The Hunter’s horns have called us west:
We went unwillingly.
We love the woods and forests best
and yet, there is the sea.

The sea, the sea, birds wail upon the shore.

The mountains Morgoth shaped in wrath
are high and strong and dread.
Nandor we are; we’ll leave this path.
It’s better dark than dead.

But some are keen and fear no heights;
We follow Elwe’s call.
Yet if our king’s lost to our sight,
then we’ll not move on at all.

He turned aside; we must persist.
So close! Let’s reach the shore.
Ulmo’s isle will bear us west
to blessed Valinor.

The sea, the sea, birds wail upon the shore.

Our kin are gone, yet still we hear
the gulls that cry our fate.
Is there no isle to bring us there?
Has longing come too late?

But wait: there’s music in those cries:
They whisper secret lore
Of craft, of ships we could devise
And cross by sail and oar.

The stars are bright, the sky is black,
Cold and dark the waves,
On empty void, all light we lack;
Sail on! Our hearts are brave.

And now at last a light spills forth
Across the glittering sea!
We’ve found our kin, we’ve found the shore
Blessed by the holy trees.

The sea, the sea, birds wail upon the shore.

How fair the forests of Valinor
And sweet the light of Day!
But fairer still our ships like swans:
This island’s where we’ll stay.