Song of the Woodmen

[bhuseland]

Written with the Folk-Moot at Rhosgobel in mind (T.A. 2948, Darkening of Mirkwood).

A chant, or poem sung at the big fire the night before the Folk-Moot begins each year, by the oldest storyteller of their Halls. 3 stanzas of 21 lines each.

SONG OF THE WOODMEN

In ancient times 3 folk began:
The Elves, the Dwarves, and the race of Man.
Beckoned by Light alive in the West,
They came by sunset paths to rest.
The Blessed Béma and his steed Nahar
Were hunting our forests by light of star.
Then darkness grew and sought to curse
The goodness of this Middle Earth.
Thus first division of the Brave;
Elf-friend or shadow-slave.
Banners of houses noble and sure
Beor, Haleth, and Hador they were.
Much lore is lost of the times back then,
When our folk were cloven once again.
Many Men to Westernesse left,
And Middle-Earth was long bereft
Of heroes to fight against the Dark.
All was wild, yet ears would hark
To hunting horns and village halls
Where fires warmed, and story scrawls
Its glorious deeds on wooden walls.

Good was the day when faithful oars
Beyond the mountains, returned to shores
Of Middle-Earth, from Numenor.
Kingdoms arose! While Greenwood the Great
Grew and throve with a different fate.
Free men lived in the Eastern Eaves
Where autumn winds blew crimson leaves.
Their halls were built from mighty trees
And shaped the stables for their steeds.
We ruled the plains, Rhovanion,
And of that land, lived many on.
Then Gondor’s foes from bitter East
With swords and cries they broke our peace.
Wainriders strove with Northmen, yet
We made them pay their own blood-debt.
But in those days a plague befell
And slew our people, a killing spell.
Hearths were cold, bodies buried;
Bairns not born, maids not married.
A tenth of our strength remained to wander
And from those days we lived asunder:

Men of Dale, Rohan, and our Wood.
Yet still we served the Light and the Good—
This third division broke our speech
As one forest holds oak, elm, and beech.
Our Greenwood changed, by Sorcerer’s will
In Elvish ruins: Dol Guldur’s hill
Made it Mirkwood; in deepest clearing
Webs were woven for our fearing.
Orcs and wargs from mountain lairs
Poured out to catch us unawares.
Then mighty halls were built to stand
Defiant in the Middle Land:
Woodmen-Town, there lit by Lamp
And filled with life, our ancient camp;
Woodland Hall, with bowmen bright,
And clever carvings for second sight;
The Mountain Hall, a fastness grim
To shake a goblin’s knees and shins;
And Rhosgobel, the Wizard’s seat
Where wisdom lives, and our folk meet.
May all be merry, and the mead be sweet.

Lyrics by Brian Huseland © 2017
(free to use for personal use only)

[Otaku-sempai]

If you also post at TORn, why not post this in the Fan Art forum?

Typo: 'Middle-Earth' should be 'Middle-earth'.

[bhuseland]

Thanks! Good feedback.