The Song of the Sea

- Ben Hur

Finduilas, fair Finduilas,
Thy laugh is sorely missed.
What dreadfulness has come to pass
That holds thee fast like this?

Minas Tirith, City White,
Has taken thee away.
What led thee to it’s eery heights
And forces thee to stay?

Love it is, it binds thee tight,
And keeps thee now from me.
Can thee live without the sight
Of thy beloved sea?

Mordor’s shadow daily looms,
Its power daily grows.
Can thee bear the piercing gloom
Of Gondor’s dire foes?

Finduilas, cold Finduilas,
Thy golden bloom is spent.
Neither sea nor city, alas,
Shall see thy light now rent.