In elder days, the Eldar lived,
and fought and loved and won and lost.
Their banners waved, their trumpets rang;
with starlight were their shields embossed.
Their wisdom and their noble pride;
their music and their majesty;
Their triumph and their sorrow deep;
their countless years of memory.
We crossed the mountains in the east;
we’d wandered long without an aim.
We knew not when we had our birth;
we knew not how or whence we came.
But then the music filled our ears:
the Harper’s sounds were wholly new;
And notes and chords came drifting down
and coated all our hearts like dew.
And tho’ his language none could name,
and word and phrase were strange to hear,
we saw the story take its shape
and not a one could save his tear.
We saw the past in youthful eyes
like deep and mystic rippling pools;
We heard of kings and evil things,
of Trees and Gods and three bright Jewels.
Nóm, he was, a king of elves,
and of the Deathless, none more wise;
Felagund, the kind and true:
he stooped to us so we might rise.
And ever now because of he
who taught us all with which we’re blessed,
we stand as tall as any man,
and never failed the Liar’s test.
In elder days the Eldar lived,
and we were there, alone and cold;
But Finrod Felagund appeared
and guided us into his fold.
