Canto the Second : Of Master Elrond Half-Elven

In Imladris in Eraidor
untouched by waste or wrack or war,
there dwelt a lord of Faerie kind,
strong of sinew and sharp of mind,
as fair of face as an Elf-lord,
a warrior who once bore sword
at the last stand of Gnomish king
named Gil-Galad who bore the Ring
of Air which the dread Noldor wrought
and who with Dark Lord Sauron fought.
This Elf-friend Elrond legends call
and born he was in pillared hall
of Arvernien from Elwing’s loins
and in his veins the blood was joined
of Edain lord and Eldar spouse.
Dwelt he long in his parents’ house
until the Noldor broke the doors
and to Arvernien dragged their wars.

Fëanor’s son Maglor fostered he,
the child of him that loved the Sea,
after the Brothers sacked the halls
of the Havens, threw down their walls
and slew their lords in deadly duels
by their damned Oath to seek those jewels
that their father Fëanor wrought slow
and with light of the Trees did glow.
And to full age Elrond did grow
of manhood and in war did show
his valour and his strength of arm;
in War of Wrath he did great harm.

The Valar offered him his doom;
to choose to stand beneath the Moon
and stars for an uncounted Age
and remember all the wars he waged
for the long span of Elvish life
of else to choose the toil and strife
as mortal Man and to die when
his time had come by Gift of Men.

An immortal life Elrond chose
and through the years much verse and prose
has been made of his life at court
of the High King, and battles fought
against the dread lord Sauron’s power
in Eraidor, and the dark hour
when fearful foes overran
the lands west of the Mountains’ span.
Then Elrond lead survivors hence
and nurtured them behind the fence
of magic made, with Elven arms
protecting them from earthly harms.
This refuge was named Rivendell,
or Imladris, as minstrels tell
in legends of the Ages gone
and to this place the fled did run
where Elrond made with all his arts
his Homely House in the wild parts.

Then from the Sea came Dúnedain
fell Sea-Kings of Elros’ line.
Elendil the tall and his sons,
Isildur and Anárion,
lead these Men whom the Valar blessed
but now forever dispossessed
would ever be since sank their isle
beneath the waters wide and wild.
War upon Sauron these lords made
and proud and high their banners splayed
‘gainst the wild wind that blew its best
and made fly free the royal crest
of seven stars on a black field;
defiant arms that would not yield.
He made a pact with the Noldor
and so Gil-Galad marched to war,
his fair Gnomish host alongside
the tall Sea-Kings who did not hide
their purpose fell from the Dark Lord;
to bring him low with axe and sword
and spear and lance and fire and flame
and wipe forever his dread name
from the lips of Eldar and Men.
Such a host was not seen again
so splendid noble, nor before
saving the Host of Valinor.
The Last Alliance was it named
and ever after deeds were famed
of those who in its legions fought
and made what Sauron made unwrought.

Upon a field of blackened ash
where fair-flags furl and armies clash,
Lord Elrond stood in Elvish host
and fought with glaive in battle close
and raised the standard high on high
of Gil-Galad against the sky,
and cried and did his herald’s due;
“Stand and fight! You brave Noldor true
and Men of the West, kindred mine,
now is the doom hour! Hold the line!”

Then Sauron came, like a tower
tall and dark. With dreadful power
he slew their lords with mace and Ring
and dread death-gaze, no earthly thing
beneath the Moon or ‘neath the Sun
would stand before but quail and run
save Gil-Galad and Elendil
who gave their lives but with proud steel
of Sun-Moon Narsil and Aeglos,
the icicle now melted-lost
since its master was burned alive
as ‘gainst great Sauron he did strive,
did that Dark Lord finally slay
and from that Age he passed away.

To Rivendell Elrond withdrew
with army’s remnants numbered few;
the slaying siege of the Dark Tower
had taken Elves before their hour
from the earthly paths theirs to tread.
Now cold they lay, broken and dead
upon the hard horn of the world
with spear-shafts shivered, banners furled
in bloody, broken, burnéd ash
where forces fair and foul did clash.
Or sunk beneath the marsh’s mire,
forever holding witching fire
of corpse-candles in rotting grip
as dead flesh sloughs and skin does slip
from mould’ring bones, on Battle Plain,
Dagorlad, the Dead Marshes named.

So to his realm of carven wood
and living trees where flowers stood
in silent vigil on the hills,
sweet elanor and niphredils
and daisies yellow and of white,
flowers fairer far than the sight
of mortal gardens, Elrond lead
his ragged remnants wrapped in red
and white swathes of cloth. And then he
protected with one of the Three
Elven Rings his fair Elven Realm
and set aside his war-like helm,
his suit of armour notched and rent
and Elven-glaive on Orc bones bent.
Thus swore an oath to fight no more
did this master of Elven lore.