Meeting Maegwine
Alas! A maiden fair with sword and bow,
who knows not how she came beside the stream –
a pendant graved with runes she did not know
her only clue. As in a waking dream
she found her path led westward, through the wood,
across a mighty river, pulled by fate
through snow and wind – not knowing if she could
but following a trail, however strait
her circumstance. Her arrow strikes my heart:
a wanderer, who knows not whence she came.
Can we of Imladris, with craft and art,
help her recall at least her mother-name?
She is the forest, I the ocean’s foam,
yet to this wanderer I offer home.
