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Despair
A sleeping hallowed place lay in the hills about Loch Emond. It was a place where it was said that once the olds had made sacrifice to their Gods. The old ones were a mystic people demoted from their true form. Now they were through to be a small people, squat and heavy set. They were not the ancestors of today's people but it is thought that they many have interbred with the ancestors of modern man. They were considered a lesser people.
Some said that they died out because they were not as well adapted as today's people; they were not as well suited to adapting to the changing world around them. It is a sad attempt to make this newer and truly lesser people look better. They were a new people, yes, but a people who survived only because they could die. A better race simply because they felt the pains of a mortal body, and of a transient soul.
I should know, I who have untold ages to my name. I am Nimrodel, an old one though I disdain the name. I am Quendi and as far as I am aware I am the last of my kind to walk this Middle-Earth.
I was born in the Golden Wood of Laurelindorinen in the second age of the sun before my people, a silver people of tree and glen, a remnant of the Avary in these western lands of middle-Earth, a people called the Silvan Elves. Short and squat indeed! They were tale, at least nearing six feet, both men and woman alike. They were lithe and light on their feet; they made no rustling in leaves as they walked.
Yet even these fair beings held nothing to my mother's people, a Golden people and a dark people. Some had hair of molten gold other with hair as dark as shadows, both with eyes of sea grays and bright blues. They had knowledge of the greater world in their eyes. The Sindar and the Noldo, they were called. They had come from the north and the west to rule over us and to lift us up.
To them humans are but insects crawling on the ground, especially compared to her. Artanis was her name, to her mother she was Nerwen and Alatariel she was also called. Lady of the Galadhrim we called her, the Lady of the Wood. Great was she for she had been born into the light before the rising of the very sun. She who was above us all, even our Lord was diminished in her glittering presence. Humans, be they slaves or high kings knelt before her. She was the daughter of the High King of the Noldo across the western sea, a princess and a queen in her own right. We called her Galadriel.
Now they are gone, all that I knew is gone. All that was old ad good has changed and faded. None now live who remember how the world was so long ago. These humans have destroyed much that was green and beautiful. They have poisoned the air and fouled the water and scared the very earth. If Lady Galadriel could see her Middle-Earth now, she would weep. A Middle-Earth she worked so long to save, a world she turned over to the care of men. Humans in my mind are for the most part little better then orcs. I despair of this world.
Author's Note: This is just a little ditty I wrote sometime ago. I may be adding a similar one from Maglor's perspective.