Ah! Morgoth! Bauglir! Damned Dark Lord!
I curse you by my sharp-edged sword!
Thou Black Foe of both elves and men
I curse the name Morgoth again!
Deceiver! Liar! Fleeing thief!
Accursed be Morgoth! He the chief
Of evil recreants on earth!
Three Silmarils my hands brought forth
And made by arcane arts to none
Besides me known. The Evil One
Slew my own father at my door,
Plundered my jewels that he came for
And fled to Middle Earth! I came
Despising his once mighty name
To slay him and my jewels restore.
My pride led to my fall – wherefore
My sons, with eyes of Death I see
This truth: The Dark Lord where he be
In Angband by no mortal hands
Shall be cast down. Safe in his lands
He shall remain for centuries
Despite us having crossed the seas
To hunt him down. He is at bay!
My sons! The Oath you shall now say
Again! Repeat it! On my ear
It sounds yet beautiful. More dear
To me than woman’s love your oath
Of vengeance as it comes to both
My ears. Too late! Here, now, I die!
My spirit burns inside! Goodbye
My sons! My seven sons – farewell!
Live and bring Morgoth down to hell!
Work my revenge by every ill
Until restored each Simaril
Is to your hands – your hands alone!
Your deeds must now my Oath atone!
So where does Lord Fëanor lie?
Where is his body that did die?
Consumed to ashes was the same
And is no more. But still his name
Is joined with the three Silmarils
Whose story Middle Earth yet fills
For which the Noldor, gods and men
Waged grievous war to thence regain.
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