Hear me, o Elbereth, the queen
Of glory in the starlit skies,
Light now the past which Vaire weaves,
And Vana help my voice arise
To sing of honored distant scenes.
The Chieftain then was Arador,
And wisely did he rule the North
Where Dunedain the challenge bore
To keep the Wild from bursting forth
And breaking down kind Western doors.
Dirhael of Aranarth’s kin,
And Dunedain of noble birth,
Was fiercely proud of Gilraen,
His daughter, who on Arnor’s earth
Was peerless deemed in realms of Men.
Proud was Dirhael, protective too,
And scorned the suit of Arathorn,
A son of Chieftains, honor due
Him whom Isildur’s blood had born:
Yet father sought to split the two.
Young Gilraen in lover’s plight
Sought Ivorwen, her mother mild,
Whom Valar blessed with distant-sight,
That might predict the hero-child,
For great was he in heart and might,
That would spring forth from this true pair;
A son for whom great times await:
Ivorwen saw Isildur’s Heir.
Fell would he stand before dark gates,
Yet kindly rule, with wisdom rare.
“We must allow this come to pass,”
Ivorwen pled to Dirhael,
“Grief takes our daughter at the last,
But joy will come with her Estel,
And from their love that’s bonded fast.
Though Arathorn will not lead long,
Still they will have four years of joy,
And live forever in the songs
That will instruct their blessed boy
In how to love and conquer wrong.”
“I like it not,” the father said,
That our fair Gilraen should grieve
To see her husband early dead,
For that is loss without reprieve.
And yet to crown a grandson’s head
And see the King restored once more:
How can I stop Eru’s decree,
Or wish the Dark last evermore?
And though it shakes the core of me
To give her to this eagle-lord
My peace and blessing shall I grant
That bliss be theirs while it yet may
Upon the joining of their hands.”
And this was all he dared to say,
Lest tears fall free in silver bands.
Ivorwen’s heart bore no less woe
But to her vision’s truth she clung
And hoped that Hope would someday grow
And fill the lands with praises sung
For Gilraen, whose heart of snow
Would still beat on with her lord gone
That she might raise the child, the King,
In joy and safety for so long
As she could bear remembering,
Until the Valar called her on.
And so the doting parents smiled
And told Gilraen of her joy,
Of Arathorn no mention made,
So she might never blame her boy,
Though inwardly their tears ran wild.
So love and duty were at war
For Dirhael and Ivorwen:
But Elbereth’s fair shining stars
Promise such times come ne’er again:
Hope is resprung from Elessar.
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