I sing a tale of loss and woe,
A maiden gone, a lord laid low,
Of love destroyed and hope that fell,
Of Amroth and his Nimrodel.
They say she wandered lands of old,
Beneath the blessed trees of gold,
Before the times of strife and fear,
When others came and settled near.
Amroth the King had found her there,
Enchanted by her golden hair,
Along the river bank he strode,
To call her from her lone abode.
But Nimrodel would have him not,
Until in fear her pledge forgot,
In hope of peace she swore to him,
And left for lands which never dim.
Oh Nimrodel, Come back to me!
Come back to me, my Nimrodel.
Yet at the docks he waited long,
A lonely cry this seaman's song,
For Nimrodel did not appear,
His frantic pleas, she could not hear.
The storm had swept the ship away,
Dark clouds obscured the light of day,
But Amroth thought he saw her there,
Thought sunlight played on golden hair.
And now the waves still cry his song,
For those who sail when winds are strong,
“Oh Nimrodel, Come back to me!
Come back to me, my Nimrodel.”
I sang a tale of loss and woe,
As where she wanders, none now know,
Her love destroyed, in waves he fell,
Oh Amroth, where is Nimrodel?
