Golden-haired and lightning-eyed
Through the glades with glede you ride
To harry him who long ago
You prophesied, that deadly foe,
Would meet his end by other's sword
And still he trembles at your word--
Cruel Angmar's king. His fate will come.
Now forest path with hoofbeat's drum
You travel, fearless in your course,
With ringing bells and shining horse
To render aid to little folk
Who suffer from the deadly stroke
of Morgul-blade. Keenly you seek
The Dúnadan, and fair words speak
When you he hails: Lord Glorfindel!
Oh friend, what news from Rivendell?
Na vedui, hope to Hope you bring,
And timely help to uncrowned king;
With gentle hand you ease the pain
Of Ringbearer, and set the mane
Of Asfaloth beneath his hands
And spoil Angmar's hateful plans
To make him thrall. A, noro lim!
To horse you call, and swift his limbs
Fly o'er the road and flash before
The foremost Rider at the Fords,
While with your will you urge him on.
Hot burns your wrath; you fall upon
The Nine with shining light revealed.
Before your face, the Nine shall yield
And flee, into the river hurled.
When flood is past, your glory furled,
You hasten to the Hobbit's side,
With mortal friends, and from the tide
You lift him, carry him to hall
Where Elrond's healing art may call
Him back from death. Small they may view
Your part in this, yet but for you
He would have failed. And yet we read
This was the least of all your deeds;
For none of Eldar race save one
Returned from death-- and she is gone--
Until the Balrog you cast down
And for this deed of great renown
You were sent back to battle those
Who dare call the Free Folk foes.