An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day.
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey.
A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her
As sun upon the golden
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
As leaf of linden-tree.
Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver
Into the shining pool.
Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was
And in the mountains strayed.
The elven-ships in haven
Beneath the
Awaited her for many a
Beside the roaring sea.
A wind by night in Northern
Arose, and loud it cried,
And drove the ship from
Across the steaming tide.
When dawn came dim the land was lost,
The mountains sinking
Beyond the heaving waves that
Their plumes of blinding spray.
Amroth beheld the fading
Now low beyond the swell,
And cursed the faithless ship that
Him far from Nimrodel.
Of old he was an Elven-king,
A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in
In fair Lothlorien.
From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As 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
Go riding like a swan.
But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither
No tidings Elven-folk have
Of Amroth evermore.
