master of iron and fire,
Moulder of steel and blade,
Waste to the green fold you laid.
Such saving glare,
Behold, how radiant a flare!
Light then pierces skies and night,
Routing the masters of the unright.
Shadows retreat and fade away,
Now is Dark but a far old tale,
A silent murmur in the loud wind,
Sun triumphs after heroes smote the fiend.
Flies a drake in the Shire,
Of light, sparkle and fire,
For the awe of peasants and squires,
In the land of jolly vibes and no sires.
Fireworks and magic tricks,
Beer is never enough and from pints ever leaks,
Songs and laughter, to fill blank and grief,
Content to rejoice at life and welcome relief.
Man envies what he's not to own,
Immortal life by human fate has not been sown,
Ages of death and loss have since flown,
For all a last wind shall have been blown.
Spring cannot be forever,
Leaves always part from trees and bonds sever,
Never has dawn been eternal day,
But in the western realm of the Lords who any thing may.
But, wrong would be to elect despair,
To call the routes of Men callous and unfair,
For a mystery lies beyond and above,
Past the bounds of space and love.
A gift bestowed the One upon the late,
The awoken Children after much wait,
Weary, feeble and suffering bane,
Yet free to go and avoid the ever-lasting strain.
Abode the High in a lake,
Once, when much they were still to make,
To craft and shape beneath a sky bygone,
Of order and peace Gods were fond.
Symmetry, whilst all was well,
No shadow cast on joy,
Neither was there scheme, nor ploy,
An isle guarded from fell.
There dwelt the bright,
Bathing in the ancient day,
Of greatness and grandiose might,
Not even recalled in Elven lay.
Until the Lamps crumbled,
And storms raged and thunder rumbled,
Ice and fire broke the spring,
In nefarious night and on death's wing.
For want of great,
Shalt thou strive and seek?
Not burdened or late,
Ever-prompt and never weak.
Thou dost justice and honour,
To choose a route of danger.
Albeit siding with fellows of vigour,
A woodland prince and a gallant ranger.
Whom ye war against must be such fiend,
A potent lord of dark.
Fire shall be fed by nasty wind,
Where lies prosper as infamy's vivid mark.
Fellowship, be thy courage enough,
To outlive terror and dread.
When the road goeth rough,
Strength for the living, pity for the dead.
She carried them across,
Past pain, peril and much loss,
Those awoken under the stars,
When Arda already bore its scars.
She was raised from the deep,
Risen for the sake of all who weep,
Brought to the holy home they had to be,
Via the fresh ways of the Great Sea.
The Marine King sang and storms hushed,
Tempest got quiet and elsewhere dashed,
An isle from the blue was used as vessel,
To take Immortals thither, with no haste or hustle.
Then were those rocks anchored before the saint-shore,
Partaken in bliss and divine lore,
The Lonely Island, in-between,
Which exiles fain shall have seen.
Remembrance of old,
Treasure of gold,
Well was all to fare,
Wind would strip trees bare.
Kings and Queens of yonder,
Seas the two shores did not sunder,
The door was still open,
As ill befell the world too often.
Is the past to be yearned again?
For any wise immortal and proud man,
Will the present shift for worse?
Or has the good the chance to undo the curse?
Gone foes might come anew,
The spectre of war too close drew,
The Mount of Doom roars now and demands blood,
To trap the gentle in gore and mud.
Wield some iron of great,
A lance to save the fate,
Piercing horrid flesh,
To slay demons and slash.
Ride fast, my knight,
Once exile, now herald of might,
Banished no longer,
Flouting traitor and warmonger.
Fierce son of the meadow,
Too long have you trodden ways of shadow,
Whilst the king appeared cold,
And numb and so easy to mould.
Albeit spell and wicked charm,
Causing fear and much harm,
Your fellows were never to doubt,
That you'd return and just sedition shout.
Lovely stone,
Lying lone,
Now forlorn,
An armour worn.
To shield the broad North,
From peril coming forth,
From thick ice and hail,
Which soul tortured and dealt pain.
Lovely ruin,
Undone by doing,
Of a foul captain of wight,
Glorying much in disorder as in fright.
Dusk then fell,
On the vanquished realm of fort and bell,
But the tower has not surrendered yet,
A new sun might rise, that shall warm frost to wet.
Westward, off the outer road,
For well and better to bode,
Unusual path, heading to secret,
The crossroad of remorse and regret.
Whether the grieving Elf is to long for the wide sea,
Much-present prayer in his plea,
That is yet to be said,
Drained is the soul who such burden to carry had.
Fore-known he had this end,
Worldly flaws none can mend,
Men may still prosper and grow in shadow,
The Firstborn cannot, lest happy maiden be rendered widow.
Immortal blood must take the way of waves,
Order above all the just Elda craves,
The road gives nought to others,
Death-ridden ones should then aid akin brothers.
He who goes beyond the frontier,
Far and way easier,
One would think,
In the calm Hobbit-world to sink.
Well, traveller of afar,
With so many memories you have filled your jar,
Recalling but the pests of abroad,
Of joys, instead, here we have a load.
Hard labour we always laud,
The gentle no peril-ridden path trod,
What makes life good,
We know well, in this our quiet mood.
Delusion awaits those expecting treasure,
Abiding in the land of green and leisure,
Unless you be sure that brighter is another kind of gold,
That in folks hides, and which you may not shape nor mould.
Through plight and sorrow,
We shall see the end,
Beholding a fairer morrow,
Once dispersed ash and sand.
Yester-pain will fade away,
Bidding farewell to the day,
A new dawn to soar,
A new age to love more.
Life, though wounded and weary,
The just route it is to find,
Lightening all that sleeps dreary,
Consoling the suffering mind.
The flower of hope then blooms in tough and hard,
Of earth's evils shall sing the bard,
If a mount rages and roars in hell,
We vow to battle mares and stay well.
Moon rays, so sweet and tender,
Caressing lakes and worldly wonder,
Fancying much any tiny or slender,
Gazing at the immense above, looking at the forbidden yonder.
Dim radiance of old,
Pale, aye, yet ever-bold,
To pierce and tear through dark,
Leaving a veritably memorable mark.
Moon, once fruit of silver,
Flaming and dancing upon the chariot of your wielder,
Journeying hither and thither,
Voyage which just demons dare bother.
Born to bring good to the forsaken shore,
Illuminating vices and unravelling injustice to the core,
Enemies mankind needed face,
A firm sword to counter grievous mace.
Cast the dart, Elven prince!
Two arrows, two lethal twins,
May your aim be enough sure,
May your guard keep closed the door.
The gate of woodland halls,
Secured by underneath walls,
Where the king dwells in wait,
Whence he seldom parts for want of great.
Cast a thorn of worthy praise,
So such deeds your gentry amaze,
Wandering through bush and thicket,
Sometimes, wishing hunt for filth and wicked.
It's time you were up to another task,
At wonder's sunset, at marvel's dusk,
New fond allies to aid,
New vicious foes that kill and raid.
Slumbering within the heart,
The centre of green,
Where life is set to start,
From mere seed to complex being.
Wood-lord, most ancient of the trees,
Walking past branches and leaves,
Singing jolly and merry,
To his lovely fellows, once small nut or berry.
Recalling woes befallen,
Narrating antique and olden,
Speaking of wars between mages and kings,
Of flaming devils and magic Rings.
The keeper will stay and keep,
So are woods to endure,
The unfortunate course to weep,
Longing for freedom and cure.
Go, my love, sail towards the sunset,
Safe, as I my fate shall have met,
Do not waste your beauty in the shires of grief,
Do not linger about the mournful reef.
Head to the land where every green is made to shine,
Perpetual hues, at whose sight all dine,
To the Country of Thither,
Nought there might ever wither.
Ere your days get dreary and sink in gloom,
A flower needs only light to bloom,
Defeat's menacing phantoms across any earldom loom,
Part hence, before staying means doom!
Our love shall not perish,
Within bliss shall you keep its memory to cherish,
But a remembrance of mortal adventure, it may seem,
The most precious treasure to hold in one's heart, that I deem.
Via tides I dare,
To find others that could bear,
The immense weight of water,
Hailing vastness as fond daughter.
She fears not storm,
The bastion of law and norm,
Amidst grand ones that wane,
Struck by weariness or foul bane.
The Land of Gift,
Mariners passing waves,
So firm and swift,
Borne by zephyrs and gales.
Númenor, whom hast thou not enthralled?
Bewildered, by the Island off the known world?
Shall thy legacy outlive disgrace?
Shall folks recall thy elder race?
Epic echoes in forever,
Every time, age and wherever,
Battles, clashes and gore,
Not just glory in the course of lore,
Great cities reduced to dust,
Their lords' marble images now rot and rust,
Eaten, devoured by the past,
Slain by those whom fight they ever must,
Fallen towers, bones of rock,
Dead kings, once fine in figure to mock.
On a stone altar,
He who was not to falter,
Laid there to rest,
Grandest of his kin and best,
The human monarch, from proud to grim,
Used to commanding fear and not mild seem,
Sign of an age bidding salute,
Splendour of yore we shall not refute,
Of regal awe and might,
Of undimmed memory and bright.
Funny, silly jest,
What else, my dear guest?
Oh, thou wouldst hear more,
Ere food is short and thy throat sore.
Well, traveller of faraway ends,
Pardon words, we shall make amends,
For art thou in the green Shire,
Wherein find we not anger and ire.
Thus, hearken to this our tale,
Hidden by secret veil,
Wreathed in time's mist,
Drawn swords and closed fist.
A simple Hobbit partook in a quest,
Passing grave peaks and the murky wood's test,
Defying spiders and Orcs,
Battling witchcraft and black magic's works.
Beside fine fellows of regal kind,
Stubborn, aye, yet never failing mind,
To reclaim a kingdom, buried in wealth and stone,
Cursed by greed, where a cruel dragon ruled lone.
Alas, darling friend,
Not all was right to mend,
A realm conquered anew,
But the king fell and his soul flew.
Buried inside his home,
Entombed under the mount's dome,
Engraved there, to rest unto the breach of the gate,
When victory shall perhaps beseem too late.
Ah, what was of our brave one?
War he survived and just was done,
A new ally he hath found in a mage,
A buoyant grey wizard, immensely wise and sage.
Behold, the curtain of fog fades away,
A sweet breeze carries us safe from death and decay,
May you feel the vessel leave fear and bane?
A straight route towards the western Immaculate Reign.
Seat of splendour and gold,
Beyond measure mighty and old,
Evergreen Fields within such colossal shield,
Before the holy Powers, who the heavy sceptre of regency wield.
Fragile tender flower,
So sweet, resenting sour,
But a brief moment on earth,
Albeit fond and very worth.
Facing winter and its cold,
Knowing not whether spring was then to unfold,
Daring grievous and evil,
Often comes real valour from the feeble.
Is it worthy, to abide in the ephemeral and unsure?
It is, for a weak soul yet pure,
One whom illness shall never break,
One whom adversities noble make.
The short living of the mortal man,
Fated to pass, nought he can,
Though greater are the deeds of those who perish,
If love, right and mercy they deeply cherish.
Clad in wild ether,
As emerald serpents that swift slither,
Covered and hidden,
Fey heights, fog-ridden.
Home to trick and dread,
Voracious jaws they have fed,
Be it nasty Goblin inside his cave,
Be it fell watcher under the wave.
Dwelling of wealth and might,
Aye, storing fair diamonds of stainless white,
Where dwarf-lords would rule fain,
Ere smitten they were by a real bane.
In truth, another one in the tale,
Whom none wanted to mourn or wail,
The deepest pit he elected as lair,
With the sole company of riddles and the heaviest weight to bear.
A tomb for the defiant guard,
Flooded by horror, the path was then barred,
Until a fellowship broke the silence of the empty hall,
Upon a bridge of doom, whence two angels were thus to fall.
Where was the vast kingdom of stone?
Where were they, when fiends mauled us to the bone?
The fierce knight was in need of aid,
The White Hand to every land siege had laid.
The lonely rider sought help and friends,
Willing to forgo rivalry and make amends,
Forswearing quarrel and enmity,
Since ever is pardon a fine quality.
The weary king has waited in vain,
Where his throne had thitherto lain,
A homely town of hay and straw,
There sat the crowned and reigned law.
Huts and shacks began to burn,
Maidens and ladies were thence to mourn,
Refuge was found behind walls and gates,
Wearing hard wire and sharpening blades.
Akin men had not answered the plea,
But never were defendants about to flee,
The fort was held and stoutly saved,
For the jolly chant of yeoman and pretty maid.
"Aye, old mage, I shall rob it!"
A great treasure inside the mount,
Thus uttered the tiny Hobbit.
"Well, my little friend, it's a quest of marvel and snare",
So replied the grey sage,
"Art thou to crave the drake's lair?"
"Much I desire to avail the task",
But wary was the half-man of peril,
"Never have I trodden outer ways at dusk."
"Merry helper of mine",
"More lieth in thee than eyes behold",
"I shall give thee my courage and thou shalt thine."
Peradventure, that was verily such gallant a deed,
Beside folks that in stone fondly dig,
And Bilbo heeded the wizard's word and took a steed.
A place of joy and treasure,
Of happy times and dear leisure,
As the moon fell gently,
As nought of common seemed really ghastly.
The stronghold of the East,
Leaning on the peaks of shadow and beast,
Blessed by the pale gleaming of night,
So alien to angst or fright.
A castle about the vanquished foe,
Near burrowed lairs and ravine low,
Bright, in the after-day,
Glowing lively as sole stars may.
She guarded the passage across dusk,
The twin-city and her daunting task,
Fortifying Gondor's wall and gate,
Ere tragic turned thenceforth fate.
Lastly, the king's reach got thus short,
Wraiths broke defence and claimed dominion on the fort,
Profaning the fair regal home,
Casting horrible spells from its silver dome.
Buoyant he walks the fond green way,
He's deemed queer wizard and old sage,
Versed in wonder as great mage,
Greeting ever-nice words and good day.
Potent hero in folk's lay,
His heart is castle of no rage,
Drawn to riddle and dusty page,
Traveller of yore, clad in grey.
Never is the sorcerer early or late,
Before ill and peril he shan't cower,
Worst enemy for minion and fiend.
Well-wished his coming in nasty wind,
Hope is finest weapon and grandest power,
When all bodes woe and sorry fate.
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 yonder
Where 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 labour
And 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 sorrows
Which 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 man
Soared 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 see
And 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 flame
That 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 sing
How 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 good
And left the little Hobbit food,
Harsh winter wounds and bends
Who 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 bay
And a suffered peace to find.
The new monarch elected wisdom,
Forgoing vengeance and pain,
So prospered the marble-kingdom
And 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 king
Seek one to hail and sing,
As potent sire of horse;
Ere befalls us the worse.
Nay, the stranger ought not to sneer
Or 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 war
And little of the mere is sung in lore.
Amidst straw and hay,
Round cattle and flower,
Shall Rohan shine of sun's ray
And find her rider.
Into the Realm of Marvel
Dwelleth one grand hero of novel,
Of saga and olden lay,
Akin to those that fiends slay.
Founding father and king,
Highest among the Fair
And 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 sorrow
And 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 snares
And overly dark lairs,
Up, near the entrance to the pass
That none dare approach thus.
A hidden path to avoid guard,
Under a silent sky,
Journey does portend hazard
And a big dastardly lie.
No faithful guide shall ever advise
To 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 Men
Who little may and can,
So was the valiant deemed
By 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 downfall
Of 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 fine
And worthy of honour and king's dine,
Bespoken foul in life,
Now beside brave and strong wife.
Tell me the tale of the sage,
Wandering thither where beasts roar,
Traveller in old guise avoiding rage
And all vicious broods which at night soar.
Apt for a wizard is mild temper,
Away from power and fame,
Which are loathsome vile tempter;
What often covet proud sire and vain dame.
Treads the sorcerer far and wide
Ways of mystery and riddle,
Attending dwarf-halls into the mountain side,
Or the Elven court within the Lady's girdle.
Another one glories in the pride of Men,
Locked in his black tower,
Wherein nought disturb can,
Circled by tended meadow and flower.
A lesser one resides amidst green and wild field,
Aiding the dwellers of the thick wood,
So queer for his magic guild,
Making potions cheering mood.
I pray thee, my Lord,
Nought cannot do thy word
And thy gaze commanding storms,
Provider of good fortune or woeful swarms.
I worship thee, sat on the height
Of the whole world, potent and might,
Sire of winds, breeze and gale,
Leader of clouds, to thy realm Immortals sail.
King of Arda, sovereign of the Blessed Domain,
Where none wither, decay nor wane,
Within thy Evergreen Fields thou dost
Wonder and prodigy, being victor of evil by conquest and blast.
I would I were to reach
Such merciful monarch, heavens I then beseech!
Beside the highest Power
Whom all revere, who merry dwelleth atop the ever-white tower.
Ruler of law and wisdom,
Magnanimous regent in his hallowed kingdom,
Saviour of Good, enforcing order
For the earth of which thou wast moulder.
O splendid Noon,
Marred and ended soon,
O Two Trees of ancient light,
Evil brought such horror-night.
The Evergreen Fields were all bright
Within the merry country of those Lords of might;
Behind the Wall, beheld Elves the holy flare
Of hallowed deeds, sealed in ever-lasting glare.
Immortal in memory, forever in mind to bear,
When the high Powers offered shelter and care.
Ere ruin the Lit Earldom befell,
Laying bare sacred fountains of Varda's well.
In harmony Immortals used to dwell
Afore the coming of despair and hell,
Whose bearer had allied with sleepless doom,
A pit of monsters was her womb.
Long she awaited in Aman, whither just gleams would loom
And soar, albeit hidden land of dark and fume,
Driven out were devils, as all portended bad,
Wonder was struck by venom, alas, and thenceforth lay dead.
What stays covered shall be unveiled
For the sake of whole mankind,
Whose losses we wailed,
Letting sorrow enter mind.
A riddle in the dark,
Obscure, secret and stark
As mystery hidden in tales,
Which folks attempt to tell and fail.
Peradventure, the answer might lie
Where old papers they store and pile,
A wanderer may come, whilst passing by,
A foray into the past for short while.
The unlucky king bequeathed wise word
To those who battle the Dark Lord,
Requiring advice and counsel
To rescue the country of valiant knight and fair damsel.
The key is vile cursed gold, so the sage has felt,
Forged inside the realm of no green and meadow,
Which common craft may not melt,
But in the desolate Land of Shadow.
Down, in the depth of the world,
Where flames burn and reside,
Wherein rock gets bare and bald.
Home to dark and wide
Abysses and cave,
Beneath the old mountain side.
Woes their way into pave
And then mourns the dwarf-lord;
The glorious crown his people could not save.
Stories of spear and sword,
Armed with shield and blade
To sing gallant epic and chord.
Ill-fated, so was the mine to fade
Away from record, as rumour maze;
Adieu to land and riche the sire bade.
Shall Durin's son himself abase?
For his stone-hard that sank in greed
And welcomed dearly the grievous case.
Off fire and ashes the short folks feed,
Amidst suffering and grief;
Evil will have sown another fell seed.
Tragedy befell the lively green leaf
Of their lineage of yore,
Seers told that triumph shall be an uncommon thief.
Ravens shall again soar
Whither all other birds head,
Once the lonely kingdom returns as it was afore.
Bards shall tell happy, instead of grim said,
Rejoicing at good news
For the honour of those lying lifeless dead.
Before the first dawn of light and star,
Tale of past, riddled afar
In the memory of the Bright,
Who once abode in fairness and might,
There, where time is not,
There, one primaeval clash was fought
Among faithful and rebels,
Betwixt high angels and foul devils.
Thou sure knowest that Good was to prevail
Over wicked fiends that ever are bound to fail.
Potent Vala, who always just doth,
Whose vile foes survive not his wrath,
Pain and sorrows sparked the ancient battle,
For grave treachery in peace they could not settle;
For love and dear sake of the One's true will,
Which ever giveth warm instead of deadly chill.
The Sole Almighty whom none shall defy,
Lest gracious wings be hewn
And become fell claws beneath ghoulish night and moon,
As upon Powers in Heaven was bestowed the right to rule,
But as emissaries of radiance, and not deceiver of fool.
I am that I am,
Dearest to thee
As to shepherd dear is lamb,
Whom some not see.
The Giver of life
And pain mingled with strife;
Yet, ill is equally plan
To fight off foes and evil ban.
Thou, hearken to holy words!
The Powers ever speak just,
Within the bliss of the Western Lords
Lieth fire which fiends shall crush into dust.
Thou art to beg and pray
So next ages of ruin not say,
And at night shalt thou behold
How Heavens are mightier thousandfold.
Upon the Crystal-Hill of valour and gem
Whence just happy chants stem,
Here lies a seat of power;
Of heroes who filth ever scour.
Kneel, you that came later!
Bow, before the wise king, his lovely sons and golden daughter.
The keeper of the towering belfry,
Making music of truth and never of lie.
Stairs and ways wreathed in dust,
Of glittering jewel waking human lust,
Though greed is not among the High
And amidst their serfs that swim and fly.
A former ruler was father of all,
Governing arts and disputes within the adamant wall;
Unto the time of horrendous task
Into the Holy Shire, whitherto had not fallen dusk.
An assembly was called,
In which sires and ladies stood bold
Against the sudden night,
Foreshadowing bloody story and further plight.
Ahead of us once lay
The wizard's fort and its grey way,
Choked by vapour and fumes,
On watching stars and reading runes
The white mage had grown so keen,
Ere towards schemes his mind was to lean;
When fine garden became putrid sight,
Spent by venom and blight,
As the guard turned into foe
And plunged his merry dwelling such low.
Accustomed to justness and beauty
For the reach of order and duty,
The black pinnacle was then twisted for worse
Without some regret and remorse;
Spells and curses to kill
The gentle yeoman's will,
And shroud the horse-shires with dread
That to sheer folly would have led,
If not for the coming of hope
Which gave vigour to fight on open field and in fortified slope.
Too long have fields been trapped in slumber
And all seemed quiet and far calmer
Than harsh seasons and pending doom,
But Rohan's fine youth rests now in flowered green tomb.
The fence they took down and tore
Apart, and enemies not just woes bore,
For a fiendish charm had made its way
To the royal court in its greyest day.
My king, glorious throne was then for you chains
That ever bind the weak, left at the mercy of banes;
Your mind bewitched as dreary cage
As the rogue wizard no-quarter war chose to wage.
So villages burnt and cried
Desperate help, while misfortune was soon to spread wide;
Huts and shacks were fire's prey,
Which flames feast on fain, during red-moon or pale ray.
Horse-lord, we crave one to come,
To banish hence foolish and dumb,
To revive an olden soul in need
And let the sire to battle his riders lead!
I shall sing marvel of the ancient dawn,
When flags were waved and sword was drawn
To battle fangs and claws,
For great virtue of Elven laws.
I shall tell the gore-stained fight,
From darkest pit to snowy height,
Such a goodly amount of deeds!
Hearken, my fond listener, for wiseman past counsel ever heeds.
Grand birds watching over pass,
Guarding the gate to hidden realms or vivid grass;
They say, malice abides in the uncanny North
Whence swarms of nightmares try to sally forth.
For long shall the exiled immortal suffer
The shameful oath which mouths had dared utter,
Harbinger of miserable destiny
That rendered worse treason and mutiny.
Thus, we wherefore speak of 'hither-tales',
Remedy is of no use and so fails
When ill is such that tyrants reign
Amidst countless sorrows and horrific strain.
Thus came a strange sire,
Who molten gold could rule with fire,
Wandering hither and thither across the wild
And conducting his manners quiet and mild.
He said this earth deserved better,
For beauty never ought to scatter
Throughout sea and land,
Or meandering grinding ice and scorching sand.
He vowed to make the world fair anew,
By means of prodigy, so the sword he not drew;
Friends the stranger found in smiths
Who are wise of ancient skills we tell in myths.
Grand labouring of forging began,
Transfusing fantasy into being, as knows no man,
Until magic Rings were carved from ore
And their crafting meant thereafter war.
Yet, three artefacts managed to escape tainting,
Drawn in secret from sacred gems, as was the craftsman's wanting,
Borne then by old keeper, mighty king and miraculous fairy;
Three Rings to shield from decay and console the weary.
There lives a Hobbit,
In a hole in the ground,
Fond of delicate wine and tasty rabbit
Which easily he finds around
His green, warm home,
Lit by candles and tales of yore,
A vault in the hill, a soil-dome
Where folks gladly recall what was afore;
One is house of gentle friend
To wary dwarf and fey mage,
Who wrong much likes to mend
And of his story write the page.
To travel the untrodden eastern ways
He did not expect,
And even less to partake in epic lays,
In which his mind often was correct;
So good can the tiny half-man do,
Bearer of toil and fatigue,
Who peril dared and upon Eagles flew
Beside the reborn king and his Dwarven league.
Your coming to us is as the footsteps of doom,
As spectral apparitions that swift loom
All over the merry Lady's domain,
Which time is said to defy and malaise to drain.
What dost thou bring hither, toiled guest,
But relentless malice, core of your quest?
Here shall you find that the door rests shut
To vice and pain, and to the peasant residing in poor hut.
This is the golden realm of the White Dame
Whom many speak of in legend, renown and fame;
Alas, the unwise know not how within the tree-kingdom all fares
Bethinking themselves that its ruler must be a witch plotting snares.
Fate has decreed that your fellowship may enter
The land that of Elvendom is centre,
After the wizard's fall in the dark
Which the final turn of the tide is to mark.
Indeed, you lost precious and brave guide
That ever has stood on your side,
Yet, what to eye seems might deceive one's sight,
And sorrowful grey shall rise in hallowed white.
Down the mere ground,
Neath the earth where is no sound,
Below the unknown deep,
Into the under a leap.
Here slumber flames that ever burn
About whose mystery only the wise learn,
By means of lost record and forbidden book,
Greatly craved in desirous look.
I even long to tell the sea's beauty,
Which is a minstrel's prime and foremost duty,
For no secret is better kept but in the blue
That is sadly loved by so few.
Where shall the tide lead the knot,
If unwary mariners heed not
Words of caution from the abyss,
In the attempt of reaching perennial bliss?
Listen to the ocean's voice,
Thou who hast free choice
Of voyaging waves through,
As thou deemest due.
O generous merry-land
Lying yonder, not at easy hand
Of queer inquisitive stranger,
But under careful watch of swift ranger.
Here happiness and delight reign
And busy peasants do not feign
Neither courtesy nor manner,
Pledging faith to just one banner.
It is the banner of good simple life,
Away from weariness and strife,
Even farther from vainglorious might
That often brings discord and plight.
Nay, even in dire case, shall the little Hobbit not surrender!
Some may want to tear asunder
The joys and hopes of our Shire,
Giving in to one foolish liar.
Friend, you need not despair,
For the Grey Wizard shall ever fare
Where folks cry for aid
And luck seems to fade.
That the Wise knew for sure,
That evil lay in the very core
Of precious Great Rings of old
Whose tale was sung many-fold.
Nine he gave to prideful Men,
The cunning scheme was beyond their ken;
Thus, bold monarchs bent and knelt
As disgraced wraiths that vile death dealt.
Seven Dwarves took glad,
Unbeknownst of pain and sad
Story, marred by flame and greedy ghost,
Which Durin's kin regret the most.
Three were the craft of the immortal kind,
Fairest of all, of crystalline mind;
Made for protection and well-fare
Agin time and its subtle snare.
This the Wise know and enquire,
With watchful eyes that should not admire
The heinous doing of witches and wights,
For a people they guard, along the just one's rights.
It's time they left grey and grim,
Journeying down the starlit lane
When bright days turn dim,
And deathless Elves begin to wane.
Shadow creeps again forth
Out of spook-wood and cave,
To foul portents giving birth,
Save from hidden havens about the wave.
Neath the lamps of the Sky-Queen
An immortal company takes leave,
Heading westwards, unseen,
Walking incessant morn and eve.
Faraway from the wailing spectre
Of an age close to dusk;
Darkness has risen and holds the sceptre,
Planning mischief and evil task.
The Fair Folk should no longer tarry,
Once they part from their merry fort,
Lingering amidst wear and worry
Until they reach the craved secret port.
So uncanny a hue
Which ever grasp so few;
So very pending danger
Wrought by villain, wicked stranger.
Woes take eerie shape,
From forbidden abyss to mountain cape,
Such the bard wills to sing
And his rueful harp wring.
Upon wings of death and grief
Descended from iced cliff
The bane of Elves and Men,
Hidden prior in dark den.
Wherefore, what is the colour of elder days?
Diamond cities or abhorrent blaze?
Many hues of diverse tone,
Songs of river, wood and lonely stone.
Or the colour of demon-ridden night
Clouding clever wit and sight,
Until it is orderly, bright and white,
By act of the merciful Power's might.
At wonder's end,
About the sombre shore
She ever weeps to mend
The vicious wounds of lore.
Mourning unjust woe and decay
Whither none may head
But the Valië, bleak and grey,
Ruling over living and dead.
The Lady of Sadness and her home
Beside tenebrous sea and gloomy foam;
Dwelling of mystery and riddle,
Lying in the uncanny West, not near or middle.
Her guest shall wait awhile
Amidst dreariness and tear,
Learning much of mercy, for fell and vile,
Which makes one's soul so clear.
She first gives despair and sorrow,
Within the Eternal Kingdom
Wishing for a sunnier morrow
That endows the weak with wisdom.
'Tis the proper hour
To take the path to green,
Towards the far white tower
Of fair Elf, on voyaging keen.
My darling, the jolly Hobbit will not follow
The ancient fabled route
Which Immortals chant in sorrow,
While advancing with slow foot.
The tiny dwellers of the Shire
Shall rejoice at hedge and grass,
For never is time so dire
To make over life a fuss.
Jugs on tap await
Those in need of warm,
And no guest is ever late
To break the friendly norm.
Fain we feast on tasty meat,
And mushrooms, and salty cheese,
At a gentle one's seat,
Trying the sweet labour of tired bees.
Away from the forest, avoid the wood!
That's home of wights and eerie mood.
Beyond the hedge lurks peril,
Plotting mischief and real evil.
You shan't fare thither!
Where green wastes and goes to wither;
There is talk and say of great rage,
Residing in and grown in age.
Trees are said to speak and murmur,
Rendering all thick and warmer,
For a wicked spell they aim to cast
Which chains wanderers to roots and past.
Along the shabby river's bank
Brooks wind wild and across sank,
Round the haunted gully,
Whence sole ghosts seem to sally.
Gloom falls and spreads wide
As hostile wills loom and glide,
Until a potent song puts the angry willow to sleep,
Resounding further, deep and steep.
Afar, as the road turns west,
Shall the unwary be put to test
And taste the bitterness of ruin,
Which smote those lands by vile doing.
Before the Shire and the old reed
The western path will be to lead
Across cold stone and forsaken mound,
Infested by ghosts, deep and round.
Tombs of very unlucky sires,
Beside their many blighted squires;
Monument of great decay
Sowing ever rancour and dismay.
Past the eerie hazardous lane,
Along trees and rambles about to wane,
There shall you find a place of worth
Bestirring fondness and real mirth.
Unless the foreign meets the Eldest,
Warming the troubled and the coldest,
For he's master of hill, wood and water
Abiding well with the fair river-daughter.
Kindly travellers ought not to stray
From sunlit path along the way
Meandering through cold burial stones,
Home to spooks and charmed bones.
Where the dead lie asleep
In chilling dark and gloomy deep,
Laid into mound and fog
Amidst green plain and wet bog.
Troops of olden days before,
From the chief northern core
Of Men's prideful shire,
Governing far ends and even higher.
Doom struck the merry town
And mayhem all was so to drown;
Then sent foes ghost and wraith
To inhabit tombs and kill faith.
Do not linger by the grave!
Lest very few be near to save
The imprudent whom mares will much to taint,
For wit is little and heart is faint.
We grieve and mourn, after the storm
And after siege, drought and swarm;
Of woes the Black Land is the forge,
Her smith was master of doom and scourge.
The ruined City lives again!
A new king is among Men;
Relief and pride are common wit
And fell winds no longer hit.
May the crowned build and repair
What once lay happy, mighty and fair;
Let us gaze still at the Sentry Tower,
Praying that soon shall bloom the White Flower.
The witch-fort has now been taken
Which sheer folly would then awaken
In those who chanced to be too near,
Ending ill in blood and tear.
Vanquished the sorcerer, her walls shall fall.
Pits laid bare, to free the soul
Caged and tortured and made fool
Within the grim stronghold of ghoul.
Some feral kind treads the path
Leading to the realm of fury and wrath;
Into the curtain of thick smoke,
Into the shadows which fiends evoke.
The Black Land is all at work,
Orcs wield pikes and hold the fork.
The Lidless Eye shall stand awake,
Cloaked in fire, so does the drake.
Serfs hurry, day and night
To feed the hunger of their master's might,
At the behest of a dreadful lord,
Whose will is command, whose law is word.
Loud rumbles the Fateful Mount,
Once asleep beyond reckon and count;
Now awoken again, in rippling blaze-storm,
Vomiting flames and scorching swarm.
Pray, be the gentle away!
May the Abhorred not sway
Unto the gates of hell,
Poisonous valley and ruinous dell.
Upon the grey dusky shore
We err and linger once more.
On a world which could not be mended
We find ourselves, weakened and stranded.
Light abandoned the weary day,
Taking us to the western way
Past the white bastions of hope,
Greeting glade and steep slope.
Farewell, ancient home!
We shall sail across foam,
To reach the eternal diamond-hall
Behind the undying giant-wall.
Let the prayer soar along
Any road we cheer with song;
Departing is nought but just deed
On which we embark in good speed.
Amidst the journey we might meet
Gentle wisdom and hairy feet.
The tiny kinsfolk we thereby praise,
Leaving, as autumn morning shows her rays.
Shires lie ahead
And bear the scar of sad
Events which took place,
Wreaking ruin for the immortal race.
How happy and merry
Would all live without worry;
Great smiths sought to make and craft anew,
Repairing wrongs and wounds, as best they knew.
To mend and heal the earth
Labouring hard was so much worth,
If only ears had not listened
To subtle words, which of eerie light glistened.
Ill-starred was their noble deed,
For lies and snares they were to heed
As good advice from an old great wise,
Who wandered broad in hallowed guise.
Thenceforth war was soon to spread,
Laying many in burial bed,
And then besieging with no rest
The now-despoiled desolate West.
We pray, mighty North,
To get much fortune and worth,
And so rejoice at it in mirth;
May the ode go broad and forth.
Ravaged realm, receive my rhymes
In wicked winter and vile climes
To sing the virtue of glorious past,
Entombed by snow and turned in dust.
Bright gem of your founder
Who landed here from yonder
Where human pride was soon to fade;
To the Land of Gift farewell he bade.
He watched his country plunge in ruin,
Unspeakable treachery and foul doing.
A potent king deemed a devil wise,
Forswearing allegiance and severing ties.
The ancient bond was broken
Fury thus loomed high, from afar awoken.
Western tides raged and mourned,
Choleric storms cried and warned.
"Tell me the tale, I beseech.
Of queer people to know we fail
In front of dainty or fizzy ale
We fancy fright, scare and screech."
"Well, lovely guest,
I mean not to spoil the fest,
But you will much to enquire
Beyond thatched village and merry Shire.
Thus, here is the story of a mage
Fond of business and friends,
Held high as wise sage,
Who ever heals and mends.
Afar he heads to outer lords and kings,
Gliding swift as though on wings
To bring good tiding and hope,
Riding fast down hill and slope.
Verily, he's hailed with many names
By potent sires and gorgeous dames.
However, content he's ever among the Little Folk
Who him amuses with song and joke."
Let us sing and tell
Of wet gully and misty dell
Inside 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 follow
Those lacking enough wit,
Falling easy prey of deceit.
He's master of wailing tune by the moor,
So fancies he the unwary to lure
And trap tight beneath his root,
Enthralling beast and hairy foot.
One sole he fears
And thus with lies smears;
One who was afore,
Ere legends became lore.
Far yonder, past wood and green
Lie 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 bay
And strived hard to bar the way
To 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 awaits
The end of brave deeds and sharp blades,
Until he's well and fine to part
From dull mortal coast, that always was his heart.
Mind the outer route
Either upon beast or on foot,
Taking you far away
To shires of long forgotten say.
Beware of northern winds,
Straying travellers with furious wings
Of 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 anger
Amidst scourging heat and recurrent danger.
The uncanny East you must avoid,
Lest any good be alloyed
By malice reigning on shadow,
Where grows no garden or meadow.
By turning west shall you find relief
From swiftly-encroaching grief.
Some even voyage yonder, passing the sea,
To seek perpetual bliss and glee.
Behind the girdle of my spell
Shall your company rest well;
Inside the golden mirthful wood
One finds plenty of joy and food.
The Ring-bearer I welcome glad,
For it is no grim time or sad.
Sojourning here is to renew
Minds and forces, grown worried and few.
ELVEN CHOIR: "Hark careful, dear guest!
Worse climes your faith shall test.
Within the miraculous Lady's shield
No stain is ever upon our saint-field."
Gentle Hobbit, I will a gift to bestow,
As foul events run and flow
For the utter ruin of the Free Folk
Whom 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 stone
Fell winds had stormed and blown
A languishing kingdom of old,
Eventually betrayed twofold.
Time had run so late
To mend faults and revert fate;
Discord was sudden to spread
Along 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 ghost
That 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 comfort
From vile spirits that truth distort.
A potent staff shall serve me well
By conjuring marvel and spell,
For any foe to fear
And amok quickly rear.
Hurry, I must fly swift across griefs
Passing anguish, pains and wrong beliefs.
If I succeed, a weary king shall rise again
To slay the wolf in his very den.
If I be to fail,
Squires will fate bewail
And kneel before a crown
Made of skulls and flames, far deep down.
Next to looming night
Lie shires of might,
Domain of stone and ore
We sing in tale and folk-lore.
Stronghold of glory,
Now worn and weary;
Ailing in decline
In wait for decisive sign.
Near the poisonous dell
They border dark and hell.
There, where billowing ashes choke,
Hatred stirred and then awoke.
Wraiths infest and haunt
The 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 answer
When shadows crawl and grow much denser.
Woeful is the tale,
Her they often wail
Where merriment and joy reign
And no ghost has ever lain.
The Elven maid they mourn,
Drained by malice and life-worn.
The wrong way she had chosen
While crossing heights, sharp and frozen.
Fallen prey of pernicious captor
That much desired to harm the sceptre
Held in the Vale of Wonder,
Which no assailant will raid asunder.
Slain the fiend and saved the dame
Who 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 wheel
Of 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 plain
And 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 land
Is no well-wishing hand
That'll greet your brave task,
Were you for aid ask.
Hearken to wise word and beware
Of 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 faith
And avoid deceitful wraith;
In doubt and agony, gaze at the lamps lying above,
Lit by holy might, with hope and love.
Nasty Orcs inhabiting pit
Find themselves well
Where raging fire is ever-lit
Along the cursed shadowy dell.
There, under the endless gaze
Of the Lidless Eye,
Wreathed in flames and haze,
Sign of omen and lie.
Horrors come and go
Onto the realms of dark,
Patrolled by pike and bow
Which flesh maim and mark.
Ire stirs within the Mount,
Whose leaks burn and taint
Beyond reckon and count,
Rendering skies faint.
No dainty thing
Brings such beacon of wicked,
Behind the dreary peak's ring
Is naught pious or sacred.
Another forest grows in wild,
Resting quiet and much mild
About the southern mountain's end,
Whereto streams climb and bend.
Neighbouring hard stone-walls,
The old tree hums and calls
For light rain to pour
Over 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 wood
As sole ignoble doing ever could;
Peace was sudden to be broken
And thenceforth ill events foretoken.
Vile witch, know that greater forces wake
For willow's, oak's and alder's sake.
A potent mind arose in fury
Turning reeds dark and dreary.
Watchful stands the wise
Even after grave demise
Of the one-time bogey-sire,
Servant of the Night and devil-fire.
Menaces are gone and passed,
Years come and longer last
When war trumpets stay
And yeomen tend their precious hay.
Mind, Three Treasures for order allow,
Borne by whom were then to vow
To guard the fortunes of the age,
Be it deathless Elf or noble mage.
Russet is a gem of hope
Glimmering 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 cease
Fulfilling prayers and heartfelt pleas.
There is not just blissful tale
Whither Elves head and sail
To defy the wearying of time,
Singing pains in rueful rhyme.
Across the horizon lie
Lit shires where nought will die,
For upon beauty is no stain
And 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 horror
Laying the dreary shore with terror.
Boreal passages in the North
The 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 flocks
Without knowing of the kingdom
Ruled in secrecy with wisdom.
Wise is not the woodland Elf
And with doubt plies his wary self;
Not as such as his western kin,
Banished once because of sin.
A feral spirit is said to abide
Whither knights may not ride,
Along the intricacy of trees,
Within the realm of deer and bees.
The king decrees under forest-stone
To endure disgrace alone,
For one-hundred years are but an eye-blink
To Immortals of whom we so bethink.
Pray, may the murky reeds recover!
May the tender robin again hover
Amok and meandering green bows,
Awaiting plenty of berries and sloes.
Those are folks of wild road
Electing rustic a fair load,
Covered tightly in their hoods,
To watch over lanes and gloomy woods.
Poor shape might tell wrong
Of 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 faith
Against foul rites and wraith
Looming 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 lord
We now revere through verse and word.
Peril came and got in,
Such that Hobbits were not to win.
Hoofs passed the outer hedge,
In cruel pursuit and deadly pledge.
What might seek the fiendish knight?
What covets most the revenant wight?
Intruding inside happy green,
Sowing terror in the Unseen.
Bidden was the vile rider
To search across, stern and wider;
Carrying hatred by wicked spell
That renders all so bad and fell.
Not mere ghosts from silly jest,
But mighty foes few could best
In sword-contest or battle
Where guilt they fix and settle.
Paths are not secure,
Should you not endure
That ardent wish to chase
Unto ash-wasted ways.
He's Master of wood and hill
Where is no waste or chill,
Outside the aged forest
He deems his lands the dearest.
The Eldest among the living,
Afore the Children's own conceiving;
Prior to the bright Lords,
Preceding wars, battles and swords.
One day he met his lovely Maiden,
Woken brooks with flowers laden.
A gentle dweller of water,
Whom fain we hail "the River-Daughter".
King and queen of green domain
Fearing none, fancying rain.
The angry Willow shall stay his wrath,
For Jolly Tom is free to tread the path.
Along the tops of haunted mounds
One harks bewailing and shrieking sounds,
For a wicked Fiend resides in graves,
Until the Master dares such spook and stranger saves.
He gave them seven
Inside stone-hall,
At the behest of heaven
Into the mountain wall.
Ruin befell king and sire
Dooming houses to burn,
Awaking ghoulish fire
Which roared loud and stern.
Fine tokens beseemed
The much fabled Rings;
Evil dug and schemed,
Unearthing flames and wings.
Artefacts of potent use
Which bend fate and will,
Forecasting rue and blues
Under rocks and grinding chill.
Seven portents that never caught
Of gallant dwarf the wit,
Stirring thenceforth blazing draught
From within the darkest pit.
'Tis a testament for you,
My dear one.
A letter sent through
Among mage and man.
Hereby I confess
That toiled am I for real,
But events also bless
Who wills to sign a deal.
A deal have I underwritten,
Which brought the humble far,
Into adventure smitten,
Leaving the door ajar.
Three brute trolls were not enough
To hinder us and scare;
Though the road was rough,
Defied have we the journey's wear.
Grand battle I then fought
Beside valiant host and beast,
Ending up distraught
For woeful loss and bloody feast.
Under boughs of young age,
Recalled in history by sage,
Stood a singing maid
Who used in ancient stream to wade.
Deathless as the eternal star
Whose fairness nought may mar.
Bright stone of a tainted world,
Hewn from purity and gold.
Joy to her king and queen,
Rulers of ways amidst green
And deep cavern beneath the earth,
Where reigned remembrances of mirth.
Untrodden paths she set alight
Dispelling anguish and fright.
Alongside reeds she found
One to whom she would be bound.
Side by side in speed and ruin,
Her song of demons was great undoing.
Piping fowls shall tell
How gentile vanquished fell.
Hurry, rapid stainless knight!
In pure glimmering white
You ride to pass the ford
Within the sight of mighty lord.
Ghouls pursue the Ruling Ring
Which harpers loathe and seldom sing
Without mourning such impetuous tide,
That tore the world and its gentle side.
What was of the prosperous West,
Between loud waves and mountain crest?
Lie now but ruined remains,
Of grandness signs amid dark lanes.
Hasten, bright sire!
We deem it much dire
To take the bearer in,
Where lasting home avoids great sin.
The Half-Elven is versed in healing.
Bathe such dales in happy feeling,
And fears melt away as ice in summer,
And lights grow not by grace so dimmer.
A world we shall thus leave
In sweet autumn eve,
When winds patter trees
And furtive fox then quickly flees.
An ending era we promptly hail
As just conclusion of the tale
Which buoyant bards had told of old,
When holy jewels were not of gold.
Years may faint and weary,
Days may go so dreary.
Stars shall never pale in doubt,
For every shade they clear and rout.
Immortals hearken to wise word,
Renouncing vanity and sword,
And therefore yield fort and earldom
For the final reaching of the Eternal Kingdom.
Thither they are to fare,
Where is no grieving wear.
Cheerful lies ahead the undying shore,
Secured by Lords that came afore.
Was the advent of night
So sudden and swift,
Commencing storm and plight
That leave the ship adrift.
A nefarious ghost arose
Over the guard of Men,
Strong of blades and bows
To keep the wolves' den.
The beast, alas, returned.
Eves grew black and frightful.
This the Enemy had yearned
To mar the kingdom so delightful.
His Dark Fortress he built anew.
Fires stir again and shadow beckon.
His servants plan revenge and slew
Tribes and folks beyond good reckon.
Lights subside and vanish out.
Gloom gets instead much thicker,
But in the White City standing stout
Facing foes that gather quicker.
Warbling birds mark the day
Of happy breeze and fond sun-ray
Upon green pastures and silent glades,
While the tiny fox in water wades.
No trace of sadness we ever sense.
Sullen skies winds will cleanse.
Warmth embraces this jolly country,
Blessing its ways and kind good gentry.
May we never part
From joyous field and morning start.
May we never wail
Winter's coming and cruel hail.
I shall hence sing a tune of bliss,
Praying naught of great will run amiss.
I shall wherefore beg to see new climes,
Lesser not than those I set so fain in rhymes.
I fancy the mild Hobbit would like
A quiet walk along the dyke,
Resting ever within the end,
For perils crawl abroad and gentle hearts might rend.
O fowl soaring,
May you head afar
From foul storm roaring,
Overcasting sky and star.
O strong boreal gale,
Fly and blow much deep!
Your winds shall rid the dale
Of sombre cry and weep.
Tiny singer on feeble wing,
Do not wane alone or swoon
Before fang and sting
Roaming loose beneath the moon.
Breath of howling air,
Send relief to the troubled South;
Thereto shall you fare
To hammer foes and hit the uncouth.
Men will see merrier days
To live and fill with mirth,
When telling Gondor's lays
And of gallant kings the birth.
Part of Elrond's cheerful house,
Past barrows, hills and brows,
Is a hall of olden lore
Where sages sing what passed afore.
Gathered beside the fire
Stands no shameless liar,
For tales are told in ancient tongue
And harps in guile are never wrung.
Elven minstrels muse on grief,
Being of yore-events the chief.
Songs of sorrow are calmly spoken
Which call for caution and gloom foretoken.
Valiant heroes are brought to life,
Whose grim memory and strife
We honour well and truly fain
Within the stainless fair domain.
Prayers invoke the holy Power
That yonder dwells behind his tower,
Whither suns are due to wester
To flee the woes which grossly fester.
Western winds across,
May ye lead my prow well past
Such mounting strife and loss,
Carrying yonder oar and mast.
Lead me thither, beyond wan seas,
Through livid tides and raging weather.
Lead me thither, borne on breeze,
Passing waves, high and nether.
Sail, my dear white vessel
Whither mortal storms will hush,
For on deathless strand was set a castle
Which nought of ill might ever crush.
There lieth marvel of age-long sort,
Sprung in the Day afore days and lore.
Mighty halls and unsullied fort
Raised and blessed on the immortal shore.
Antique Occident, such thy Rulers thee render
To resist wear and pending doom;
Champions of virtue and wrights of wonder,
Who fairness drew from Arda's womb.
Monstrous minions have been sent
For heinous murder meant,
At the behest of night,
Bestirring so such dread and fright.
At their passing spring recedes.
Freeze in instant dew and beads.
Robins stay and hover still,
Stunned in fear and sudden chill.
Yeomen bolt amok or start,
Rent in depth and stung at heart.
Light thoughts then fade away
And darkens bleak the jolly day.
Ghoulish serfs are they for real;
Long ago was made the deal
That binds the wraith to ruthless will,
Bidden then to chase and kill.
Wights were once renowned lords,
Trusted much in acts and words,
Until nine heirlooms they were given
By cunning hand from the Uneven.
Hear bells tolling trouble.
Hear dread consuming marble.
A black host is to advance
And begin of rueful death the dance.
Grievous sighs climb and swathe
Onto ramparts, wont to bathe
In radiant rays of full content,
As kings decreed and valour meant.
Strong southern bastion,
It is no doubt or question
That vicious foes you fight
From lowest gate to imposing height.
Demons seek dismay to sow;
Darkly colours go in row
And sail ahead to plunder ports,
Since guards no longer man their forts.
Walls might not resist the storm.
Evil takes so foul a form.
Desirous is the beast of tears
In tragic tell of ancient seers.
Ring the bell, gatekeeper!
Came the intruding sneaky sweeper
Inside wood-fences and quiet town,
To pierce one's heart and drag it down.
Phantoms we too have heard;
Beasts have screeched and fled the bird
Before such fiendish stranger,
Like fatal mare of ranger.
Bidden to search and seek,
For great scorn of harmless weak,
Something dear to darkling wills
Which folly stirs by eerie thrills.
Shadows fall upon the roofs.
Closer draw some running hoofs,
Willing much to claim their prey
Past tended fields and sun-dried hay.
Foes and ghouls have broken in!
Likeness none could ever win.
Passing plains and country brooks,
Thence rode in haste these vicious spooks.
My, spring has come so sudden!
Relieved will be the heavy burden
Plying the gentle with fatigue,
Who deems it well to work in league.
My, sun rises up and shades dispels!
Morning starts and toll the bells
For the jocund season to commence,
When only fools would part from hence.
Stupendous thoughts glide and billow,
And nourish much the saddened willow;
Acorn, sloe and berry,
To please one's taste and make them merry.
Gaze, foaled is day and happy dawn!
Of sorrows souls are thusly shorn.
Tilling soil in glee
Is very bliss of field and tree.
Abroad nights beseem to stretch
On worsted lonely wretch.
Yet wont we aren't to foreign ill,
Relying sole on fine home-skill.
On hither-strands of yore
Landed prince and noble dame.
Stained by guilt and gore
Foreboding clash and bloody game.
Evil chose the North as seat
In carven gaol and hopeless pit.
Cold wound coarse along the heat,
Where chains would grip to kill one's wit.
Green and joy lay hidden
In happy sheer plains;
Leaves by dirt were never ridden
Nigh hallowed sylvan lanes.
Near the virgin shore
Awaited mariners and ship,
And able wrights of oar
Revering great the ocean's deep.
Waters howl and foam.
Uncanny fog was laid on waves.
Devils wake from death and roam
Gritted dying caves.
By the coast we lie
In wistful thought and sigh,
Recalling what had happened once;
Gazing far in writhing glance.
Loth are we to tell
Elder foes and wicked spell.
Prone are we to joyous tale
In days of bright and westward sail.
Homeward steer ships again
Along the course of olden ken,
For a Straight Way carries us across
Past chilling winds that stray and toss.
Others tarry still on shores,
Afar and sound from roaring wars.
Some thus delay their mounting need
To yield at last to Elvish creed.
Aye, still shall remain the anchor.
Nay, we shan't succumb to rancour.
Grey ports rest secure,
Watched by guardian sage and pure.
Are you to venture thither?
Know that meadows sadly wither
Along the torrid routes of heat;
No pleasant lush, no golden wheat.
Thirst and famine blunt one's force,
Sagging vigour for the worse,
Should you find yourself astray
As unwanted guest on untrodden way.
Scorching climes do the rest:
Horrid foe you cannot best
Is ardent weather and broad waste,
Trudging through in frantic haste.
Incandescent realm of peril,
Has your crimson russet beryl
Been the craving of the Vile
Who stomped his enemies with guile.
Aligned you are with foul.
Dreading fiery piercing scowl.
Tribes proclaim their fearsome victor,
Bidding serfdom to the sceptre.
It ill behoves one to tell
This mournful tale of old,
Meeting sudden hell
By untidy marsh and cold.
So found his end a prince,
Who jousted brave and proud,
By fangs that grind and mince
Neath dreary sky and cloud.
Around his neck was laid a spoil,
Conquered hard in duel,
Taking toll and toil
On soul ensnared by jewel.
Bereaved Men recount
His sad and deathly story
Begetting fiends that mount
In darkly mode and fury.
Flawless gold then hid,
Belying doom ahead,
Malicious vow and bid
Awaking ghostly dead.
Very keen were sires
On lighting glede and pyres
Inside the empty mine
Where Dwarven-kings would dine.
Masons graved sundry gems,
Delving deep in rocky hems.
A will would kindle hearts to yearning,
Ignoring menace and daring warning.
Precious hoard was wrought
Of treasures great beyond one's thought,
Hewn and moulded well
As fables oft are hence to tell.
Leastways strangers so recall
What was such province to befall.
Deceits had beckoned endless greed,
Spurring lords to eager deed.
Carven halls now lie forlorn,
Void of hope and wholly worn.
Flames have surged from the Under,
Rending lives thenceforth asunder.
I sojourn there and find my shelter
Within the bright merry gully;
Along the vale I'm not to falter,
Clutched by sweeping fright and folly.
Elves abide of old
In glad fashion still,
Healing woes to unfold,
For fields they cure and till.
Passing through the loud ford
Is never chance of wicked guild,
As not relents the deathless lord
Who sinless fortress was to build.
Kind and wholesome as is summer
Stands a keeper fond of guest.
Hover fowls across and yammer
Pleasant tune to cheer the West.
Bereft of labour lodge the folks
That happen thither so to head,
Seeking much to break the yokes
Binding wretches to their dread.
Over forsaken moors in wild
Tower peaks that all beguiled
Into deeming cliffs fairly open
To likely chance well to ripen.
Red ravines and steep dell
Shall the lonesome bard tell.
Snow and slush lie in drift
Which chilling airs heave and lift.
Climbing ones must be aware
Of pending dangers they are to dare,
For the olden mount harbours wrath
To bar the way and seal its path.
Fell voices augur ill;
Winds bite the stone with chill.
Deadly boulders mounts have flung
Amid some blizzards few have sung.
Storms are roused to breathe demise
Upon cold vales that fall and rise.
The Cruel Mountain is gleaming red,
Wont to hammer hope in shred.
How may peasants hinder
Many plotted schemes,
As finest men astray meander,
About the blighted rims?
Contrived were plans inside the Tower
To set the world aflame,
So must we rid and scour
The lonely heathland of its name.
Rohan will exist no more!
Choked by fumes and smoke,
Shall the realm burn to core,
Tamed at last and bound in yoke.
Bondage is one fate of grief
Under the Wizard's rule,
Who was of mages chief,
Versed in ken, stars and tool.
Go, my Orcs! Go, my devils!
Raze hay-towns to sheer ground!
Steel is creed of scores of evils,
Which lay the horse-king in his mound.
Carven halls would once rejoice
At prideful sire and his voice,
Warming caves and lighting fires
Along deep mines and mountain squires.
Cloven houses lay forbidden,
Of foreign sorrows gladly ridden.
Hammers fell to mould hard stone,
And Dwarves would thrive so fain alone.
Elves in near kingdom dwelt
Where silver was so apt to smelt,
Crafting gems of ancient Power
To bend their fates and cheer the sour.
Hewn was hall and mighty chamber
Resting dull and dark and sombre,
For fearsome gloom had taken all
In gruesome clutch and evil's thrall.
Yester-roads have grown uncouth,
Roamed by fangs and hungry mouth.
Waters broke across and spread,
Hiding snares that stir much dread.
Of scanty trust we're ever full,
Ploughing soil through calf and bull.
We till and seed on jolly days,
As sun is high to light the ways.
Green brow and country-knoll
Welcome one without the toll
Of blithely passing our lanes;
So comes the guest at autumn rains.
Hobbit-eye they won't bewitch;
Foreign records oft we ditch,
For dreary stories do belong to impervious lands
Whither fools would go and meet the sands.
Nay, we may not live by the time,
Abreast of tidings or noble rhyme.
We rather dwell in peace and joy,
Clear of scheme and nasty ploy.
The sole Wizard we gladly greet,
Who chose these homes as frequent seat.
His pointy hat betokens news
Of distant kings that win or lose.
Told in dread is the drake,
Wont to infest and gold unmake.
His breathing fire blunts the stone
Of Dwarven kingdom to its bone.
Alas, ill has run the course of time;
Stained were halls with blood and crime.
Avarice dug so fierce inside,
For gentle wit to turn most snide.
Into the chasm fates have leapt.
Mourned were kings and dames long wept.
Amiable bonds retreat to dullness,
Whence derives in truth no fondness.
Clothed in scales are lethal serpents,
Foreseen afore as devil-portents.
Portend they therefore furious blast
Which is the gate down to cast.
One resides so proud in glory,
And jesters fear to sing his story.
He slumbers lone through dismal wealth
That dwarf-lords weighed much worth their health.
Of glaring bright shone the star
Amid the tides that foamed afar,
Within the rule of the Isle-kingdom
Which seas commanded proud as fiefdom.
Vessels went and came in row;
Waters weren't to halt their flow,
For blues would carry Men beyond
To form with lesser kinds a bond.
Ties they also had with Elves
Of whom they envied lives and selves.
Days were glad and fortunes brought
When witless lands with law were fraught.
Crowned were mighty kings of old
On the Island away from cold,
And safe as well from blazing heat,
Nigh the unsullied Power's seat.
Marine routes they rightly ruled
Until grand lords were gravely fooled.
A wave they tried to tame in vain,
As Ulmo thus reclaimed his reign.
Oceans stirred afoul and swept.
Stormy heavens howled and wept.
Nought was there to avert such fate
Till godly ire was that sate.
Mourn we wherefore the grievous Westernesse.
None should dare of yore the holiness
Which once would lie utter-yonder,
Where Angels then abode in wonder.
Solemn works they then commenced.
Was their kingdom never fenced,
For joy and faith were welcome token,
Ere had smiths such evil woken.
Crafters were so keen to make
Splendid gems for Arda's sake;
Stones were sited in precious gold,
Thought to aid the fates to unfold.
By cunning mind they were deceived.
Many sorrows they had once grieved.
Willed was Elf and Dwarf to mend
Wounds which ever ages rend.
Marvel done and lords content,
Greatly noble seemed the intent.
Future deeds would prove them wrong,
Bewailing Elves and Dwarves in song.
Holly grew and climbed the riffs
That thenceforth bathed in grudge and griefs.
Mountain-doors were shut to encumber
Swathing gloom and mounting sombre.
It shall pass, you may be sure.
It shall end, waned to core.
Vicious climes leave the way
Of enslaving long affray.
Rain and fogs give in
To hardly-conquered win,
Spelling ill for Shadow
On the appalling lurid meadow.
Grave were lands dismembered.
Folks had lonely wandered
On the verge of utter ruin
Due to Morgoth's heinous doing.
Wounds shall fully mend;
Foes are not to wend
Their devious way beyond
This our endless bond.
The Hither-Lands are gone
And Elven-kings no longer don
Their iron-graven coat,
While sailing hence on boat.
Morns and eves shall ebb away.
Pride and pain linger on to stay.
Dusk will fall on troubled roads,
As fearful night wistful bodes.
Dull grow kings and folk
In tired years that forces soak.
Impious voices sound and rouse
Malicious tempers in regal house.
Afar they sneer with scorn;
Warring winds has blown the horn
Which once was hopeful sign
Of joyful plenty and damask-wine.
Tenebrous stands the altar,
When mankind chances so to falter;
Lots of preys the Demon found,
Beguiling Men to break the Bound.
May this faithful psalm meander
Through livid tides that oceans sunder.
May the loyal earn a grace
To spare the sinful mortal race.
A captive they had taken
From lands lying forsaken,
Where the Dark Lord would reign
And brute hubris feign.
Kingship Evil sought to claim,
Yearning much the Crown to maim,
For vile chaining of mortal earths
In sundry modes and dreadful sorts.
As God of Men they hailed
The Foe we grossly wailed
For heinous deed in human lore,
Begetting ill on hither-shore.
The gaoled turned in captor,
His counsel given to the sceptre.
Stained by guile were his words
That mustered flags, fleets and swords.
Undying life was not to be
Wrested so across the sea,
For deathless bounds they could not
Seize with force from holy lot.
Ruins are left to tell
And wary stranger quell
From venturing yet further
In dreary place of murder.
Spoils of grievous shadow,
Lying about the meadow,
That bear the weight of doom
And pride themselves in gloom.
Brambles grow on knolls,
Bent by deathly tolls;
Rough they clasp the dale
Through lonely rocks and hail.
Gruesome heights tower near,
As nasty beacon of one's fear,
For phantoms loom malicious thence
And ply the unwanted with offence.
Works of might are no more.
Of splendid labours was the core
This blighted barren kingdom,
Stripped of joyous artful wisdom.
Removed and taken from the sight
Of dying ones who err in fright,
To be one legacy of yore
And olden memory that wore.
Above the spheres of outer void
Floats the Kingdom unalloyed.
The Ancient West shines forever
In endless cycle none may sever.
Charters lost the blissful coast
Which eager Men would long the most,
Deceived in plotting monstrous war
Agin the Angels of Afore.
Now the waves shall not carry
Able prows and regal ferry
Beyond the bounds of air,
For chained to roundness flags will fare.
Past sidereal ether
Is no tree to wither.
Past forbidden ways
Gleam enchanted bays.
Ever heeds the ailing King,
On foulest wicked wing,
A phoney cunning word
Which sorrow takes aboard.
Elven-ships forsook the haven
That masons once had wholly graven
By seaside's merry rim,
Now darkened bleak and grim.
Thunder cries aloud despair;
Tempest rages through the flare.
Red are skies in growing dusk,
About such treachery to unmask.
Hell was given right to enter
Of highest Men the fateful centre.
Shackled was the pallid crown
Whom wrathful Gods thus foundered down.
Home was made a fiery seat;
Consumed were crops and radiant wheat.
Thrall of mighty worshipped fiend
Was this Isle, scourged by wind.
Amid joy and golden bough,
In cheerful wooded shire,
Was the Lady fine to allow
Of gallant kind a squire.
They had walked through sour lands,
In wilderness decaying,
Afar from ocean-strands
On faithless dimming lane.
The Company had best,
Within the sunny kingdom,
Find a place of rest
Where time is bound in serfdom.
Stain is not to taint
The woodland ways of Wonder,
When days wear out to faint
And nights along meander.
Shorn of rue was made
This grandly lucky country
That never seems to fade,
Though vivid green gets wintry.
Ill is kept at bay
With weightless linden-bows;
Much is told in lay
For nasty scorn of foes.
There a secret lies,
With sundry murmurs laden,
About a potent wise
And so prodigious Maiden.
Dwarves still fain recall
The lamplit cloven hall
Below the mountain cliff,
Wherein is come their grief.
By the ravine wander
Beings in no way fonder
Than hideous ones inside
The ruinous darkling hide.
Nay, despair not!
Brooks delight my lot
With sweet warming sight
Past jagged hills of fright.
Look, the lonely cheerless pillar!
Time is master, but no such killer,
For stone is left to one remind
Of ageless Dwarven-kind.
Crystal-water would refresh
Durin's tired weary flesh.
A starry pool we know lies here:
The fabled Mirror-mere!
Ye, potent, hearken!
Heavens shall at all not darken
Ere mortal feet tread the way
Of the lush enchanted Bay.
Ye seek to seize what goes beyond
An ancient faithful bond.
In love your Isle was raised from seas,
For true and stout had been your pleas.
Men were given threefold lives
As glorious kings and fairest wives.
A Land of riches lay afar
Which thus had guise of splendent Star.
So grand a rule amidst the blue.
So soon your bliss would turn to rue,
If crowns were chained and used as pawn,
Westward due at doom's last dawn.
Whom do ye will to dare?
I say that deeps shall be laid bare
Before one marches unto ends
That suffer not your late amends.
The way is shut ahead.
Folks aghast begin to dread
That loveless days are drawing near,
Ever telling tales of queer.
The North is all a chant of war;
Aflame was set the mines' door,
For shadows now command therein,
Amid the intruder's spreading sin.
The South is prey of other wills
Around the worldly bitter chills,
As fumes rise high above the keep,
Whilst haunting kings in restless sleep.
The White Lady tarries fine
Inside her merry timeless shrine
Which every foe had longed to burn
Along the time to present worn.
Her gazing melts the hardest stone
And searches thoughts that life has sown,
Striking minds about to perish,
Without some virtue else to cherish.
What prodigy abides there
I cannot say in ken nor swear;
Elvish grace is light and gentle
As slender linen-mantle.
Happy houses in the Dale
Pass intact the wicked gale
Which far across unleashes
Ghoulish force against good wishes.
Splendid boughs resist the winter
That stony cliffs shall badly splinter,
And further hence the chill defy
Beneath the starlit dreadless sky.
A secret calm pervades the shire
Which more than bows defends from fire,
And time bedevils not the Golden Wood:
Over glad recalling is my grieving soul to brood.
Anguish conquers not this fortress.
Home of mighty charming victress
Was the sylvan kingdom made,
Wrought in grace to never fade.
Entangled thence in long affray
Was Elvish prince who lives in lay.
Kings and kings have minstrels wept;
Behind the frost was Evil kept.
Engraved in ice lay his fort
For utter doom of royal court
Which thither had so arduous gone,
Willing coats and mail to don.
Strenuous war betided soon.
Lost were Trees and endless Noon.
High and nether ill was done,
Neath the ardent ancient Sun.
Blades they brandished proud and fierce;
Armours forged were hard to pierce;
Immortal craft shone of prime
In so elder grim a time.
Valiant ones joys forsook
Amid such flame, void and spook.
Wraiths would tread that grievous path
And lords were eager pawn of wrath.
Grand labours commenced of old
In mirthful days as such was told.
To mend, to ease, to cure:
To vanquish toil and long endure.
Immortals loved the earth beyond
All they dearly deemed much fond.
Ensuing troubles they had not seen,
As Elven-sight was made less keen.
Wonders bade the eerie Astute
With offer none could well refute,
Save a few potent wise,
Not beguiled by phoney guise.
Works of praise were turned for ill;
Worthy guest was vicious will
That tied his victim to ruination,
Partaking wont in vile creation.
Dark has since grown the world;
Chilled have wan seas to great cold.
Laid bare were bygone kingdoms:
Once great pride of Firstborn-earldoms.
Sigh! Woe! My!
Gold are leaves therein
Neath the sunny sky,
Might abides within.
Alas! Grievous dreary times
Loom above the wood;
Elven hope are rhymes,
Sung in rue as voices could.
Voice is swoon and waning swift
Into clouds of sullen days.
Was the white ship thrust adrift
By the tides of bloody lays.
Still Light lingers bright
Far away from outer ills,
Wherein stars bless the night,
Renewing ghost and ailing wills.
An Elvish Queen governs trees,
Whose very name folks recount:
Her joyous land none may seize
Betwixt waterway and mount.
Across, past the western End
Finds itself a port,
Which mortal eyes commend
As holy Power's fort.
The Lonely Isle they then mistake
For godly saint-abode,
There where Angels wonders make
In ever-changing mode.
Descry we may a silver haven
Beyond the rage of frantic waves:
On it the craft of Elves was graven
By cleaving stones from deathless caves.
On sea-green heights we gaze afar
At merry distant shores,
Whither wester Moon and Star;
Whence came to us no wars.
Fogs rise and fall
By the naval bound.
Sailors seem to enthral
Uncanny spells around.
How couldst thou? How dark a foe!
Born as King, devoid of woe.
Songs thou sangest, opposed to Him;
So vile an act. So wrong to deem.
Tunes and music for undoing,
Willed afore to sow much ruin.
Agin thee and thine unright
Hath warred thy kindred in the Night.
Night was then before the Light,
Wrought of old by virtuous Might.
Great Lamps were lit to order
The Elder World and its disorder.
Powers fled from grave unrest
To the sinless Utter-West;
Thither have they fared to store
What of Bliss was left in lore.
Alas! Lo! Thou wast to crave
Fouler deed inside thy Cave.
Scheming evil of such felony;
Melkor the Marred, Champion of Villainy.
Shalt thou follow on abroad?
Will the Hobbit draw the sword
To vanquish foe and Orc,
Eating not his salty pork?
Home comforts thou wilt miss,
Once afar from nature's bliss.
Friendly visage turneth grim,
There where eves lands bedim.
A sturdy Dwarf shall guide thee sound
Along the countries lying around
All perils plotted thus,
To stray away and make a fuss.
And again a crafty Wizard
To serve thee well in wrathful blizzard,
As the skies red in anger
And betoken gruesome danger.
Roads have darkened very bleak,
Not for swoon, faint or weak.
Yet the quest might with ken endow;
If thou goest. Shalt so thou?
No riches, no treasure.
Shall his greed find a measure?
In the crevice of folly
Will the King be smitten wholly?
Crows forsook the Lonely Mount,
As wealth was soon beyond the count
Of plenty gold therein,
Stowed in haste so deep within.
Shadows grew much dense and long;
Lonesome realm, bereft of song.
A heavy crown to bear,
Until the Hall was all a flare.
On horrid wings he came,
Drawn by gems and envied fame.
Such plight! Such bane! Such omen!
Then mischief was grossly woven.
Roaring strike at the gate.
Remorse was vain and very late.
Nay, not storing luck to light the dullness,
But hoarding sickly twisted madness!
Long have you stridden wide,
From forest-mere to mountain side,
For errands were your utmost duty
Across so glinting earthly beauty.
Rues and toils have burdened roads;
Of creeping perils you encountered loads.
Novel tidings you had to bear
And even get whereto you'd fare.
A hat. A staff. A very welcome mage;
One dear to folks, one loth to rage.
Indeed, power dwelt in ardent spirit,
Bidden kind to pass the limit.
Limits binding poor to chain.
Storms compelling evil rain.
Intent some hope in hearts to bring,
He lit some souls with scarlet Ring.
An ode I am to send,
Where deeds with sorrows blend.
To the Wanderer! To the Guest!
To the twilit danger-quest!
What brings of blithe, this deathly season?
Dead as much as seems due reason.
Winds commence their tortuous route;
Grand malaise, one can't refute.
The dreary dormant North,
Wherefrom gales sally forth.
Peaceful lives, beware!
Ice is vile and ruthless snare.
Upon the frost was set a spell,
Into cave and haunted dell,
Which stirs anew the sleeping wight;
So was brought the marring blight!
To fear. To dread.
Tear is seldom gladly shed.
Tempers cool, minds get sore,
There where cold is evermore.
North! O shattered land!
Tales would be so scarcely bland.
Few might speak much truer word
On wicked Winter and its sword.
Rescue me from ill
And stifling bitter chill.
When gritty clouds rise up above,
You shall come and bring me love.
I fain meander to and fro,
Roving broad, nether low.
Hover then some sullen skies:
Dawn gets grey and morning dies.
Nay! We fancy not to gaze
At lovely blue beset by haze.
Save me, gentle sweeping gale;
You, I swear, I'm not to fail.
Shrill are brooks which shout and cry,
Flooding soil that had been dry,
And jutting rays come fore to cleanse
Mischievous airs, routed hence.
Shall the Hobbit dwell content?
Benighted lads outside once went,
Reporting odds that fears create;
Preserve us fine, my lucky fate.
I vow to stand
Unto the land,
Where ash and smoke
The mountain woke.
I vow to battle
And quarrels settle
Among the Men
Of coast and glen.
I vow to stay
In glorious lay,
Whereat we hail
As wondrous tale.
The Black across
Is wrenching loss
For any soul
From marble Hall.
Fires flow
And embers glow
Yon ahead
In vale of dread.
Ruin and utter doom!
Here is in truth no room
For other crowns to reign
Within my own domain.
Aye, my own land it is!
Spare me fearful pleas,
For ruth is much akin
To utter coward sin.
Before my throne you came,
Fully spent and tame;
You implore to have my reason,
Fleeing bars and lonely prison.
Stay your wicked word,
Cunning mighty lord.
Tenfold mightier sure am I,
Grandly strong and slow to die.
You shall follow me in chains
Away from plots and earthly banes.
A gaoled of Númenor, at my will,
Caught and bound and ever-still.
Seldom have we told
The grievous lay of gold
Which once was lit aglow
By ardent flaming flow.
Seldom was the aid
Of Dwarven-crafted blade
To triumph over ghouls,
Immune to arms and tools.
Seldom do we speak
Within the frozen peak
Of how declined the court
In such a mournful sort.
Seldom has a token
Merry kingdoms broken,
Unless it were of guile
In perilous fore-while.
Seldom shall we sing
The magic precious Ring
Which beckoned naught but fire,
And slew, alas, the sire.
I fancy we might try
To venture deep and sly,
For bad this land befell
Across this merry dell.
Fumes we see arise
In darkling scary guise
Above the Hobbit's hole,
And tainting trees' bole.
May ill have not occurred!
Hazed is air and thickly blurred.
Someone took control along;
To the Shire we belong.
While we strove much abroad,
Carrying shield and drawing sword,
Malice turned its gaze afar,
Sneering west at Evening Star.
A queer beggar thenceforth sits
As sordid master of his wits;
Foul strangers ought to bolt,
Ere justness calls revolt.
I saw the world fade
Above the ailing glade,
Inside the sickened green
Of murky bark and being.
Reeds have slept in fear;
Devious grew the mere.
Woods are ill and lame,
Bearing spooky fame.
Nights lie not in gloom
And Lamps renew the bloom
Of young benighted flower
Upon a cheerless bower.
Beheld have I the sky
In wearisome long sigh,
Craving sheer Light
Amid the present blight.
Dusk has paled away
To sacred starlit ray.
The Ever-Fair I see
Atop the gleeful tree.
One merry shire
Is told by Elven-squire
To dwell past the mist,
Defying Morgoth's Fist.
Yon the gales wester.
Rule the Angels foster.
Within the Eternal Kingdom,
So truly blessed in saintdom.
All throughout the fells,
Winding up on dells,
Rest the soundless sighs
That from grave arise.
Barrows bar the way.
That is place of slay.
Lords of yore were laid therein;
Greater ghoul they fought agin.
Forsaken moors drive afar
Any well-foreboding star.
Fogs are there to encumber
This grieving realm of sombre.
Beauty vanished soon
At gleaming sinking noon.
Nought remains of virtuous ken,
About the dull infested glen.
Safe from menace to this hour,
Where good souls are not to cower,
Is a land of wood and plain
In the Lord's ever-reign.
Stray and lost
Amid the frost
Of eerie peak
Which heroes seek.
They sought the Pass
That them harass
With hail and snow
Swathing low.
The Wizard knew,
Among the few,
That mountains rage
And loathe the mage.
They failed to climb
In fateful time
The red-lit stone,
As white as bone.
It was a will,
In grinding chill,
Which gravely struck
The Bearer's luck.
Away from wild and anger.
Away from creeping danger.
Western routes fell in ruin
By rapid foul undoing.
Undoing and sudden war
Then stained this path with gore,
Unto the Smith's defeat,
Within his shining seat.
Yet some lands withstand,
Far from shore or strand,
Inside a hidden dale
Under charming veil.
There they suffer not;
Home of deathless lot;
Whither voyage Elves
To secure themselves.
Welcome is the guest,
Down the mountain crest,
To the Gentle House:
A lovely fond arouse.
Shame! Was the sword turned
And thenceforth grimly mourned
A vile aberrant kill,
Spurred by greedy will.
Woe! Will was wicked fire;
Vaunted had the Sire
His ardent vengeful wish
To yonder wrath unleash.
Grief! Ire hath unmade
And therefore sorrow laid
To wondrous sea-loved port,
Once of pearls the fort.
Doom! Red grew thus the ancient tide.
Hands were felon slave of pride.
In storm the culprit got away,
As pious blood had washed the Bay.
Death! Valiant Noldo of grand craft,
Thou hast drawn pike and shaft
For the felling of thy kind:
Endless guilt shall thee bind.
On top of rustic mound,
By the heathland's bound,
Lies the hay-clad dome
In the horseman's home.
Here find no rest
Buoyant folks and hapless guest.
Here peasants quail
At the Wizard's flail.
Loyal riders ran away,
Banned in sullen shameful day,
As the King ill decreed:
Is the court in dire need!
Happed have crime and woeful treason
At the algid end of season,
When the fields oft recoil,
By the ice pledging foil.
Short of vigour stays the crown;
Lies prevail and gentle drown.
People seek to free their guide
From the rancour crawling wide.
Long and wide he trod
The wasted wooded path,
Plied with log and rod,
Fought the Night he hath.
Shoals of foes began
To pass the ancient road,
Daring marsh and glen
In the fiercest mode.
The Eye saw it through,
A feeble weakened vale;
Then his force he drew
To end this doleful tale.
Ranger of the reed,
Wield thy piercing bow!
More than tents we need
To stem the vicious flow.
Hail thy Captain right,
Servant of the Tree!
Grander act he might,
The Son who leadeth thee.
Ere radiant Sun arose,
In elder age to unfold,
Safe from earthly woes
Lay a land of gold.
Past the livid wave,
Further yonder west,
Elves were glad to crave
Eternal Bliss and Rest.
Shires laden fair
With joy and mirthful relish;
Thither we shall fare,
Where faultless hearts not perish.
Besieged by fiend and guilt,
And dreading grave offence,
The Archangels wherefore built
An unbreakable Defence!
Valmar and her Bell
Shall holy fortune wreak,
Whereunder pious dwell
And lasting beauty seek.
It is no longer known,
Amid despair and bone,
Who chances to survive
And pass the age alive.
Demons flood the keep,
Intent along to sweep,
Breaching gates and doors
In the plight of wars.
Axes splinter shields
All across the fields,
Brandished to reclaim
What the arm shall maim.
Doom has not defeated yet
Whom the Dark beforetime met;
'Tis a Paladin of Light
Bearing fey uncanny might.
Such are odds and riddles told,
By the Fiefdom Men will hold,
Facing restless flaring rings
Round some hellish horrid wings.
We hanker after glee,
About mere and tree,
Roving through the green:
An olden fate foreseen.
The Elvish paean stayed
Inside the rotten glade;
Speed and joy forsook
What valour prior took.
We lade the vessel full,
So winds hereafter pull
The wailing ship afar,
Seaward to the Star.
Shall the voyage bring,
As on seagull's wing,
Firstborns way ahead
Onto bounds unsaid.
We pray that oar and mast
Will pass the ocean fast,
But a wish to fulfil
In the Land forbearing ill.
Hand and chisel mock
Graven stone and rock,
To capture kingly eyes,
As befits the Wise.
Regal frowns command
Virtues that withstand
The epoch running bare,
When sunsets fearsome glare.
Glorious days subside,
Swept by time and tide;
Waning wraiths bemoan
What befell the throne.
Dwelling took a ken
In the House of Men:
The Sovereign shall return
While happy hamlets burn.
Soon will pride enter
The sick woeful centre
Of human marble-core,
Which guarded fates ashore.
Mourn thou not,
My kindly lot.
Scar may flame,
Yet never tame.
Thee I praise,
O splendent ways!
Thine is pride
On noble side.
By grand and skilful fashion
Thou grew'st in vibrant passion,
While hands would wreak a treasure
Of wondrous regal measure.
A King thou hast obeyed,
Whose realm once was laid
On sacred merry soil:
A golden valiant foil.
The City ailed afire.
Wring shall I my lyre.
The foul blazing curse
Will not destroy my verse.
I wager it might work,
Yet even many irk,
Though bounden is the duty
For any chap of pity.
Fare you well, perky fellow!
This your name shall we bellow,
In the time fallen dull,
Which my spirit may not lull.
Hobbits find great remorse
For the deed, augured worse;
Nay, I fathom not the wisdom
In making sudden to the Fiefdom.
What did the Little Folk of grace
In such ferocious sullen place?
If it be to common good,
Well the lad odds withstood.
Fight will mayhap therefore spell
Lay that's really worth a tell,
So long as eager feet remain
Widely firm and ever-sane.
Of Fire, Ice and Thunder,
Which realms rend asunder,
Thou heard'st grave and grief
That shatter worlds as chief.
Pain I'm not to assuage,
As devils battle wage;
The only Saviour lieth beyond
The enchanted misty Pond.
Thine honour must repent
To live anew content.
If thou be'st to plead,
Forswear would Princes greed.
Fire shall wear out;
Ice will melt about
The Foe's ghoulish Keep,
Where Thunder rageth deep.
O western Angel lying yonder!
Thou dwell'st unspoilt within thy Wonder.
Thou dost observe with eyes keen,
From Plain and Meadow evergreen.
Bare moorlands flail
Winds and wicked gale,
Storming crop and wheat
By the horseman's seat.
Yeomen live in fear
On a peasant's tear;
Troubles have begot
Woes we fathom not.
The White Hand is nigh!
Wolves walk and pry
Along ways uncouth,
Around the brutish South.
Swoon sits the King
Whom betrayers bring
On the edge of ruin:
That's the Wizard's doing!
Knight and rusted sword,
Turned agin your lord;
Outlaws leave unfair
Crowns they're not to dare.
Ever roared the horn of War.
Spilt was blood, dried to gore.
Crude became these pitied Rocks;
Nasty fowls were drawn in flocks.
Hath the Lay woeful beckoned,
For the brave feeble Second,
Whom the story chiefly hurt
And dragged below to soulless dirt.
Ever thundered weeping skies,
Swift the darksome cloud to rise;
Hail and rain have washed away
Countless griefs, of sheer dismay.
First, thou fearest not the wheeling course
Which Time took thence for utter worse.
Yet wide discord hath bled thee white,
For red were stained swan-ports of Light.
If thou wert keen on gazing west,
Much better so it were to best
The Fiend who saith and doth mischief,
Once perished Noon and ancient Leaf.
So long, my green.
How fain I've seen
Your gentle Spring
And russet wing!
O larks! O deer!
No longer sheer
Shall be the Youth
Which prides in truth.
Yet Ruth I bear,
Although in wear
I suffer great,
At heart of late.
Venom blights
Days and nights,
Too deep wherein
I carried Sin.
A last Route
I shan't refute,
To take me there
Where Deathless fare.
So fresher air
Might you ensnare,
Within the gem
Of springing hem.
'Tis Hobbit's land!
Some deem it bland.
How fair domain,
Devoid of stain.
To look above
And burst with love
At silky sky
Lying gladly high.
May zephyrs kiss
This homely bliss.
O rutted road!
O simple mode!
The outer folks,
With foolish jokes,
Are envious lots
Of troubled thoughts.
One league ahead,
One land of dread,
By heatwaves burnt;
Some tales that weren't.
Narrated, then,
Are songs and Men
Re-seeking trust
To longer last.
Battles rage
And herefore cage
Some kings with chain
As hideous bane.
The tribes of South
A cruel Mouth
Now all revere:
The Eye they fear!
Aye, it is
Some blazing breeze
That sets alight
To drought and fright.
Two bastions in the stone
Hewn fine, strong and lone;
Once thy vessel foundered deep,
Thus to light was brought the Keep.
A keep thou deemest right,
To dare and face the Night;
His phantom rose from waves
And longeth Dark its caves.
In cave was made a Ring
Which minstrels doleful sing;
O valiant human-kind!
Your bane ye seek to find.
To find and vanquish all
By breaching Sauron's Wall,
And Blade and Lance await
Their grievous ending fate.
My Man and Elf of Good,
Ye warred and proudly stood
Agin the firing Peak
That was your doom to wreak.
O deathly sealike Lord,
Thou fled'st in pain aboard
Thy mourning alder-ship,
As Ulmo wound his Whip.
Thine Heirs were not to yield,
When oceans sank the Field;
In sullied lands now tower
Two Realms, Tree, and Flower.
The unlucky one you shield from ill;
So eager comes your faultless will
At the court of time and fate:
'Tis a daunting gloomy wait.
Kingless rest the ways of Men.
Dreary gets the quiet glen
Which fouler feet now tread in haste:
Gullies die and brooks then waste.
Just fangs and claws to guard the vale
That Sun avoids, to plunge much pale.
The ranks of Shadow walk anew:
A path to leave, grand foolish you!
Unless a force be well reborn,
Shall the kingdom render torn
A creeping wight of man-discord:
We hail a Head! We hail a Lord!
The crownless yearns his land to lead;
His truly vivid ardent creed.
He shan't recoil or throne defect:
His people just he will protect.
Crossing hedge, amid the reed,
Lurk a wraith and darkling steed.
They move across the haunted wood;
Another sign of vicious brood.
They crawl inside the shade of eve,
Among the lanes which sombre grieve,
For bidden was the restless slave
To rove the soil and dread the wave.
They come from fiendish lawless place.
Without a name; without a face.
Nine Rings they got by snare and guile,
Delaying demise for so a while.
And bound they were beneath the Moon,
These fated ghosts that make one swoon.
They seek a little furtive lad,
Whom sundry griefs shall anguish sad.
Behold, they bolt away in wreathing dust!
Flocks of birds flee swift aghast.
Pray, I wish hereafter luck
For humble folks, in mire stuck.
My sunlit verse, thou farest far.
Aggrieved my wit, neath omen-star.
Beside the Lords we stout remain,
Content with joy and holy reign.
The Vala sealed his merry country
To save the dearest deathless gentry;
Each peak he raised enormous higher,
A hundredfold, so bade the Sire.
His mighty host hath set a guard
To avert the fell and bar the marred.
No demon shall again besiege
The Immortal Kingdom past the Bridge.
A bridge of mist and potent spell
Thee keepeth stray from hallowed Bell;
Didst thou some honest deed,
To atone in full for creeping greed?
Alone thou art and faithful dost
What oaths decreed, through slaying and blast.
I would thou wert the storm to weather,
Ere hither-shores are sunk deep nether.
Ah, the queer Abroad you seek to enquire!
Of it speaks oft the blatant liar.
Too fearful Hobbits stay inside,
Recoiling pale at larger wide.
We hear the tale of fainting shires,
That gravely suffer evil fires,
Or valiant wall they set to halt
Whom noble loathe and hail as fault.
The stony kingdom you shall find
Which many trust and bear in mind
As last defender of the earth,
While wishing Men the hoped rebirth.
Dwarven lots are rare to meet;
Likewise Elves depart in fleet.
The latter sail to never wane,
Escaping time and future bane.
I wager you might mend the ill
That now ascends with eager will
To yoke the free and realms invade,
Inflicting wound and wielding blade.
Once upon a glorious age
Used the very worthy sage
To call the North as mighteous one,
By rule of Heir and bravest Son.
A king sat glad in graven throne
Of such a polished fearless stone;
Masons found sublime delight
In moulding ore and shaping right.
Delved were towns and regal halls,
Along with fortress, deep and walls.
No common foe would venture thither,
For bandits quailed; vile weeds that wither.
Yet menace sprang from dreary heights,
Spectral seat of ghouls and wights.
A sword was drawn and shone aflame,
Releasing swarms that order maim.
And cold unchained an ancient fiend:
Herald thence of scourging wind.
Men were stormed and smitten down,
Bequeathing doleful shreds of crown.
Thine enmity I treasure
With fondly welcome pleasure
As token of good sign,
To banquet for with wine.
We feast and sing content.
We utter no lament.
We hanker for a dream.
We gravely hurt beseem.
Thine enmity is burden
To wearied guard and warden.
Albeit honoured to resist,
Fain might others us assist.
Dark Lord, thee Men have learnt
To loathe and hate, on regions burnt.
On felon-deeds we weighed thy scheme:
So fool of us thy words to deem!
Thou now thinkest fell indeed
To wake thy gruesome phantom-steed.
Defeat thou sawest plainly clear,
Since Gold accursed thou holdest dear.
In guise of hell, as paled the moon,
Blew fiercely strong a great typhoon
Which seethed across in utter ire,
Boding death for lord and squire.
Soon were sylvan reeds to mourn,
Reduced in ash, by fire worn.
Tried had hands to slay the beast,
That ruin begot along the East.
Darts could nought but sadly fail,
Stayed by sturdy dragon-scale,
And arrows flew in vain to fight
The approaching blast of blazing blight.
Cries resounded, voices rose.
Ills betided all in rows.
Folly took a king for serf,
Ruining halls of valiant Dwarf.
Alas, misfortune did away
With carven stone and chiselled clay.
Therein a grave was dug profound;
A beckoned monster; a flaring hound.
Heed the mage's word,
By dreary wood or ford,
While passing far beyond
The bound you cherish fond.
Advice you need for sure,
For odds are brought to fore,
When sunset stretches long;
When minstrels grieve in song.
Orbs shall wester still
Past silent stellar chill,
And days will fade away,
Though ever not astray.
Countless paths you'll tread,
To darkness bound to head,
Until the air is stifling smoke;
Until the world is all a yoke.
Fear is not to slow your pace.
Courage lives on Hobbit-face.
Fair enough shall deeds befall,
If answered fine this story's call.
Forevermore shalt thou rest.
A sleep on meadow ever-best.
Too wild he burnt within thy womb.
Too vast discord was set to loom.
Thine incandescent kin inside
Yearned and flamed alight of pride.
A son thou borest unto plight,
Fated thence to rule in might.
A glaring star was brought to life,
Born from strain; apt for strife.
Of jewels wright he came to be,
Around the splendour-age of Tree.
Amidst the Noon she chose to dwell,
As Varda filled with glee her well;
And Manwë blessed his land secure,
Providing fain to wear a cure.
Yet maids bewailed the Elven-queen.
On green unstained she slumbered clean.
Spent thou art, embalmed with care,
Reposing faint, amaranthine-fair.
Behind the hedge we stay,
So well and safe away
From peril growing bold
And algid northern cold.
Grey and sullen got
This morn and lively lot,
Since darker dreams occurred,
When gaffers dithered bored.
But Hobbits carry still
Their merry busy mill,
And odds import a little
Among good fest and vittle.
Dangers pry outside,
Where vicious spirits glide
Aloft and very wild,
Frightening the mild!
Some gentle Men await
At outer border's gate,
Patrolling lane and brook
With keenest eye and look.
In the ancient glorious Middle
Stood an Island clad in riddle,
Closest then to deathless strands,
Revering once the Undying Lands.
Erstwhile ardour vanished utter.
Way was given to a Plotter.
Older bonds abated slow,
Yet ever making of the foe.
Emptied Lords the jar of hope,
Craving wealth that lay on slope,
Or claiming bays as proper right,
There where Men abide in fright.
Foolish counsel crept its path,
Wont the Crown to sway to wrath.
Greedy sea-kings knew no bound,
But warring horns and vengeful sound.
Sailed had fleets beyond the Tide,
Forbidden waves in sin to ride,
Willed to wrest the Eternal Fief
From holy rule of Arda's Chief.
O forsaken land,
Marred afore and banned!
Thee I wish to heal
From striking foul ordeal.
A den thou wast for wraiths,
Behind thy darksome gates.
A shelter for his ghouls
And horrid deadly tools.
How grave hath thus decayed
The realm that was so made
A scorching waste of sorrow
Besetting now and morrow!
Siege had laid a host
To dreadful Orc and ghost,
In ranks which fairly shone
Before the Demon's throne.
O sunken blighted dale!
The fire-mountain's gale
Thou suffer'st from the time
The earth was plunged in crime.
Twilit morrows come about.
Colder nights begin to rout
Gladder days held in glee,
Of an age worn, told in plea.
Fright is fast and spreading wide,
Akin to malady or tide,
Which very few permits to live
To see the cheerful starry eve.
Haze descends on haunted cairns;
Dread is brought to dells and glens.
Some confess to witness ill,
Upon the eerie burial chill.
Mounds begrudge the daring stranger,
Deaf to warning; fool to danger.
Nay, you travel not such fiendish route!
From tainted ground depart your foot!
'Tis real! 'Tis true! 'Tis ominous betiding!
Hark well, my dear: deathly knights are riding!
Yet other phantoms roam, where stored is precious token;
Inside their tomb they scheme. Astir they have just woken.
Once upon a sombre time
Lifeless mud and savage slime
Produced ulterior enemies of fear,
Below the wizard-dwelling's tier.
Underneath the olden walls
Lay some ghoulish cavern-halls.
Foundered deep inside the soil,
There were places fiends could spoil.
Serfs began to dig and mine,
Guided sure by flaming sign
Which burnt alight in Seeing Stones:
A vile commander, King of Bones.
They burrowed restless, morn and night;
New servants woke, born to fight.
The mage was bidden by the Eye
To muster hell, for war is nigh.
May heathlands raise fort and tower!
Much greater threats stare and glower.
Retreat might be the win of darkness;
The Istar acts, unearthing foulness.
The Ghoul ordained to lay
Despair across the Way
Of northern kings and folks,
And bound the free in yokes.
O sacred wistful North!
From cave they sally forth!
His armies flesh devour;
The Witch is wight of power.
His sword is beaming red,
While kingdoms writhe in dread.
His dagger conjures fiends
And woeful roaring winds.
But all is not yet lost,
Though thick has grown the frost,
For southern Lords arrive
To keep their twin alive.
Elves traversed as well
To battle Ice and Fell;
A blizzard willed to halt,
Alongside wrenching fault.
Which tiding bearest thou?
Why great and valiant bow?
My loved and broken Son,
Have I thee justice done?
Speak thy riddle, foreign mage!
Old thou art, but not a sage.
Thine awry plans have ill begot,
Within thy foolishness and lot.
Unmade the Horn, felled by beast.
The journey wound too farther east.
My legacy of blood, mourn shall I thy tale;
This Steward owneth nought, but utter rueful wail.
Yet grieving serveth none,
And twilit got the Sun,
Foreboding scare and night:
A prelude of the fight.
Thou wishest foes to come
And much nefarious drum
To shatter stone with dread,
As like thy counsel said.
A victim, shorn of evils,
To sacrifice to devils
Thou needest very clear,
Bending doubts through fear.
This mongering of doom, I call a vain attempt.
Were I the one to sneer, if yeomen showed contempt?
I know, indeed, whom wantest thou to reign;
Thy vagabond of woods, shall never tread this lane!
Too dangerous to go,
A path of reed and sloe,
Which climbs over gullies
And stranger's garment sullies.
The Hobbits fled around
At rider's chilling sound,
Whose cry guts bestirs
Amid oaks and firs.
A fellow them is aiding
From phantom, ghoul and fading.
A knife yet wounded grave
The Bearer none could save.
He soon was near demise.
A gaze on empty eyes
Was leading him astray,
Where spectres wane away.
Lo! A bright mirage is nigh,
Which rids the sad of sigh;
A damsel clad in light
Of purest sinless white.
Shall I tell thy future deed?
Shall I speak of my good creed?
Leastways doth recalling well
For grimmer fate to now foretell.
Ye must remember pious blood,
Spilt and shed in mode of flood
Bedewing red the unsullied havens,
Which presaged dead and famished ravens.
Thou! Atone and pride forgo!
Stricken swoon thou wast by Foe.
Thine anguish will for long persist,
While fighting Ruin of Morgoth's Fist.
My grieving streams have brought me news;
The Immortal found in grudge no use.
And waters bar the way to seas
Which oft ye sing and mourn in pleas.
Some further banes await thee yet,
My stranded one, besieged by threat.
A destined Messenger will mend
Thy vilest act about the End.
What ought to be?
How greet you me?
Abreast this Maid
You pass the glade.
We head afar,
Neath awry star,
Yet King and Heir
To glory fare.
You harbour one,
As bright as sun,
Within such heart
That won't depart.
With Elven-grace
Was blessed her race,
Whose ancient Keep
They sorely weep.
Know this, however!
Mishap may sever
My flesh asunder,
To awful wonder.
And still would I,
In soar and cry,
Avenge the soul
Of Théoden's Hall.
May heavens break!
May perish sake!
May surge to fame
This Rider-Dame!
In the crevice of the mount
Common folks not surmount
What of ill there abides,
Near the narrow rocky sides.
'Tis a cleft in the stone
Hiding cursed living bone,
And the way shut remains,
Lest to one happen banes.
Kingly promise they reclaim
So to end perpetual blame,
Staying true to the oath
At the Shadow's rapid growth.
But to crowns they respond,
In the name of regal bond;
Thus will spectres serve again
Some beleaguered fearful Men.
Ghoul will turn in precious aid,
When mishaps deplete the blade,
To the ruin of the Orcs
And their gruesome villain-works.
East the Hobbit-fence
Shall the Road commence
Whereto errands go,
Daring outer woe.
There is Fairy-Wood
Which evilness withstood,
And lucky ones might greet
Its springing meadow-wheat.
Golden glen and dale,
Scarcely would you pale
Before some farther bliss,
Where stories run amiss.
In truth lies a Home
Beside brook and foam,
And lonesome evermore,
At least to common lore.
Two dwell content,
In land of no-lament.
A Wiseman wading water;
A gracious River-Daughter.
I see grand armies flow
Beyond the edge aglow,
Of certain sombre like,
Through feral beast and pike.
I glimpse in wicked plot
That downfall had begot,
When Fair Ones used to tread
A world devoid of dread.
Beheld have I the Bane of Men!
A glance at pit, cove, and den!
Strife awaits. Paeans stayed.
Yeomen grieve their King afraid.
White Rider, much I fear!
This one Hobbit's not a seer!
I mayhap did forget and chance
His black desire so to advance.
Too deep a wound he wrought,
That rendered me distraught;
And winds I clear perceive,
Advising us to leave.
On incandescent Waste
We journey ash in haste,
Unto the fiery ravine,
Where molten rock is waving.
So weary have we grown.
So large a queer unknown
We dealt with ever-stout
Which merriment shall rout.
The Mount we seek to climb,
And darkest bodes the time
Whereat we dare to win,
Amid despair and sin.
Recall you cannot stream
Or berries fine to deem;
The hues of Green appear
To only stir your tear.
That burden I shan't bear,
For sworn have I to care
And vows I keep as due,
But carry I may you!
Thou kneelest now
Before thy foe,
To turn the prow
From nasty woe.
Thou seekest hence
To beg in vain,
Yet vile offence
Begetteth pain.
No writ have I
To unmake the guilt;
Thine awful lie
A prison built.
The Iron Crown
We struck afire.
I cast it down
And smote thy Sire.
O faithless Ghoul!
Bestir thy mind!
I am no fool
Whom devils bind.
Yond must ye,
Repenting thus,
Traverse the Sea
Past water's mass.
In face of Him,
The Ancient King,
Thy pride bedim
At Angel's Ring!
One very whisper shall bequeath
The lay untold, in mode of myth.
A single murmur seething wide
Is often tale of Elven-pride.
Whirling seas bespeak again
A painful trace of bloody ken,
Since prideful Houses took the way
From saint-abode: besotted Bay.
Swan-ships burnt, brought adrift.
The price of heist headed swift
To mortal confines, there afar,
Where only glimmered Varda's Star.
One very whisper may so tell.
The Foe awaits: the Ever-Fell!
In cold recesses nightmares wake,
Too coarse and deep to whole unmake.
Alas, to Sires harm was even done.
The Valar wept, at surging Sun.
The Smith gave in to imposing ire.
His corpse now lies, consumed by fire.
Forsake the war, my fiery King!
Thine offspring marched to Morgoth's Ring.
Thou led'st the immortal Brethren proud
And blew'st the trumpet broad aloud.
To avenge his Theft unto despair
Thine armies sacked the Haven bare,
Despoiling sea-folks of their ships:
Soon shall ye perish by flame-whips!
The boding Fate whereof I speak
Fore-known had been on Manwë's Peak,
And times divine ulterior Scourge,
For fiends in twilight shall re-surge.
Agin thy Host we shall enclose
The Eternal Continent from woes.
Agin thine arrogance and greed
Thou shalt regret rebellious deed.
Forgo the chasing of the Jewel!
'Tis vain revenge and hopeless duel.
Before the Foe thou win'st no longer,
If even thou wert threefold stronger.
What would you fear,
If not the smear
Of witless folks,
Much versed in jokes?
I beg you not
To trust the lot
Indulging glad
In tale of mad.
A silly talk.
A foray-walk
In peasant's lore
Which happed afore.
Some murmurs spread:
Perfidious dread!
The Dwarven-gate
Decayed of late.
Its halls became
A throne of flame
For creeping swarm
And putrid form.
Orbs may die.
Bards shall sigh.
This my Oath
I cry not loth.
O western seas!
O yonder-breeze!
Ye mayhap turn
From Shore to burn.
The Hither-Strand,
By so a land,
Shall thus partake
In flood and quake.
My potent Stones!
On my Kin's bones
I vow to flail
The Foe of tale.
His foulest fiend
Such roaring wind
Shall never hinder,
In name of Wonder.
On Thee I swear!
Defend from Wear
The valiant Elf,
Accursed himself.
My Ancient King,
Within thy Ring
Decreest thou just
And Right to trust.
Yet Angels failed.
Yet Queens bewailed.
Inside their Shire
Was set a fire.
On stainless Plains
Trod then two Banes,
And lightless Night
Had bound your Might.
The Trees are gone.
The West grew wan.
Sole remnants live
Of Yester-Eve.
My Relics were
The Demon's door
To coming where
Was laid his Lair.
We sail far thither,
While friendships wither.
We head to Doom,
While daisies bloom.
Wights afield!
Bear the shield!
Man the post!
Slay the ghost!
Upon their steed,
Men's ears bleed;
A cry of dread
Betokens dead.
Which beast of hell
Might guardians fell
So grimly full
By devil's rule?
The Knight in White
Assuages fright.
A legate sent
Who furthest went.
Stay, hearken!
Heavens darken!
A wolf-device
Gates hammered thrice.
Aflame and bursting all around,
Befell a contest on the Mound
To hail the victor of the night,
Who thus prevailed by grace of might.
The Wizard held himself till dawn
And battled firm the wicked pawn
That Evil set on long pursuit,
Throughout a daunting peril-route.
A walking Wraith began to seek
For Little Folks about the creek,
Because an Heirloom they possess:
One Ring to damn and not to bless.
He kept a vigil, atop that Ruin.
Some distant flares were Mage's doing.
In guise of lightning, yond afar,
He spoke his magic, spooks to bar.
No venom-dagger could succeed.
No darksome Knight on ghoulish steed.
The Grey bowed not to evil Rider;
The Bearer succour found in Strider.
Brandish it, great Heir!
No better iron might
In perfidy and fright
Secure your being from wear.
At death you are to stare,
While battling the Unright,
Which blighted fiefdoms bare
Of merriment and light.
To gift the Blade I dare,
At onset of despair,
For well foresaw my sight
That you shall rout the night.
I pass to him
The grace I bear,
Which makes me fair
And rich of vim.
I beg my blood,
Descent of yore,
To summon flood
At Elven-door.
The sacred stream
Ye shall not taint,
Though haps beseem
To smite us faint.
The Hobbit's fine!
The Wraith's amiss!
We drove the Nine
Away from bliss.
I vow to stand
And further fight
This villain-wight
From sullen land.
The Tower's fall
Lay just ahead,
Beyond the wall
Of mindless dread.
Then debris cast
Its woeful ruin,
Along with blast
And storm ensuing.
Courageous victors.
Volcanic room.
Now languish spectres
Of Evildoom!
They shameful wane.
They all surrender.
Here is the bane,
Hence rent asunder.
His prowess tied
That craft together;
We watch it glide
In calm new weather.
So fey a Marvel happed,
As Iron peasants trapped,
And colour faded pale
Through thunderstorm and gale.
A Sorcerer betrayed
The heathland-knight and maid,
For lurid sport of crows,
To feast on brutal woes.
Yet feral raiders daren't
Beset the far lament
Which golden reed pervades
Within the enchanted glades.
A mighty Elvish Dame
They try in vain to tame,
But fallen wizards fail
To sully wood and dale.
Her prodigy we ignore.
That's old forbidden lore.
We only gape at Light,
Where dwells the Queen aright.
I see whom nature gifted well,
So fair and worth a praising tell.
I see whom love has dearly shown
To be the queen of this my throne.
The seat of happiness herein,
Where vigour dwindled very thin,
For darkness left a longtime trace
On Hobbit's lovelorn kindly face.
So vast a wasteland have I gone,
Until my Master foes had won,
Yet ever fain I found relief
From malice sown and wrenching grief.
Delight I sought in golden lock,
Which sundry birds may dare to mock.
No brighter visage better glows
Than my besotted damask-rose.
Meandering about,
I would then order flout,
Were sentinels to unveil
The green path to the Vale.
Wandering across,
Amid the tender moss,
We guard the western bound
And set a watch around.
Refuge give us woods
From much nefarious broods,
Unto gleeful Country
We serve as loyal sentry.
Rangers pride in stealth,
Instead of kingly wealth;
Their duty they deem dear,
Be they by brook or mere.
We answer to the Lord
Of joyous dell and ford.
We hail him our guide,
When roads we chance to stride.
And Dragons hid
To rest amid
The lonely Chill
In sleepy will.
They so repose
From blades and bows,
Beneath the feet
Of Dwarven-seat.
Of greed and fire
Was bane to Sire,
For blaze will melt
The King who dwelt.
The Drake shall soar,
As did afore,
And losses wreak
To Hall and Creek.
The Town on Lake
Will deem her sake
Such worthy stone
To rueful moan.
***
And dragons hid
In wrathful bid
To strike the Chamber
Of rock and timber.
The hour ran
Beyond one's ken,
And days would hap
Till cunning trap.
The Mount became
A sordid flame
Which mines had lit
And conquered wit.
The weary Dwarf
Would walk like serf,
Betraying his skill
And dauntless will.
Yet sung in rhyme
For gladder time
Was lay to sound
Past vale and mound.
***
And dragons hid
Their serpent-lid
Deep down the Gold
Which shone of old.
A seer spoke,
Bereft of joke,
Divining fine
A hopeful Sign.
The rightful Heir
Shall climb the stair,
Once cloven wise
In Dwarven-guise.
Bells will hail
Around the Vale
Such gallant quest
In tunes of fest.
Alack, it is
To ravage trees
And Water heat
By mountain's feet.
***
And dragons hid
To thence forbid
The unlucky Sire
From fleeing fire.
The Snake in wait
Is never sate,
For always longs
To make some wrongs.
Below their Wealth,
By snare and stealth,
One breath of doom
Patrols the gloom.
Shall Exiles pave
Their road to Cave,
To free the keep
Which rooted deep?
O risky route!
O vicious loot!
The Prince will take
The throne from drake.
***
And dragons hid
The world to rid
In future age
Of Dwarf and sage.
The Fellows tread
A way unsaid,
Combating ill
And outer thrill.
A woodland King,
Whom harpers sing,
A deed much bold
Deemed war for Gold.
Among them found
Himself around
A valiant Thief,
Withstanding grief.
The Burglar won!
He now shall don
The Mail of Kings
Of shiny rings.
Halls you drew from ore
At very dawn of lore,
And cloven was the throne
In mountain's deepest bone.
Neath the vaults of rock
Masons came to mock
The kingly frown in marble,
Chiselling his fable.
A place to hide from monster.
A dwelling used to foster
The works of Durin's Folk
Who put the mount on yoke.
So fairly rich a mine,
Wherein the delvers dine!
So prosperous a maze
To tell in pomp through lays!
Grandlord under hill,
The fates to dare you will,
For Dwarven-Rings bestir
A threat to cave and fir.
Algour fell on strand,
Upon the blissful Land,
To darken swans and Port
Past consecrated fort.
Fountains dried away.
Grimness held the Bay.
Barren Trees decayed.
Chill was turned to blade.
Mariners ashore
Mourn the hapless lore,
While tempest rises fell
From paradise and Bell.
Algid lay the Haven,
White by masons graven,
Until was Light anew
To wake the Kingdom's Hue.
Further Ice beyond
Was bare to strain the bond
Betwixt righteous Sire
And Prince of Elven-squire.
It is profound dismay
To muse on vestige long,
As dawns a grievous day
And enemies are strong.
Men beseem to quail
Before the approaching storm,
Known to them the flail
Menacing their norm.
Accustomed grew the king
To questioning the sky,
In futile hope to cling
To ancient ken or lie.
Grandiose tombs were built,
Embellished by remorse,
Out of envious guilt
Towards a greater force.
Now the Steward lives
To see the fief in chain,
And ruthless wester eves
Preceding wrathful bane.
The Mountain shall her pass conceal,
To stun the traveller on wheel,
Or freeze the feet of prouder guest
About the baleful crimson crest.
A dormant Forest harbours wrath
And trees she herds on sylvan path,
Awaiting some to loud acclaim
The fall of axes, made to maim.
Another power fain resides
Near the root of peaceful tides,
Deep within a vale of mirth:
Abode of nature's beaming birth.
Horrors lurk underneath,
Where have mourners placed a wreath
For the honouring of mines,
Inside the cave; below the pines.
'Tis one sort of elder might,
Born afore the starry night;
Ere evilness befell.
Ere Angels crafted bell.
Flawless Elda, now bespeak:
What were shadows then to wreak?
Which the semblance of thy scare,
Haunting dream and mirthless mare?
By the Lake the First awoke,
Blooming goodness of a folk;
Astir they Wonders thus beheld,
When Varda's radiance cloud had felled.
Yet peril lay, in ore enshrined.
Round frigid heights, by foulness mined.
Thence came a Ghoul, a gruesome Wight,
Ordained to mar the starlit night.
The darksome Fiend of our tale
Crept unseen, at end of dale;
He took the unwary unto cave
For evil work of art so grave.
Wherefore Children turned to beast,
Doomed on flesh to wildly feast.
Monstrous ogres rose from pit,
Serving demon's malice-writ.
Ere the Knight vastness rode,
Seeking Fairies, right in mode,
Ye encountered Him of old:
Wicked Rider, black and bold.
Cunning captor, willed to chain
Thine eternity with pain,
Deeming very better deed
The vile unmaking of one's creed.
Manwë's Lightning struck his fort,
Smiting devilry and dirt.
Heavens thundered; reddened skies;
Shires relished, shorn of lies.
'Twas the Lay of sunless time,
Sung in verse, entailing rhyme.
Epic story, fine to treasure,
Shall in sureness win thy pleasure.
O my dweller, hither come!
Hark the trumpet! Hail the drum!
March in Valimar the Great,
Ever-Mistress of thy fate!
Inside the Green
An ageless Fay
Is known as being
Of olden day.
Revere the Dame!
Obey the Lord!
So grand a fame
Surpasses word.
No trace of toil
Upon her face;
No barren soil
For Elven-grace.
It ill behoves
Men abroad
To hail as coves
Queens to laud.
Tall and white,
She will divine
Encroaching fright
Or omen-sign.
Last of ancient royal blood!
A lonesome wandering in reed;
Accustomed well to mire-weed;
The untidy pilgrim, sunk in mud.
A shack he finds aright
To shelter eyes and feet,
Relying on the night
To cool diurnal heat.
Some sacred lore inhabits
The sentinel of limits.
It brings us back to you,
O sea-lord ruling blue!
I question stars to tell me all.
What happens, pray, behind that wall?
Which foul device assume of ill
His feral monsters, bred to kill?
I covet ken and keener gaze;
I wish I knew such land of blaze.
They spoke of glaring flame therein;
Fell it grew. We may not win.
I long for craft to wisely show
The fiery wave. The molten flow.
The Seeing Stones, I here confide,
Will plain reveal the opposing side.
I have observed perennial dullness;
It fed a malice: woeful vileness.
I fear the Tower, his dreary seat;
The ash is ruin to corn and wheat.
I lie distressed, rent and torn.
The Steward governs, yet forlorn.
Anguish shall corrode my trust,
Akin to rocks, then ground to dust.
The glass we raise to cheer
A wiseman, brave and dear,
In hour apt for fun,
When hazard we fain shun.
May beer abound!
Fill the jugs around!
Hobbits yearn remembrance,
Glad in mode and semblance.
Be it fest to ever hail
As event befalling vale,
Where we cherish quiet life,
Faraway and void of strife.
Ah, the joys of queer story,
Firelit and fraught with glory!
Troll and drake us await,
Once provisioned, till we're sate.
Many tales endearing ears,
Meant to stir the common's fears,
Albeit willing to disclose
Foreign tidings, full of woes.
Gone, decayed. 'Twas the fate of Light.
A sudden coldness fell, inviting sombre night.
Two Trees had risen, the miracle of Powers,
Enshrined herein secure, behind mighty towers.
The Enemy knew well, to deal the fatal strike,
Assisted by a Beast, kindred fiend alike.
They ventured unto fields, pure and blessing-laden,
Intent to poison Green, defying Lord and Maiden.
Swathing chill occurred, gripping Havens faint.
Grieving sailors wept, for the scourge of taint.
Noon had soon eclipsed, as a waning dream,
Leaving Elves adrift, by the ocean's stream.
"Stay thy bursting ire, Noldo of the West!
Thou mayest not prevail, nor higher kinds contest!"
Saith thus the Ancient King, sovereign ever-just;
He shall reign supreme, evermore to last.
Paper wisely stowed,
In the ancient mode,
Findeth proper use
Past the River's blues.
Mesmerising hue;
Gleaming summer-dew.
An anointed Ravine
Much inspireth craving.
Might another kingdom
Treasure equal saintdom?
Might a fairer shrine
Offer food and wine?
Not on dying Shore,
Deeply scarred afore,
Shall we have a place
Vying so by grace.
Books conserve the lay,
Sung in olden Day,
At the time of might
And relentless plight.
'The Foray for the Flower'
In the gravest hour,
Thitherto presented
By the fate resented.
Happed in truth a deed
Off the Isle of Greed,
Strangled by the sin
Festering therein.
So we call the tale!
Him we shall bewail!
Afore the Ruling Ring
We need his merit sing.
Under sham disguise,
Passing guard and lies,
Climbed the Prince a tower:
Seat of cruel power.
Ere the fiendish Priest
Swung his deadly fist,
Took the Heir with him
Seed decayed dim.
It was a feeble piece,
Reminiscent of the Bliss,
Brought of old aboard
From the Land of Lord.
Then a Sapling grew
In the World of Rue,
There to well remind
Of a grander kind.
I pray to staunch confide
In fiercest knightly ride;
I pray and skies beseech
To silence raven-screech.
'Tis time: release the braid!
The rider chains unmade.
I wave and spur the reins
Towards my ruthless banes.
Horsemen, forth ye charge!
Wearisome and large
Hath the raider's fury
Wanted us to bury.
It doth me regal honour
To anew display the colour.
It did me tenfold gladder
To set aflame the ladder.
The Deep we shan't forsake.
Ruin the Sun! Wake the drake!
I were to blemish all,
If ogres broke the wall.
Winding through the fen,
Passing lair and den,
Slumber there some fells:
Lonely holly-dells.
Harpers used to find
Great delight of mind
By recounting fain
Elder wright-domain.
Glorious smiths were proud
To labour all around;
Beryls came to be,
East beyond the sea.
Roads united Elf
To mighty Dwarrowdelf,
For every tale to laud,
From home to far abroad.
The entrance to the mine
Shall open via sign:
"Await the moonlit ray
To grave a door in clay."
It darkened so uncouth.
From yeoman's eager mouth
Was uttered cheerless ode
To ruined mount-abode.
They delved alone in rock;
They later fled amok.
A fire burst and roared;
Too deep the Dwarf had bored.
Shut the ancient way,
Routes we fare astray
Without a ruling one
To comfort Durin's son.
Putrid ponds belie
Horrendous cavern-cry;
Rotting waters mask
The void inside the dusk.
Holly spread around,
Over failing ground,
While disgraces loom
By the gate to doom.
Who may traverse the Dark?
Who may revive the bark
Of weeping sallow trees
That shiver during breeze?
Some creature there resides
Beneath the dirty tides,
Down a sombre pool
Luring but the fool.
A crawling sea of snakes,
As perilous as drakes;
Its eyes lurk and crave
The intruder wading wave.
Crossing Moria's wall
Unto dreary hall
Shall perhaps awaken
Nightmares, long forsaken.
One ought not to travel
Paths divining evil;
One had better stay
Out of sullen way.
'Tis not thy serfdom or despair.
'Tis not the bondage of the Fair.
'Tis not a golden gaol herein.
'Tis not a contest ye may win.
Thou might'st not withstand the quest.
Thou dost mischief to sow unrest.
Thou needest now and true atone.
Thou shalt repent and fight alone.
We are to Shore and Isle conceal.
We seek a punishment to deal.
We thus decree the Regent's word.
We but a King revere as lord.
They fell while guarding Ship and Haven.
They pearls and ports with blood had graven.
They ever sang and danced of old.
They greatly yearned the mortal world.
I warn you all by malediction.
I send my speech and not inscription.
I rule the greyness of demise.
I may assume the phantom-guise.
I thus the Smith forgave,
If Valar willed to save
The continent in plight
From dull perpetual night.
My vessels will depart
Whence mourned of grief the heart,
Yet solemnly I swear
To never join the flare.
No foot we are to set
Upon the hither-shore;
No mariner we let
That ghoulish fief explore.
Remembrance burneth still
Of tragedy occurred;
It then descended chill,
By avarice bestirred.
Give me rain! Give me tear!
Wash away deceitful smear!
Send thy raging howling storm
Agin the breaker of the norm!
Unsullied ruler, I beseech:
Whither Eagles farthest reach,
Order fowls my kin to avail,
Carrying messengers by gale.
Grant us pardon, beg I thee,
O sheerest lord beyond the sea;
I dread the rumbling of thunder.
Mirthless clouds me ever render.
Devout I shall in faith remain,
For pity nought hath done in vain,
And even destinies will bend
To fateful Mariner's amend.
My peregrine old friend,
I met thee long ago.
Thy visits well portend
To ameliorate the woe.
The pain I come to suffer
Into wearied heart,
When season groweth stiffer
At eerie sundown-start.
Of deeds I oft bethink:
Of voyages afar;
The much impervious brink
We trod beneath the Star.
We passed the cave for good,
Inhabited by Orc.
We battled evil brood
Through brave united work.
My lauded fearless mage,
I shall await thy coming,
And wherefore will the sage
Appear in radiant morning.
Gracious Harper in the night,
But a Wraith commanding fright
Hath appeared out of gloom
In the like of speaking doom.
What shall verily occur?
Is the world but scare and blur?
I think not, beaming sire,
Lest of lie resound the lyre.
Thy melody awoke
My feral mongrel-folk.
The Late covet joy
Which never climes alloy.
Lead us thither, thee we pray!
Take the sourness away!
We swear to hinder darkling being,
Who much on perfidy is keen.
In sacred deity, I vow to trust;
Be I to fade, reduced to dust.
Elder Crown of western plain,
To thee no rival might be bane.
I would ye were the Prince to avail,
Your mourning servant under flail,
By force of thundering decree
And so ferocious roar of Sea.
Yonder liest thou, sacrosanct and bright!
Ever fowls repose, into virgin light!
Redeem the fault upon the marred;
Be trumpets tale of Elven-bard.
Move the currents! Shake the abyss!
Rout thine Enemy amiss!
Whirl the wave and crack profound
Sinful continents around!
Which disgrace will hence destroy
Evil's foul demonic ploy?
Which intrigue thou art to cease
Amid the sadly swathing pleas?
Man I love and cherish,
Wishing fain to stay
Out of ill or blemish
In the vile affray.
Father, give him time.
He shall travel north.
Valour shall be rhyme
Glorifying his worth.
Conflict shall betide,
Ignominious and snide,
Over wasting land
Foundered into sand.
Tribesmen proudly reign
In the midst of bane,
Taming beast for use
Through deceptive ruse.
Feel! His filthy magic fadeth.
Lo! Shepherd rivers wadeth.
On the burnt I swore to bring
Wrath and havoc to the Ring.
The Ring of walls embracing vale,
Whose Tower drew tempestuous gale,
Shall live and bear the grief of ruin
Upon the Sorcerer's undoing.
I freed the water from its cage,
Allowing currents round to rage
For grave defeat and whole demise
Befalling quick a former Wise.
Trees besieged, the keep to seize,
And ended so the fetid breeze
That once emerged from under-pit:
A work of treachery, not wit!
The Forest spoke; woods rebelled.
We crushed the stone; Orcs we felled.
I bellowed stern, as potent flare:
"O boundless tide, strip him bare!"
How shall I contest thy Might?
The Green hath spoken, not aright.
The vanquished asketh, nonetheless,
That victors be not merciless.
Roots aggrieved, hark me clear:
I am renowned as great a seer.
I glimpsed a future far away
That grave obscurity will lay.
Ye let me free! Ye let me out!
I need not seed concern or doubt.
Thou wonst my dwelling, I concede;
What wantest thou, o Folk of Reed?
But the least foolish mage,
Locked inside my lonely cage,
I became and now demand:
May the Wizard flee this land!
Greener shires lie across,
Spring of dew upon the moss,
Wherein the people suffer nought
That rendered other fiefs distraught.
Fly ahead and shape assume,
Over mountain, frost, and fume!
You obey and quell the Fair,
Ere the Princes conquer dare.
'Abhorred', such is your fearsome name,
Befitting well so cursed a fame,
Whose terror runs and rapid spreads
Amid the Noldo's growing dreads.
Aberrant fortresses you guard;
They hail you lord, the foulest bard.
In bondage captives waive their soul,
Ignoring how to fight your thrall.
Be ghoulish howl or sombre wing,
Which Elven-lyres grimly sing,
Your fabled evilness is tale
Among the squire in the vale.
No even challenger would pose
The threat of equal mighty foes,
Unless he be immune to fright,
Resisting chieftains of the night.
Then quoth the Ancient King:
"Before the Archangel's Ring
Have Powers all convened
To punish rogue and fiend.
Sedition goeth vast;
It struck the High aghast.
We saw not them arrive!
To bliss restore we strive!
Our Noon abandoned thee
And scattered waves at sea
Shall carry Elven-folk
Where equilibrium broke.
Thy quest will augur ill
Beyond the grinding Chill,
For greedy crafters seek
To claim the mortal creek.
Thereto wilt thou fare,
Hunting pit and lair,
Viler yet might do
Those denying their rue."
Thus responded Rebels:
"Woe to outer evils!
Hence we part in faith,
So our Monarch saith.
Chiselling and graving
Never smothered craving,
As we since partook
Round untainted brook.
Joined have we the Light,
Sound from foreign fright,
Finding great relief
In the Wondrous Fief.
Yet a gaol is gaol,
Albeit sung in tale;
Albeit wrought of gold,
Serfdom shall unfold.
Bane thy Country smote!
Vessels rest afloat,
Moored in vain to port
At the Sailor's fort."
I sense, I feel it in the wind:
He comes, the chilling dreadful Fiend.
He's leading hordes towards the Keep
To raze our shack and fort and deep;
The laughing hamlet stays and quails:
Here is a demon, chief of flails.
To scourge the moor and wreak despair
The Witch emerged from frigid lair:
His blade ordains the Ice to freeze
Whatever dare survive the breeze.
Men are frail and wont to rise,
Ridding lands of tort and lies,
For usurpers covet crowns
And devour faithful towns.
In the meantime Snow descends,
Dooming all, foes and friends!
Once a Phantom lay in tomb,
While our gardens were to bloom;
Now the Spectre plans assault,
Reaping strength from human fault.
The wild decayed Route
Is tiresome on foot
And evenly uncouth
For nostril, tongue, or mouth.
Tumults witnessed ways
In ancestral days,
When the Ring-lord struck
Elven-smiths, alack!
Aye, we lost a kingdom!
Nay, it wasn't wisdom!
Drawing Might from gold
Hadn't made them bold.
Dark was cast on paths,
Thenceforth swarmed by rats;
Home to nasty beings.
Stone to smithereens.
O ancient Road in ruin!
How happed your own undoing?
I doubt the unwary stranger
Could ever grasp the danger.
Time was ripe; the hour came.
Men of Shadow set aflame
Kindred ones, round the vale:
Proud defenders watching Dale.
'Twas a fragment of the war,
During sad occurring lore;
Sundry forces rallied thither:
"Marshal arms! Muster hither!"
Dwarven-trumpet shook the air;
Warriors promised foes to bear.
Tolled the bell and worsened fates:
"Here is bloody clash at gates!"
Eastern raiders flooded all,
Drawn to riches in the hall.
In face of peril, bonds endured;
Anew withdrew the Wicked Lord.
The King, alas, was not to see
His land retrieved and fraught with glee,
For regal courage held the door,
But triumph, then, demanded gore.
Lo! Ranks of Elven-kin descend,
So rash, indeed, without amend,
Yet treading down the jewel-stair
Of Kôr the Old, immensely fair.
We may not say what them befell;
We dread the void about the Bell!
Light hath waned, waking shadows
Into green and faultless meadows.
Algid gales roar and batter.
Mountains quake; cities shatter.
Loud bewailing teareth skies,
Lading strand and bay with cries.
Vala, hearken wisely to the prayer;
Save thine Earldom from this Mare!
Free thy kingdom! Rid the Bound!
Mourners weep upon the Mound.
Thou dost my bidding, I ordain!
Bring me light of Elder Reign.
A beryl lieth by North accursed:
Among the gems prime and first.
I hold it great, the Stone supreme,
Such that thee shall full redeem!
Made it was afore the dawn,
Yonder west in endless morn,
By craft of Wright; by ardent will.
Disgrace had marred the Silmaril!
Astute pretender, take the Jewel!
It is to be an utmost duel.
Man of cunning, voyage thither!
Seek the plains doomed to wither.
Farther lead thine errand swift,
Crossing wastelands left adrift,
Unto gates of ill device:
Hewn were chambers in the ice.
Thus my Love shall be thine own:
Lissom Princess; grace of throne.
They shall all flee
In front of tree,
For branches war
And hatred store.
A green enraged,
Which clash has waged,
Is marching now:
Such fearsome bough!
The wood demands
That field and lands
Be under law
Averting flaw.
The forest cried:
"No time to bide!"
Their roots will choke
Who felled the oak.
"O bane of fir!
I stomp you, cur!
Be cursed the day
Orcs trod this way!"
Thence we sailed to land on Bliss,
Knowing prows lead not amiss,
For an art the Angel taught:
'Twas a vessel, grandly wrought!
Many ships in quiet mode
Yearned for holy saint-abode,
In the hour of the Antique,
Void of anger, grudge, and pique.
Sea-elves parted from the Isle,
That later wisemen would beguile,
When sages harbours gross mistook
By lack of ken, and distant look.
At tide's command we crossed the strait
Whither kinship marched of late,
In search of novel home ashore,
Out of Paradise's door.
Marine and gracious Fowls were keen
On ferrying boat and deathless being
To fiefdoms governed by the High:
Eternal fortress! Hallow-belfry.
Time? What time is made to rest?
My friend elected pipe and fest,
Among their brutishness enjoying
The rustic taste of folk's alloying.
Gandalf, bid adieu to party-fires!
How may mages rove in mires?
Ride to me; I bear a sign!
Rid yourself of fetid swine.
At the summit of my tower
Stricken have me Blaze and Power,
Through the olden Seeing Stone
Which enquire I alone.
Grandness, wreathed in furious cloud,
Where the Black Tongue sounds aloud
From the ogre and the wraith:
Owed to him is villain's faith.
Why should sorcerers oppose
Countless legions, pikes, and bows?
Ought we him to promptly stay,
Combating victors of this lay?
The Errant Knight of Gondor
Hath trodden wood and field;
Before the gates of Mordor
He raised his mighty shield.
The Heir and rightful Sire
Shall lead his folk in war,
Though hamlets burn afire
And Men bewail their lore.
O valiant Chevalier!
We would thou wert to win.
Thus prophesied the seer:
Thou art to mend our sin.
Thy regal blood of kings
Is relic of an age,
Afore prodigious Rings
And advent of the Mage.
Yester-lords were feared
By the savage land,
And each vessel veered
To Númenor, the Grand.
Leave me scarring grief to sing
To the imprudent and the fool:
All are tied to Ruling Ring
As a worthless utter tool.
Blame you not this my Precious,
Kindly Master from the Shire;
Shadow's minions deem it vicious
To torment the unlucky squire.
Aye, so foul a devil-king!
Upon decay the Demon reigns!
I beheld his monstrous wing
Order vilest deed and banes.
Only chain my spoils have known
Down the dungeon of doom,
Wherein had Evil laid a throne
In the bleakness of the gloom.
Yet a favour I might do,
Having skill for dire case,
So the Hobbits journey through
During darker sunless days.
O frail besotted peace!
Why rannest thou amiss?
I would we dwelt in gladness,
Content and full of richness.
A Leader squires crave
To pass unspoilt the wave
Which Evil lured within:
Affray we may not win.
If Crown were on the head,
In fainting Steward's stead,
Of brave majestic King:
Would troubadour well sing!
'Twas battle to lay bare
That never-ending flare
Which flaming malice fed
With mischief, lie, and dread.
"Thy bastion I throw down!
The water shall thee drown!"
Eönwë split the yoke
Of blighted hither-folk.
The fitter rascal of us two
Hath made the Continent anew
A radiant home to dove and lark,
Upon the lively willow-bark.
The wary Hobbit won the praise
From King and Lord of yester-days,
Belonging each to every kind
That Eru moulded by his mind.
Yet victor lost to woeful throes.
Among our merriment and sloes,
The Bearer fancied he might fare
Across the Blue: beyond the scare.
My beloved, caring father,
Every storm I were to weather
For the honour of my House;
War and wrath I might arouse.
I shall make thee worthy treasure,
Crossing reckoning and measure.
Let my hand hew from ore
Fateful Gems, pride of lore.
The greater man doth not desist
From fain contesting evil East,
And loud shall blow the gallant horn,
If Men's defence by strain be worn.
An even finer guard of reed
Will kindle hope in noble deed,
For kindness beareth worthy sword,
When sparing lives and wading ford.
Nay, it ill behoves kings to quail
Or play the foolish in the tale,
Should trick and snare be well overt,
Besmirching saviours under dirt.
That is one perfidious lie,
Not fore-thought away to die,
If we let his herald sow
Faithless vowing to and fro.
Heed we not the phoney word!
May ourselves we promptly gird!
Hurry, sires, lances wield:
Lead your wicked fiend afield!