An cailín sa scáth

Being the second leod in the lore-song of Enwë-mindiari. 

Unscathed by broken hands,

her soul unbounded fell

when nigh they carried one

who was troven by the knell.


She limped behind the death-march

in pall and shallow breath,

a lone, forsaken heiress –

a cripple for a death.


The wound-cloth she espied,

and an elegy she sang –

a lore-song few have heard

and fewer still will name.


She wept long for the glory

and grieved for bitter heart

that captured tarnished father

and cast them far apart.


His tryst to her he left

in trammeled memory

while hers she gently stowed

on a scintillating sea.


Her rede he curse and bartered

The Water for the fyre.

Alone among the throng

his scornful visage mocked the pyre.


They lauded countless deeds

that their warrior fallen wrought

while Enwë-mindiari

wept in penetrating thought.


Her love was not diminished

for the wrathful father-liege.

A Greater Light Who kindles hope

had conquered hopeless siege.


Soft silver streams of dawn-mere

aflame in auburn glow

ran rivers ‘neath the hood-lee

and purified the snow.


The daughter turned away

and bade the lore-song sleep.

None around her held

the gentle song within their keep,


for heralds mourned aloud

in deepest thralls of trifling grief.

In The Light a thousand gloried;

Mindiar chose unbelief.


The song rang far and long and clear,

embraced in lifeless lands.

Yet he that dwells in Mindiar

is blessed who understands –


the lore-song never died, save

within the deadened ear.

And ending thus the tale,

Enwë softly disappeared.

© 2017 Fynland Arkwood. All rights reserved.



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