The Task of the Dúnadan
The grass grows green here in the North
And peace and freedom still here reign
Though truly, it would not be so,
But for the stalwart Dúnedain.
The whole of Arnor was our realm –
From Bruinen to Forochel –
We pledged protection to all men
‘Tween Gulf of Lhûn and Rivendell.
And though our towers crumble now
And names fall into history,
We hold to duty even so
and keep our people safe and free.
For all the dangers of the Dark
Are ever drumming at their door.
The Enemy is growing strong
And Evil’s on the march once more.
A ceaseless mission we endure
As Rangers of the wild land.
We keep the watch with hunters’ eyes
And keep the peace with blade in hand.
So, are we heroes to these folk?
And are they grateful for our care?
And are we looked upon as friends?
Nowise! For they are unaware.
They live as they have ever done
In rustic and provincial ways,
Oblivious of who it is
That purchases their careless days
They know not of our vigilance.
They do not thank us for our aid.
They shush and gossip when we pass
And count it well we haven’t stayed.
Both man and halfling give us names
With sour tones of disrespect.
I’m “Strider” to a man in Bree
Whose inn we Dúnedain protect.
But though our labors go unthanked
And I must wear a strangers’ guise,
And though I suffer scorn and scowl
I would not have it otherwise.
If simple folk are truly safe
And if from fear and care they’re free,
Then they will live their quiet lives
And simple people they will be.
And that is why we labor here –
So men may live the way men should
Their every dull, bucolic day
Is proof that we have done some good.
For I do dearly love this land
That Gondor seemingly forgot.
Although the Shadow stretches west
There’s still a place it darkens not.