Ah, Proud Numenor!
You high, wise men who crowned yourselves,
In gold, Kings of all the world.
With your farseeing eyes, did you observe,
Heedless, the pestilence swallowing you whole,
Or see, at night, in thy tormented sleep,
The isle slipping into the abyss?
Or did you watch rather thy timbered ships,
Thy temples laid with gold, the fire,
Of thy burned, horrific offerings?
When the fires raged about the mountain shrine,
And Calicirya's jewels in torrent drowned,
When thy white queen prayed,
With her last breath, to the unmerciful sea,
When you lords of the west cried out,
Screaming, beneath the wave.
With water in thy mouths, thy hair,
Thy farseeing eyes.
Didst thou then remember
The old Gods?