Mortal Men Doomed to Die

Young man so old from the Northern Lands, The life of Undomiel rests in your hands. Wise elven woman so strong and so bright, Are you forsaking your people, Gilthoniel's light? The wind carried whispers to the tall young man's ears, While together they stood as their parting drew near. No other could hear what the bitter wind sighed, "Remember, all mortals are doomed to die." But the dark haired woman, could she feel it at all? The yearning that spoke of the Western Sea's call? The love that she bore, so blind and so pure, Had made her forget; mortals cannot endure. So as they spoke their tearful goodbye, Again the man heard the echoing cry. But black-hearted fate received no reply, when it whispered; "All mortals are doomed to die." Now the son of lost kings lies under the stone, Regally buried, yet buried alone. His proud elven queen, once young now grown old, Was lamenting the story his carven grave told. So then she said her final goodbye, hearing the ancient, painful cry. The bitter wind murmured its mournful reply; "Alas for mortal men doomed to die."