Showdown at the City Gate

- Lothithil

A great black shape vast menace of dispair
Rose in his sturrups and cried aloud
Power and terror to rend heart and stone
Still and silent sat Gandalf on Shadowfax
Alone among the free endured the terror
Unmoving, steadfast, as graven image in Rath Dinen

A 'rooster' crowed. Great horns of the North.

The dark shadow at the gate withdrew
As if a great weight had been lifted
Pippin stood listening to the horns
It seemed to break his heart with joy
Never in after years could he hear horns
Blown in the distance without tears