The Fall of Feanor
The voices of Feanor's host long leagues crossed
As the songs of the elves lifted high in the night.
Marching along under stars glittering with frost
Those who heard were amazed and rejoiced in the sight.
Aroused by the tumult, the hordes of Morgoth came.
Down through the passes, into Lammoth
Attacking a sudden, with sword and with flame.
There was fought Dagor-nuin-Giliath.
The Battle under Stars it is called,
For it was fought ere the moon or the sun had arose.
Outnumbered and taken unawares and appalled
Still they wrested the victory away from their foes.
Deadly in anger, they put the orcs to flight,
For the Noldor were swift and strong;
With an inner fire their eyes gleamed bright,
Terrible were their swords, and long.
Morgoth was dismayed when he heard
Of the tidings of war. Ten days it lasted.
Though few returned to bring word,
As yet his hopes were not blasted.
For Feanor in his wrath would not halt
But pressed on behind the remnants
Of Morgoth's host. To charge Morgoth's guilt
And see the hour of his vengeance
For his father who was slain
By Morgoth for gems from his hoard.
Pressing on with wrath and disdain,
He laughed aloud as he wielded his sword.
He was fey, and consumed by the flame
Of his anger, he drew far ahead
Of his own vanguard, calling the Black One by name
Lust for vengeance drove him, and on he sped.
The Balrogs came then, demons of fire,
And the remnants of the enemy horde
Seeing this turned at bay, with desire
And lust for the deaths of the Elves by the sword.
Surrounded about with few friends at his aid
In Morgoth's black lands
He fought on undismayed
Though smitten with many wounds.
At the last, smitten by Gothmog
Feanor, injured and wrapped in flames,
Nearly he perished at the hands of the Balrog.
With his life, his enemies played games.
At that moment his sons with a force did come,
And the Balrogs fled.
His sons raised him up to carry him home,
Wounded and spent, and nearly dead.
Feanor bade a halt. For his wounds were grave
And mortal. He knew his hour was near.
Thrice he cursed Morgoth, calling him knave
And craven and thief. He asked his sons to hear
His last dying words. "Avenge me," he said.
Then died without burial or tomb.
For so fiery was his spirit that as it fled
His body fell to ash and was borne away like smoke in the gloom.
Thus ended the greatest and mightiest Noldo,
Bringer of greatest renown, and of grievous woe.
Lanny Andelin - "Inferno"