Nimrodel

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.