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Earendil was a mariner |
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that tarried in Arvernien; |
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he built a boat of timber felled |
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in Nimbrethil to journey in; |
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her sails he wove of silver fair, |
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of silver were her lanterns made, |
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her prow was fashioned like a swan, |
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and light upon her banners laid. |
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In panoply of ancient kings, |
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in chainéd rings he armoured him; |
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his shining shield was scored with runes |
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to ward all wounds and harm from him; |
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his bow was made of dragon-horn, |
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his arrows shorn of ebony, |
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of silver was his habergeon, |
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his scabbard of chalcedony; |
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his sword of steel was valiant, |
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of adamant his helmet tall, |
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an eagle-plume upon his crest, |
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upon his breast an emerald. |
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Beneath the Moon and under star |
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he wandered far from northern strands, |
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bewildered on enchanted ways |
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beyond the days of mortal lands. |
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From gnashing of the Narrow Ice |
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where shadow lies on frozen hills, |
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from nether heats and burning waste |
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he turned in haste, and roving still |
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on starless waters far astray |
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at last he came to Night of Naught, |
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and passed, and never sight he saw |
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of shining shore nor light he sought. |
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The winds of wrath came driving him, |
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and blindly in the foam he fled |
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from west to east and errandless, |
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unheralded he homeward sped. |
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There flying Elwing came to him, |
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and flame was in the darkness lit; |
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more bright than light of diamond |
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the fire upon her carcanet. |
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The Silmaril she bound on him |
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and crowned him with the living light |
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and dauntless then with burning brow |
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he turned his prow; and in the night |
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from Otherworld beyond the Sea |
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there strong and free a storm arose, |
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a wind of power in Tarmenel; |
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by paths that seldom mortal goes |
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his boat it bore with biting breath |
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as might of death across the grey |
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and long-forsaken seas distressed: |
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from east to west he passed away. |
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Through Evernight he back was borne |
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on black and roaring waves that ran |
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o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores |
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that drowned before the Days began, |
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until he heard on strands of pearl |
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when ends the world the music long, |
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where ever foaming billows roll |
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the yellow gold and jewels wan. |
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He saw the Mountain silent rise |
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where twilight lies upon the knees |
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of Valinor, and Eldamar |
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beheld afar beyond the seas. |
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A wanderer escaped from night |
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to haven white he came at last, |
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to Elvenhome the green and fair |
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where keen the air, where pale as glass |
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beneath the Hill of Ilmarin |
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a-glimmer in a valley sheer |
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the lamplit towers of Tirion |
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are mirrored on the Shadowmere. |
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He tarried there from errantry, |
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and melodies they taught to him, |
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and sages old him marvels told, |
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and harps of gold they brought to him. |
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They clothed him then in elven-white, |
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and seven lights before him sent, |
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as through the Calacirian |
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to hidden land forlorn he went. |
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He came unto the timeless halls |
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where shining fall the countless years, |
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and endless reigns the Elder King |
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in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer; |
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and words unheard were spoken then |
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of folk of Men and Elven-kin, |
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beyond the world were visions showed |
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forbid to those that dwell therein. |
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A ship then new they built for him |
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of mithril and of elven-glass |
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with shining prow; no shaven oar |
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nor sail she bore on silver mast: |
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the Silmaril as lantern light |
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and banner bright with living flame |
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to gleam thereon by Elbereth |
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herself was set, who thither came |
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and wings immortal made for him, |
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and laid on him undying doom, |
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to sail the shoreless skies and come |
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behind the Sun and light of Moon. |
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From Evereven's lofty hills |
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where softly silver fountains fall |
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his wings him bore, a wandering light, |
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beyond the mighty Mountain Wall. |
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From World's End then he turned away |
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and yearned again to find afar |
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his home through shadows journeying, |
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and burning as an island star |
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on high above the mists he came, |
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a distant flame before the Sun, |
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a wonder ere the waking dawn |
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where grey the Norland waters run. |
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And over Middle-earth he passed |
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and heard at last the weeping sore |
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of women and of elven-maids |
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in Elder Days, in years of yore. |
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gut on him mighty doom was laid, |
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till Moon should fade, an orbéd star |
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to pass, and tarry never more |
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on Hither Shores where mortals are; |
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for ever still a herald on |
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an errand that should never rest |
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to bear his shining lamp afar, |
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the Flammifer of Westernesse. |
