But 'lo! What arrow through yonder mûmakil strikes?
It is the resistance, and Legolas is the elf!
Arise, fair elf, and slay the armies of Mordor,
Which already crumble and pale with fear
That thou his companions are not as skilled as he.
Be not of his quarry, for be-ith fearful.
His mien portrays of radiance and light,
And none but fool Tooks do question. Strike them down!
He is of leaves; O, he is my lord!
O that he were real!
He climbs, counting his kills. What of that?
His eye not wavers; girls shiver under the gaze.
They be too bold; 'tis crazy stalkers' cunning scares
One of the fairest stars in all of Valinor.
Having deadly business, do not get in his way
For his arrows will pierce until his return.
What if the hobbits were there, in the battle?
The bright cherries of their cheeks like the purest children
As daylight on a red sunrise. To Isengard! To Isengard!
Would that the burning forests smolder so gray
That birds will not sing nor think nor fly.
See how the ring that glistens upon dark hands!
O that he would destroy it around that finger,
That he might stop the might of wretched Sauron!