An Elven-maid there was of old,

A shining star by day:

Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,

Her shoes of silver-grey.

 

A star was bound upon her brows,

A light was on her hair

As sun upon the golden boughs

In Lórien the fair.

 

Her hair was long, her limbs were white,

And fair she was and free;

And in the wind she went as light

As leaf of linden-tree.

 

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,

By water clear and cool,

Her voice as falling silver fell

Into the shining pool.

 

Where now she wanders none can tell,

In sunlight or in shade;

For lost of yore was Nimrodel

And in the mountains strayed.

 

The elven-ship in haven grey

Beneath the mountain lee

Awaited her for many a day

Beside the roaring sea.

 

A wind by night in Northern lands

Arose, and loud it cried,

And drove the ship from elven-strands

Across the streaming tide.

 

When dawn came dim the land was lost,

The mountains sinking grey

Beyond the heaving waves that tossed

Their plumes of blinding spray.

 

Amroth beheld the fading shore

Now low beyond the swell,

And cursed the faithless ship that bore

Him far from Nimrodel.

 

Of old he was an Elven-king,

A lord of tree and glen,

When golden were the boughs in spring

In fair Lothlórien.

 

From helm to sea they saw him leap,

As arrow from the string,

And dive into the water deep,

As mew upon the wing.

 

The wind was in his flowing hair,

The foam about him shone;

Afar they saw him strong and fair

Go riding like a swan.

 

But from the West has come no word,

And on the Hither Shore

No tidings Elven-folk have heard

Of Amroth evermore.