rohirric
(anglo-saxon):
We
hierdon þara horna
on þæm hringde beorgum
þæm
sweorda scinde
on þæm suð-cynerice.
Stedas
gongdon eodon
to þæm Stana-Lond
windlice
þæm morgena.
Wig wæs onælde.
þær
Þéoden feoll,
Þengling mihtig,
to
his goldselum,
and grenum læsum
on
þæm Noreð feldum
næfre gecierran,
þara
hlaford heapa.
Harding and Guthlàf,
Dúnhere
and Déorwine, deor-mod
Grimbold,
Herefara
and Herubrand, Horn
and Fastred,
feohtdon
and þær feollon, on
feore folclande:
on
þæm Mold-ærne Mundburga
under moldan licge
mid
hira gaderwistum
Gondora leodfrumum.
Ne
Hirluin se fægra
be flote to beorgum,
ne
Forlong se ealde
to þæm florisc denum
æfre,
to Arnache,
to his earde sin
gerierrdon
on sigore;
ne þæm sceotendas langas,
Derufin
and Duilin,
to hira deorce wæteras,
moras
Morthonda
under munta sceadum.
Deaþ
on þæm morgene
and æt dæga endan
toc
drihtenas and swanas. Nu
slæpiað long
under
molderne on Gondore be
þa Mihtigan Ean.
Nu
græg tearlice,
glæd seolfor,
read
ða weallde,
wæter grymetiende:
blodic
brim
byrniað æt æfentide;
muntas
lic beacen
byrniað æt æfene;
readfah
se deaw fylde
on Rammase Echore.
Translation:
[The
Lord of the Rings, Book V, Chapter The Battle of the Pelennor Field]
We
heard of the horns in the hills ringing,
the
swords shining in the South-Kingdom.
Steeds
went striding to the Stoningland
as
wind in the morning. War was
kindled.
There
Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,
to
his golden halls and green pastures
in
the Northern fields never returning,
high
lord of the host. Harding and
Guthlàf,
Dúnhere
and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,
Herefara
and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,
fought
and fell there in a far country:
in
the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie
with
their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.
Neither
Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,
nor
Forlong the old to the flowering vales
ever,
to Arnach, to his own country
returned
in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,
Derufin
and Duilin, to their dark waters,
meres
of Morthond under mountain-shadows.
Death
in the morning and at day’s ending
lords
took and lowly. Long now they
sleep
under
grass in Gonder by the Great River.
Grey
now as tears, gleaming silver,
red
then it rolled, roaring water:
foam
dyed with blood flamed at sunset;
as
beacons mountains burned at evening;
red
fell the dew in Rammas Echor.
The
Rohirrim by Ryszard Derdzinski
