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