The Ruin
From Library of the Randirim
“Oft have I heard the hallowed call
Of distant lands, the dim places
Where mingles the light of mysterious stars
And strange sights await, songs unheard.”
Thus spoke the wanderer, walker on the earth
From home far-faring, bound by fate.
Where none dare now to venture nigh
He fearless steps, shadow-daunting,
Light darkness-dividing, night-defeating.
“For long did I listen, longing ever
The far-distant barrens myself to behold,
Where men once dwelt, ere darkness took them,
The lonely places, long-abandoned.
Such have I seen, their splendor past,
Yet they hold on my heart, as heaven-sent.
Though silence-stilled, their songs remain,
And voices dreadful, deep with sorrow
Linger, longing for light long-darkened.
Fell they fly through frosty airs
Where once reigned warmth, women danced,
Tales were told, travelers rested.
And I among them, asking ever,
What doom did find them, death awaiting,
And to what fearful fate they fell.
Alas, their secrets unsung remain,
Their olden glory, golden treasures,
Dwindled to dust, long down-fallen.”
Now the wise know well the weariness of the solitary
And even the earth-treader remembers apace
Homestead and hearth-fire, comforts of the hall.
Returned from ranging, rests his head
Where gifts are given, tales of greatness,
And lively voices voyages recount.
Yet the rambling ruins he ever remembers
In mind he is mournful, no merriment finds him
For knows he now that night must fall,
How fleeting are friends and mortal finery,
How precious are lives, how perilous fate,
And when doom descends, death-knells fade,
No remnant remains. Relentless time
Presses on, ‘til ages turn and trees wither,
Songs dwindle to whispers that wanly echo,
That, world-weary, another wanderer may hear.
