Lyrics

The meeting of Melian and Thingol is the inspiration for this song. It is sung both in Rivendell and Lothlórien, as well as other places, when honouring the descendants of those two.

This song is relatively new, by Elven standards, and has its origin in Rivendell where it can sometimes be heard in the Hall of Fire.

It is said that this song was first written down in Doriath and should be attributed to Daeron, though that might be conjecture.

O sweet woods, the delight of solitariness,
O how much do I love your solitariness.

This song was composed on Tol Eressëa and taught to the men of Westernesse ere the Downfall. It tells of how Arien descends with Anor, the Sun, beyond the Pelóri and rests on the surface of the Outer Sea, before the servants of Ulmo draw them underneath the Earth to the East where they rise again.

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heav'n's Sun doth gently waste. 

This is a well known song, made by the Noldor in Middle-earth, lamenting their exile. The version presented here is but one of several slightly different ones.

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs! 
Exiled for ever, let me mourn;
Where night's black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.

# I can't stand still
# Got that Yard Party thrill
# Yea, that Yard Party feel
# My feet gotta move

# We dance with skill
# High on Yard Party thrill
# We keep going until
# Our feets are all bruised

# There's Ale and the Mystery Food
# They even serve Swill
# But the Brown Ale is rather good
# And adds buzz to the thrill

# Folks passing by
# Get ensnared by the feel
# Catch the Yard Party thrill
# Some of them are here still

Through fire and smoke, we would stride forth. Stride forth with blade in hand, through the mountains and across the rivers.

Born in the harsh winter is this smith who bash and bend steel, for blades to those who stride forth for lord and land.

This smith of mankind would stand undaunted before death, wielding a blade in hand and stride for lord and land. Rhîwonnen is his name, fierce in war but humble in peace for he as all men of the west, serves the King.

With ore and stone, the mountains bring up from the deeps. The hard veins of the earth make clubs look hallow.

By forge and anvil, we craft for thy king, for thy lord and for thy neighbour. From the vast plains of Rohan to the Lonely Mountain's Peak, no work surpasses those of old. Mithril, though lovely you gloom and reflect the light as a mirror where ever you roam.