Of old they called him valiant,

An elf steadfast as adamant.

His favorite place to walk and play

Was on Ezellohar every day.

Until at last when it went dark

He left Aman to seek lands stark.

In those far lands beyond the ice

He found his cousin, calling thrice.

A streak of red,

A distant head,

Russandol freed with hand as price.

Upon the death of father bold,

King he was, with ribbons gold.

No power, glory sought his own,

But to power, glory he was prone.

Then one day the call did come.

He rode to battle with all Elvendom.

At battle tears ran like a flood,

And so too did elven blood,

Too many foes

They ripped his clothes

They smashed his body into the mud.

But still a cry went up that day

A cry for men and elves to stay

Aura entuluva!

Aura entuluva!

For though the great king passed away,

His spirit went on to lead the way.