by Elemmíre
A 4th age commemoration of the Rangers
'Twas down by the Hoarwell, I met an old woman,
A'plucking young nettles, nor thought I was coming;
I listened awhile to the song she was humming,
Glory O, glory O, to our brave Ranger men.
'Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming,
And watched our defenders, their swords with light gleaming,
I see them again, through all my days dreaming,
Glory O, glory O, to our brave Ranger men.
From the banks of the Hoarwell, the Rangers went wandr'ing,
O'er all of the king's lands, our ancient trust keeping,
And they guarded the land, and to die they were willing,
Glory O, glory O, to our brave Ranger men.
Some died in the Angle, some died in the Wild,
But danger they'd courted since they were a child,
To hardship immune, and to death reconciled,
Glory O, glory O, to our brave Ranger men.
I passed on my way, and praised Eru I'd met her,
Be life long or short, I shall never forget her;
We may have great men, but we'll never have better.
Glory O, glory O, to our brave Ranger men.
For music and original lyrics, please see 'Bold Fenian Men': contemplator (dot) com ireland fenian.html (replace with /)
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction, and the characters, settings, places and languages, save those that are original to me, belong to the Tolkien Estate. I am merely playing in their most august sandbox.