[HerenIstarion]

The verse to follow is not exact reverse (for than it would be very difficult to retain any meaning at all). But it follows in metrics and, I hope, spirit, though tells quite a different story, and in that, I hope, is a reverse of an original.

As always, original provided in italics

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Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.

In panoply of ancient kings,
in chainéd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony,
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.


Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.

The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.

There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long-forsaken seas distressed:
from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
when ends the world the music long,
where ever foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.

He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk of Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.

A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.

From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From World's End then he turned away
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.

And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
gut on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orb‚d star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse.



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Ugluk the Strong, on foot he journeyed
And hurried through Calenardhon
He’d hewn some heads of those who yearned
No rest for weary, push them on
His blade was made of cruel steel
Of copper was its hideous hilt
With leather boot and nailed heel
Suppressed he all the cheek and tilt

His many score of goblin-men
In plates of black and leather bound’
With crooked pikes from mountain den
Were keen of eye with scent of hounds
Their arms so strong, and pacing stead
Their razor claws and teeth of beast
Their strengh of feet on man-flash fed
Brought halflings to the West from East
Their blackened blades, and eyed shields
Of no avail they proved though
For quicker’s horse on open field
And arrow shot of wooden bow


Though orks them be, yet under Sun
On route so short they took to flight
Be clear their goal, and free their run
But none returned to the heights
Between the meadows and the wood
Where brightly shone fair Arien
They met their death, none raven food
In smoke and fire their pride was riven
For night they longed, but none shall come
For those to set their foot on grass
Of horse-lords’ land of starry dome
And running waters sprinkling-glass

The will of wizard pushed them on
But swift and keen were Riders’ eyes
So none came out with the dawn
And woody grove for no ork sighs

Though Mahaur and host of lads
Be there to help Ugluk with arms
Though stout them be and strong their hands
They had not luck and brought no harm
Grishnakh there was, one fallen soul
The Ring to seize, to claim, to win
With arms of might, with breath of foul
To drag his prey to forest dim
Yet cunning mind and skilful word
And arrow swift by chance onbrought
Have saved halflings from his sword
The path of fate anew was wrought
Their feet it took to wander free
To wood of old, of life and might
There two met third, and all them three
Were soon away, out of ear and sight

Through tangled branch, o’er twisted root
Under brooding dark malicious thought
O’er leagues of rotten leaf and soot
Of killed trees them Treebeard brought
To meet the chiefs of mighty race
The treeherds strong and green of eyes
To hark the speech of lazy pace
To witness mighty anger rise
They’ve seen the Ents who marched forth
They’ve seen the Huorns who creep unheed
And treeherds going forth to war
Avenging twig and leaf and seed
Their foe be strong, his walls be high
And circle of stone be mighty hewn
His skill be spell, his end was nigh
For noisy river ents have sewn
And Cunning Mind was doomed to fail
As goblin-men by forest lay
Of stony circle defence was frail
And might of tree’s not kept at bay

Avenged be now yew and pine
And rowan, birch and oak tall
And sage no more, with coward’s whine
Had paid of broken staff the toll
His former clothing, elven-white
Was took by worthy one at last
Nan-Curunir, it’s tower’s height
Was freed from malice strong and fast
No foes to come to Rohan’s field
No sullen ork or goblin-man
No wives to weep o’er broken shield
No child be took to ogre’s den
No cunning words, and crooked lies
To poison Rider’s ear and heart
And mortal circle where man’s path lies
Was freed from dark and cunning art

New garden round tower was laid
By skill of treehedrs wise of age
New life to sprout, new forest maid
To flourish where barren cage
Of metal wheels and cogs of steel
Was built to wound groaning earth
No cage is left, mo metal wheel
So came to ruin power-dearth
Of one once great, of angel white
Of wisdom old for Ring which craved
Not he himself, bereft of might
Gone forth he found there no grave

From Orthank’s mighty jagged fang
Where black and strong the wall stood still
The wizard forced, heart-piercing tang
To seek new path in night of chill
But halflings, those to stir the wrath
Of brooding forest silence grim
Went back to warmth and fire of hearth
In darkling tunnel grey and dim
To smoked rings of pipe-weed ripe
To feast on ruins plunder wrougt
To greet their friends with glass and pipe
And merry be with what fate brought

But Cunning Mind o’er westlands passed
To be from now hole-dwellers’s foe
And land of Shire to make a-messed
To bring on calm-folk soring woe
To fell the trees and burn anew
And bring the ruin to every home
To smash with skill, but build askew
Replace with shack the hall and dome
But failed goal, for slave him slayed
One hungry, wretched, venom-fraught
Once mighty spirit soulless stayed
And western breeze brought him to naught