In the days of old,
I am told of a warrior who was very bold.
His golden tresses were long and fair,
And the stars reflected off his hair.
His eyes were keen and bright,
They easily saw through the dark of night.
He dwelt in Gondolin,
In the days of old.
A fine Captain whom guarded the flanks,
From many he was given thanks.
He fought with all his strength and might,
But no one could win the fight.
Gondolin fell and the survivors escaped,
With many burns and scrapes,
He fled from what was once his home.
Yet on the narrow ridge of a mountain high,
Twas that fateful day of many elves do sing,
When Glorfindel fought bravely against a balrog king.
He tried with all his strength and might,
But alas he was lost in the fight,
He defeated the balrog but he fell,
And of that many elves do tell.
Thorondor the Eagle lord,
Brought the body from the gorge.
And over his Valour the elves do mourn,
To loose such a warrior as that lord.
They buried him along the edge.
For him was made a bed.
And over him they placed a mound of stones,
And on that spot has grown,
Golden flowers to match his hair,
And a green turf that covered the bare,
Rocks and stones that were laid over Glorfindel of Gondolin.
So it is sung in many tales,
Followed by many cries and wails,
Of the elf warrior that won the fight,
But in the end lost his life,
To protect others and do what was right.
