Work Text:
(recovered from an undated collection of poetry)
Then rode the seven and the one
Twixt land and sky, like blood they run
Full many a man would join with pride
Full many a man before them died
A merry, scorched, and fated band
The father's gun, but the son's right hand
Sing we all, of the golden calls
That Feanor and his sons befall
Of Maedhros tall and his godlike face
His ruthless Colt and his swaggered grace
Of Maglor, poet of the west
Who knew their tragic beauty best
Of Celegorm and his loyal hound
The hunter of grim and grand renown
Of Caranthir, forgotten one
No less a martyr or a son
Of Curufin and his clever mind
And the cruelties that such minds unwind
Of Amras bright and Amrod quick
The twins together like flame and wick
Sing we well, of the gold-spun hell
that Feanor and his sons befell
When fierce and foul the east became
They cursed the city and one name
For Feanor, Irish as his sire
Did freedom more than peace desire
He trained his kin at a gun-shot life
As swift with smile as with knife
Sing we now, as grief allows
Of the oathbound pain that crowned their brows