Boromir, oh Boromir,
Boromir my brother;
I looked for you long,
For your return from the North.
I heard the horn sounding,
Dimly I heard.
My heart foreboded ill,
Yet still, still I hoped
Hoped for the son of Denethor
To return from the North.
Oh Boromir, Boromir,
Oh Boromir my brother;
I stood by Anduin
When the night lay chill
And saw a boat of curious fashion,
Grey-glimmering, carven.
There I saw a warrior lying,
Lying, perchance asleep; nay,
Not sleeping, but dead.
He bore many wounds
But of the horn I saw naught.
Oh Boromir, oh Boromir,
Oh my beloved brother,
Whence came the gold belt,
Whence came the grey boat?
Whence came the grey cloak
Upon thy shoulders?
Looking upon Lorien's lady
Was thy doom sealed?
Would to heaven I had gone,
Gone in thy place, Oh Boromir.
Oh Boromir, Boromir,
Boromir my bother;
Thy horn I have found,
Full cloven in twain.
Our father mourns
And Gondor mourns
For its son, its valiant warrior;
And I, I for my brother
Who returns no more from the Northlands.
Oh Boromir, farewell.