Disclaimer: J. R. R. Tolkien owns all the characters and events described in this poem; the first line, however, is the name of a painting by Jenny Dolfen that can be found at 2013/02/17/the-harp-no-longer-sings/ . I love all of Mrs. Dolfen's work and this one was particularly inspirational to me: hence, this poem!
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The harp no longer sings,
The days are dark and drear;
Through many ages rings
An ever-sorr'wing tear.
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For I remember yet
The screams and tears and blood;
And how could I forget
The loss of all things good?
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How much were those ships worth?
The life of those who built?
In Alqualondë's surf
The blood our hands had spilt?
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We damned us in that first
Fulfillment of our oath,
And evermore were cursed
By that which I now loathe.
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We soon after betrayed
Most faithful of our host;
On them no oath was laid,
Yet they followed our trust.
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We took the ships we'd stole
And laughed at how they'd fare;
But when we'd burnt the whole,
They Helcaraxë dared.
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The blood of those who died
Is also ours to bear,
And those who did survive
Will ever see it there.
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Yet ever they did seek
To right the wrongs we'd done,
And ever we did keep
To build them one by one.
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To many battles led
The strongest of our host,
And there to wolves were fed
The bodies of the most.
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We many times found aid
In our most darkened hour
From they whom we'd betray
Whene'er we'd have the power.
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By Finrod's might, not ours,
By Beren's valor proved,
By Lúthien's song and powers
They did what we'd refused.
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But though it was their pain
That bought the Silmaril,
We fought our kin to gain
That jewel for which we'd kill.
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The heaviest on my hands
Of all the dead that day:
The princes of the land
By cruel starvation slain.
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And still we did not get
For what we'd so much lost—
Our oath could not forget,
However high the cost.
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Again upon the quays
Our kindred cruelly slew,
And yet over the seas
The Jewel from us flew.
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But when, by that Jewel's might,
One man the Valar sought,
They won for us the fight
Our father's Fire had wrought.
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And still their thankless trust
We paid as always do:
Betrayed them all for lust,
To give our oath its due.
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One final time we stole
And bore them far away;
But now we could not hold:
They burnt our hands that day.
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So now, one in the sky,
One cast into the sea,
The last in earthly fire:
Those holy, curséd three.
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Now I alone am here
To wander by the shore,
Regret and pain in tears
To ponder evermore.
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Come true my deepest fears:
Forsaken evermore.
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A/N: As opposed to The Four Sovereigns, which I worked and re-worked to get the rhyme and rhythm right, this poem was more quickly written. I had an idea from that painting's title and came up with the first stanza, then thought, "I like this idea!" and just kept writing. Please tell me what you think; is this better, or the carefully-formed one?