In Brethil near the silver wood beside the waterfall
A voiceless song at night is heard and in the darkness calls
The river's flood I shall not fear to soothe my grieving soul
And ever drink the water clear that fills the silver bowl
A maiden fair she was of old with neither shift nor gown
When lost she wandered in the wold and weeping set her down
For she had seen the foe aloke and gazed into his eyes
Her mind he clouded with his smoke and filled her heart with lies
The ancient wyrm, beguiling wyrm, has fallen near the flood
The warrior true lies just beyond, his cuirass stained with blood
But where has gone his lady pale, who weeps without console
She lies beyond the misting vale inside the silver bowl