I have written several poems about stories in Tolkien’s work, and I have always been fascinated by Fingolfin’s duel with Morgoth himself and thought it a pity no song was in any of the books (except in the Lay of Leithian) wich recounted this desperate deed (although it does of course say in The Silmarillion that no elvish song was made of it because the grief was to deep).
This poem is based on Legolas’ song of Nimrodel. I’m afraid it turned out to be a bit long, but I would appreciate it if you could read it and comment on it. I am especially interested in what about it you like or dislike.
If this is received well I may put up some more poems.
The Lament for Fingolfin
An Elven-king there was of old,
A star by light of day;
His shining shield was wrought of gold,
His sword of silver-grey.
He ruled his people wise and just
And loved he was by all;
Chalcedony his helm encrust,
His banners clad the wall.
His gleaming habergeon was strong
And fair he was and free;
His golden hair wove bright and long
In wind from starlit sea.
When long ago the world was fair,
The mountains glitt’ring blue;
When golden yet at dawn the air,
Yet silver fell the dew.
But long not reigned he under star:
Dismaying rung the bell:
The banners black were seen afar,
His armies to them fell.
His banners blue were rent with spears
And slain was elf and heir;
Upon his land now fell the tears,
He fell into despair.
What then he pondered none can tell:
Of darkness and of pride;
His house he grieving bode farewell,
His crown he laid aside.
To gates of hell alone he rode
Upon his great white horse;
With madness great of rage bestowed
Towards all evil’s source.
Who saw him all fled in amaze
And let him thund’ring past:
His shining eyes which set ablaze
Those of the gods surpassed.
He went as wind amid the dust
And rode unto it straight;
He stood there dauntless, proud and just
And smote upon the gate.
His horn he blew loud, long and keen
And challenged to come forth
The Dark Lord whose fell might was seen
From deep south to dark north.
He came and rose far over him,
Yet in his fright’ning shade
The king glowed: his mail gleaming grim
With silver overlaid.
The battle which they fought was fierce
And silver shone the sword
Proud Ringil which did coldly pierce
Dark armour of Dark Lord.
His blazing eyes were keen aglow
And vig’rous were his blows;
His shining sword flashed to and fro,
His shield did ail oppose.
Yet none now tell his desp’rate tale
For broken was his shield
And scattered lay his silver mail
Upon the ravaged field.
His shattered sword no longer shone,
His helm lay sundered pale;
The fire in his eyes was gone,
For naught was his assail.
His tomb now lies on mountainside
Amid the Sund’ring Seas;
While there where still the gods abide
He walks beneath the trees.