An Elven-son in Mithlond born,
With starlight in his eyes;
His robe of woad with travel worn,
He sought to be a gollor wise.
A stone was bound upon his brow,
A sapphire blue and clear
As sky within the twilight hour,
Above deep Belegaer.
And far he roamed, with feet unclad,
Upon the dusty road
Of Eriador, the Lonely Land,
As his mother did forbode.
A home he found, in Falathlorn
Upon the river Lhûn,
And yet an oath he had forsworn
Beneath the rising Moon.
For vengeance he would have:
By Orcs his father slain,
His word to Oromë he gave
To hunt his father's bane.
So under stars and shining Moon
And burning Sun by day,
Does this hên, by lore and rune,
The spawn of Morgoth seek to slay.
Long is his road, and hot his heart,
But cool remains his mind.
And hard he learns his elven Art,
Yet peace he yearns to find.
{With apologies to the Song of Nimrodel by J.R.R. Tolkien }
