House Húrin: I

He rode out westward on a windless day
And windless he washed up upon the stream:
A broken warhorn blowing windless screams.
What folly! to send Boromir away,

The elder boy to chase his brother's dreams.
Is hope then spent? Two sons Finduilas bore
And though I ever loved the elder more,
She cherished them both equally, it seems:

One kind, the other fierce enough for war;
One wise -- I took his wisdom in my stride
And always kept the other by my side.
I know how little use is so much lore,

For lore has been the pillar of my pride.
Now prophecy can but foretell our doom:
The premonitions say, Prepare thy tomb.
I send my second son to face the tide

Which must consume us all at last; I know:
Who conquers fear, despair will overthrow.