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An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day: Her mantle white was trimmed with gold, Her shoes of silver-grey. A star was bound upon her brows, A light was on her hair As sun upon the golden boughs In Lorien the fair. Her hair was long, her limbs were white, And fair she was and free; And in the wind she went as light As leaf of linden-tree. Beside the falls of Nimrodel, By water clear and cool, Her voice as falling silver fell Into the shining pool. Where now she wanders none can tell, In sunlight or in shade; For lost of yore was Nimrodel And in the mountains strayed. The elven-ship in haven grey Beneath the mountain-lee Awaited her for many a day Beside the roaring sea. A wind by night in Northern lands Arose and loud it cried, And drove the ship from elven-strands Across the streaming tide. When dawn came dim the land was lost, The mountains sinking grey Beyond the heaving waves that tossed Their plumes of blinding spray. Amroth beheld the fading shore Now low below the swell, And cursed the faithless ship that bore Him far from Nimrodel. Of old he was an Elven-king, A lord of tree and glen, When golden were the boughs in spring In fair Lothlorien. From helm to sea they saw him leap, An arrow from the string, And dive into the water deep, As mew upon the wing. The wind was in his flowing hair, The foam about him shone; Afar they saw him strong and fair Go riding like a swan. But from the West has come no word, And on the Hither Shore No tidings Elven-folk have heard Of Amroth evermore. |
