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Théoden King
by Howard Shore

text by PHILIPPA BOYENS, translation by DAVID SALO

Nú on théostrum licgeth Théodred se léofa
Hæletha holdost. Ne sceal hearpan sweg
Wigend weccean; ne winfæt gylden
Guma sceal healdan, ne god hafoc
Geond sæl swingan, ne se swifta mearh
Burhstede beatan.

(( Now Théodred lies in darkness,
Most loyal of fighters. The sound of the harp shall not
Wake the warrior; nor whall the man
Hold a golden wine-cup, nor good hawk
Swing through the hall, nor the swift horse
Stamp in the courtyard. ))

Bealocwealm hafath
Fréone frecan forth onsended.
Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende
On Meduselde thæt he manna wære
His dryhtne dierest and maga deorost.

(( An evil death has
Sent forth the noble warrior.
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels
In Meduseld, that he was of men
Dearest to his lord and bravest of kinsmen. ))

Contributed by Lily R. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
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