The Fall of Fingolfin and the Scarring of Morgoth - a ballad about the final battle of the great elven hero
A holy flame burned in Fingolfin's eyes,
(For he heard of the Noldor's demise)
When he road to Angband's gates.
The fire was fueled by his rage and his hate.
So he sounded his horn, shrill music it sang.
From rock to rock it's clear voice rang
And summond Morgoth from his dark throne.
But when he stirred the Earth writhed and moaned.
Then he rose up from Angband like an iron-clad tower,
And cast a black shadow filled with raw, evil power.
Morgoth stood up above with his hammer and shield,
Tools of both torture and death did he wield.
But Fingolfin stood, a blazing star 'neith the storm
And agian Fingolfin bayed his great horn,
Drew forth his sword, Ringil, wich shone like the Sun,
And bore up his shield, encrusted with gems, and so it had begun.
Morgoth thrust down The Hammer, Grond, to the ground,
But valient Fingolfin leapt away with a bound.
Grond rent mighty gashes and pits in the land
And marred the whole landsacpe in Morgoth's great hand.
Fingolfin, king, no warrior could compair,
Sprang ever higher into the air
And there he smote Morgoth seven times
And all of his servants could hear his tortured cries.
But, though mighty was Fingolfin, he grew weary and fell
And all Morgoth could muster of his Iron Hell
He bore down upon his with his brazen shield
And struck him with wounds that never could heal.
But the high Elven-king with his last, desperate stroke
Hewed Morgoth's foot, and the stricken sword broke.
As Ringil shattered, so did Fingolfin's life.
His fea went to Mandos with no sadness, nor strife.
Thus passed Fingolfin, most exalted and proud of the kings of old,
Their sorrow is so deep the Elves never sung of it or told,
But still, to this day, the scars are still there,
That Morgoth was given, and always shall bear.