Once ago, in the land of peace,
in the palm of Elbereth the Queen,
A pinch of faded golden fleece
was fashioned into things now seen.
And under these did they awake,
The Eldar, whose freedom did then shake
the bowels of the earth entwined
with things on trees and those on vines,
Nearby the lake of Silveren,
before the dawning of the men.
And into these did he so sail,
Earendil, half-elven male,
Bearing aloft the Silmaril
Jewel divine of Feanor skill.
His hallowed Vingelot set out
Into the void without a doubt.
Once ago, in a land of pain,
in the claw of cursèd Morgoth black,
did hide his fear and dread so plain,
of lighted sky of Valinor’s crack.
And under these do I now see
Comfort, in the lowest of me,
Against these armies of Mordor haste
the brethren of my own encased
in armor shining under these stars
And under these I know he bars
his undesiring shadow lair,
worse than bat or warg or bear.
But we are steady, now and on
and journey on to find him gone,
rid him from our home in speed,
this will be our mightiest deed.
For the stars shine on our weary faces
despite these dusted, murky places.