Gaulthiel was a high elven king,
Sweet were the words of love that he whispered in the ears of his dove,
Alorella, the guardian of the river, who came with the spring,
Whose raiment was of golden threads that her kinsmen wove.
Together they lingered among the trees evergreen,
Free from the world’s fear and sorrow, in the midst of old forest they lay.
On a cold morning, by the foe of all living things, Alorella was slain unseen,
Gaulthiel had come, only delayed: her vigor and warmth had passed away.
There beside the fair maiden of the river Gaulthiel stood tall.
And his enemy sprang forward and bore down on him,
The sword of malice, piercing his heart, his enemy brought forth his fall.
The winds hissed, the trees wept, the enemy fled with his face dreadfully grim.
Dryads, keepers of the woods, later found where two lovers are,
And sent them to the fields of night, where they became their most beloved star.
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