Elinathrond

From snow capped peaks o'er valleys cold,
a whishing wind wails.
The polar lights shine above,
a hidden city nigh a summit veiled.

Come have Elves and too the Dwarves,
gypsies dance and sing.
Magic pools ripple and potions smoke,
starlight high is glimmering.

From northern Ichor road,
down to Tareh way.
Stroll down the Mirenor,
in Elinathrond you can stay.

Until the curse of magic's bane,
is no more and all are sane.
Upon this icy, frigid mount,
under Wura's grace we must remain.