Earendil was a marinerthat tarried in Arvernien;he built a boat of timber felledin Nimbrethil to journey in;her sails he wove of silver fair,of silver were her lanterns made,her prow was fashioned like a swanand light upon her banners laid.
In panolpy of ancient kings,in chained rings he armoured him;his shining shield was scored with runesto ward all wounds and harm from him;his bow was made of dragon-horn,his arrows shorn of ebony;of silver was his habergeon,his scabbard of chalcedony;his sword of steel was valient,of adamant his helmet tall,an eagle-plume upon his crest,upon his breast an emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under starhe wandered far from northern strands,bewildered on enchanted waysbeyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Icewhere shadow lies on frozen hills,from nether heats and burning wastehe turned in haste, and roving stillon starless waters far astrayat last he came to Night of Naught,and passed, and never sight he sawof shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,and blindly in the foam he fledfrom west to east and errandless,unheralded he homeward sped.
There flying Elwing came to him,and flame was in the darkness lit;more bright than light of diamondthe fire on her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on himand crowned him with the living light,and dauntless then with burning browhe turned his prow; and in the nightfrom otherworld beyond the Seathere strong and free a storm arose,a wind of power in Tarmenel;by paths that seldom mortal goeshis boat it bore with biting breathas might of death across the greyand long forsaken seas distressed;from east to west he passed away.
Thought Evernight he back was borneon black and roaring waves that rano'er leagues unlit and foundered shoresthat drowned before the Days began,until he hears on strands of pearlwhere end the world the music long,where ever-foaming billows rollthe yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent risewhere twilight lies upon the kneesof Valinor, and Eldamarbeheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from nightto haven white he came at last,to Elvenhome the green and fairwhere keen the air, where pale as glassbeneath the Hill of Ilmarina-glimmer in a valley sheerthe lamplit towers of Tirionare mirrored on the Shadowmere.
He tarried there from errantry,and melodies they taught to him,and sages old him marvels told,and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,and seven lights before him sent,as through the Calacirianto hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless hallswhere shining fall the countless years,and endless reigns the Elder Kingin Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;and words unheard were spoken thenof folk and Men and Elven-kin,beyond the world were visions showedforbid to those that dwell therein.
A ship then new they built for himof mithril and of elven glasswith shining prow; no shaven oarnor sail she bore on silver mast:the Silmaril as lantern lightand banner bright with living flameto gleam thereon by Elberethherself was set, who thither cameand wings immortal made for him,and laid on him undying doom,to sail the shoreless skies and comebehind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Evergreen's lofty hillswhere softly silver fountains fallhis wings him bore, a wandering light,beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From a World's End there he turned away,and yearned again to find afarhis home through shadows journeying,and burning as an island staron high above the mists he came,a distant flame before the Sun,a wonder ere the waking dawnwhere grey the Norland waters run.
And over Middle-Earth he passedand heard at last the weeping soreof women and of elven-maidsin Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,till Moon should fade, an orbed starto pass, and tarry never moreon Hither Shores where Mortals are;or ever still a herald onan errand that should never restto bear his shining lamp afar,to Flammifer of Westernesse.
