The Last Ship
by J.R.R. Tolkien
Fíriel looked out at three o’clock:
The grey night was going,
Far away the golden cock,
Clear and shrill was crowing.
The trees were dark, and the dawn pale,
Waking birds were cheeping,
A wind moved cool and frail
Through dim leaves creeping,
She watched the gleam at the window grow,
Till the long light was shimmering,
On land and leaf; on grass below
Grey dew was glimmering.
Over the floor her white feet crept,
Down the stair they twinkled,
Through the grass they dancing stepped
All with dew besprinkled.
Her gown had jewels upon its hem,
As she ran down to the river,
And leaned upon a willow-stem,
And watched the water quiver.
A kingfisher plunged down like a stone
In a blue flash falling,
Bending reeds were softly blown,
Lily-leaves were sprawling.
A sudden music to her came,
As she stood there gleaming
With free hair in morning’s flame
On her shoulders streaming.
Flutes there were, and harps were wrung,
And there was the sound of singing,
Like wind-voices keen and young
And far bells ringing.
A ship with golden beak and oar
And timbers white came gliding;
Swans went sailing on before,
Her tall prow guiding.
Fair folk out of Elvenland
In silver-grey were rowing,
And three with crowns she saw there stand,
With bright hair flowing.
With harp in hand they sang their song
To the slow oars swinging:
‘Green is the land, the leaves are long,
And the birds are singing.
Many a day with dawn of gold
This earth will lighten,
Many a flower will yet unfold,
Ere the cornfields whiten.
‘Then whither go ye, boatmen fair,
Down the river gliding?
To twilight and to secret lair,
In the great forest hiding?
To Northern isles and shores of stone
On strong swans flying,
By cold waves to dwell alone
With white gulls crying?
‘Nay!’ they answered. ‘Far away
On the last road faring,
Leaving western havens grey,
The seas of shadow daring,
We go back to Elvenhome,
Where the White Tree is growing,
And the Star shines upon the foam
On the last shore flowing.
‘To mortal fields we say farewell,
In Elvenhome a clear bell
In the high tower is shaking.
Here grass fades and leaves fall,
And sun and moon whither,
And we have heard the call
That bids us journey thither’.
The oars were stayed. They turned aside:
‘Do you hear the call, Earth-maiden?
Fíriel! Fíriel!’ they cried.
‘Our ship is not full-laden.
One more only we may bear.
Come! For your days are speeding.
Come! Earth-maiden elven-fair,
Our last call heeding.’
Fíriel looked from the river-bank,
On step daring;
Then deep in clay her feet sank,
And she halted staring.
Slowly the elven-ship went by
Whispering through the water:
‘I cannot come!’ they heard her cry.
‘I was born Earth’s daughter!’
No jewels bright her gown bore,
As she walked back from the meadow
Under roof and dark door,
She donned her smock of russet brown,
Her long hair braided,
And to her work came stepping down.
Soon the sunlight faded.
Year still after year flows
Down the Seven Rivers;
Cloud passes, sunlight glows,
Reed and willow quivers
As morn and eve, but never more
Westward ships have waded
In mortal waters as before,
And their song has faded.