The city was built up in the rocks,
Hidden among the mountain peaks,
And all it’s glory and strength was hidden,
From all those who see and hear.
Gondolin was it’s proud name,
King Turgon was it’s noble king,
And many more noble houses
Gathered under his rule.
Yet as always, in every time,
When the conqueror comes,
Traitors and liars,
Will always come forth,
And bow to the strongest of two.
And so it was that Maeglin,
Son of the dark elf Eol,
Betrayed his kin and his city,
For one whom he desired the most.
Morgoth’s hordes poured into fortress,
Slaughtering everyone in their path.
Many songs and tales were told,
Of the many brave deeds that were done.
Of Ecthelion of the Fountain,
Who alongside of him,
Took Gothmog, Morgoth’s right hand.
Of the siege of the Tower,
The Tower of Turgon,
Who fell defending it to the last,
Last breath which escaped form his body.
The dreadful duel between,
Glorfindel and a balrog,
Up in the mountain,
Where only Eagles dwell.
Maeglin was thorn however,
And met the same doom,
Which his father encountered.
And the Morning star of both tribes,
Escaped the oncoming slaughter.
Tuor, along with his family,
Fled the city, which was their home
For many years now.
And Morgoth remained victorious,
Victorious among piles of stone and death.