"Of old he was an Elven-king,
A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in spring
In fair Lothlórien.
From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into 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."
The tidings reached at Edhellond: A whisper in the wind and a far cry of beloved friends in Imladris. Sundering from her friend. The elf maiden's tears fell in the running water and joined the tears shed in Imladris, flowing into the Sea together.
A Swan took his flight into the night.
((Lay of Nimrodel, quoted from Lord of the Rings.))
