The Forging of the Hoororupeim

Dark beneath the mountain gloomy
In the pale of Orkon's shadow
Neath the ancient home of Children
Neath the Seat of Lanenomen
On his father's anvil, heirloom,
Rang out Sencan's forging-hammer.

Seven times it smote the anvil
Every smiting rang like thunder.
Seven times the sparks flew upward
Till he seven sevens numbered.

Shining blade of frosty Hoorpalb,
Soul-filled steel that breath has quickened;
Straight as yellow sunbeam gleaming,
Cold as Cheyth's gray waters flowing
Did that ancient sword-smith forge it
When the Children toiled in darkness.

Great Hoororupeim the Shining,
Blade of Ice that Azure Glistens,
Still in song the Children name it.

When it passed from under darkness,
Underneath the hated shadow,
There on Orkon's iron doorstep
On the Jade Hill's threshold bitter,
Smote and slew the fell kings doughty--
Banished them to blackest torment.