Boromir

Swift was the sword, as it sand in his hand,
Fell swoops to rid the evil things
Out of his loyal land,
And ever did he cherish
Minas Tirith at dawn,
Sunch a brave and honest man,
For him the winds shall mourn.

He fought for freedom, and for might,
To set the captured free,
To set the worldly wrongs to right,
And helped his friends in need,
He thought with all the wrath of Thor,
And many foes he did hath slain,
Quick and stong, his farther's pride, captain of his war.

And yet he fell, he broke his oath,
And Boromir was slain,
To disturb his coffin the Falls of Rauros were loth,
So wide sprad was his fame,
And now his horn is cloven in half,
His sword is stained with blood,
O Boromir! To fall this way,
Thy life was true and good.

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